Chapter 3

3

MINA

It was time to make the boys of Rho Rho Phi pay.

Even if it cost me my life.

I owed it to Ella.

I held the cold gold-and-glass timepiece with both hands. There was an inscription across a band on the top: Sleep and dream of me, till dreams become reality.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually slept and I didn't have any dreams anymore, so—I flipped it over, and the red sand inside the top of the glass now started slowly pouring down.

At the same moment I did that, I felt a flare of heat and pain on the inside of my left forearm. I yelped, dropping the hourglass—but Sylas was there, in a swirl of living smoke, catching it before it fell, setting it down carefully.

He looked at the bald man who'd tried to dissuade me. "Do we agree that she's hired me?"

"Nothing of the fucking sort," the man said, sweeping the hourglass up off the table, to hurl it at the nearest wall, where it hit with a clang and then bounced.

It was clear they had history...and I was fairly certain what had just happened to me. I stared at my arm, still hidden by my sleeve.

"How long does she have?" the bald man demanded.

"How should I know?" Sylas said, pointing to where he'd cast the hourglass aside, before giving him a wicked grin. Then he turned his face towards me. His eyes were like shining black marbles, and they were the only part of him that seemed solid, although the rest of his flowing smoke formed an aquiline nose and full lips that were pulled into a sneer. "My queen, will you do me the favor of showing me your arm?"

His tone was snide, which surprised me, although I didn't know why—none of the research that'd led me here had given anything about his disposition away.

But his mood didn't matter. If this was really happening, I didn't need him to be nice to me—I just needed him to be effective .

I rolled the sleeve of my scratchy sweater up, to find that somehow I'd been branded with an hourglass, just like the images I'd seen on old coroners reports in my research—the sign of the Hourglass Killer.

But what those photos hadn't shown was the inside of the brand, where the hourglass's sand was.

It was tattooed red . . . and the ink was moving.

Draining from one chamber into the next, ever so slowly.

I gasped in surprise as Sylas inspected me clinically. "A week, at best."

He sounded disappointed, while the bald man looked ready to rip off the nearest table leg and beat him with it. I had a confused moment of wondering how that would even work, seeing as Sylas was made of smoke, and the table leg would be solid, but?—

I had the mark. I rolled my sweater back down quickly to hide it.

This was happening.

I was finally going to get my revenge.

For me, and for Ella.

"And so you're mine?" I asked him. I was embarrassed by the slight quaver in my voice, but I wanted to hear him say it.

Sylas tilted his head slightly, and gave me an evil grin that showed a row of short, sharp, black and glinting teeth. "Until you die, or I do. Now tell me, my queen, what is your name?" he asked, and he sounded...hungry.

I made sure not to step back. "Mina. Mina Moore."

He swept an arm across his chest and gave me a deep bow, speaking again once he'd resurfaced. "How lovely to meet you, Mina. I can't wait to eat your beating heart."

I'd seen those photos too—how the Hourglass Killer's victims had their chests torn open, and they were each missing their most vital organ when they were found.

But, as I'd recently learned, power wasn't free, and there was no such thing as luck.

I took a deep inhale and gave him a steady look. "Good."