Page 123 of The Toymaker's Son


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ChapterForty-Six

Valentine

My arm throbbed and tingled, and the cold rattled my bones. I shivered hard as I approached the mansion’s front door. Ice had found its way into my chest, making every breath burn. I rapped on the door, then tried the handle.Locked.

A howl sounded from the forest.

I couldn’t fail now. I stumbled off the porch, wiped snow from the window, and peered inside. The fireplace blazed, but the room was empty. There had to be people here to tend the fires. Although, I wasn’t sure whereherewas. The town had been devoid of people and the whole land felt wrong. Emptier, colder, more hollow. Like a cheap imitation.

My instincts told me this Minerva was Adair’s creation.

The wolves howled again. Closer now.

I bunched my sleeve around a fist and swung, smashing the window, then reached inside and flicked open the lock. The window swung out, and I clambered inside and dropped to the floor.

The air smelled of wood smoke and something else, something sweet and floral, but sickly too. The rich air had smelled the same the night of the banquet, when Claude and Vine had seduced me away. It smelled like fae.

“Devere?” By God, he had to be here. “Devere!”

I flung open the door, dashed into the entrance hall, and caught movement in one of the side rooms. “H-hello?” I raced into the room. “I’m looking for—Devere?”

He stood beside a white piano, dressed all in black, his back to me. My heart surged. “Devere!” I stumbled toward him, even as my instincts chimed a warning. It didn’t matter. He was here! He was all right. Adair hadn’t hurt him.

I reached for his shoulder to turn him, embrace him, tell him I was sorry, but as my fingers touched his jacket, a static shock sparked down my arm, and as he turned his head, a wave of wrongness summoned hot nausea. I recoiled at a face that wasn’t Devere’s despite looking identical. The eyes were flat and cold, and his smile was twisted.

“You’re not Devere.”

“I c-could be,” the man said in a voice that stuttered and cracked.

“No.” I stumbled backward against a chair, almost falling over it. “What are you?”

“I’m Devere.”

He obviously wasnotDevere. He started forward in even, precise strides, coming for me.

Devere had said that Adair made puppets of him, but none could match Devere’s perfection. This had to be one of those monstrosities.

“Devere!” I bellowed and fled the room, then flung open the next door. “Devere! Where are you?” And the next, room after room, until I stumbled into a vast ballroom full of motionless people. Crystal chandeliers sparkled and half a dozen fireplaces roared. Music played, as though the crowd should have been dancing, but none did. All wore black and were frozen in place. Some leaned against the fireplace, others reclined in chairs, many stood on the dance floor, their heads down, bodies motionless. And every single face was Devere’s.

More nausea washed heat beneath my cold, clammy skin.

This was madness. But it wasn’tmymadness.

Everywhere I looked, another Devere stood limp and lifeless. One slumped against the wooden paneling, his body still, his eyes open and unseeing. They were mannequins, dolls… Hundreds of them.

A sob tumbled free. Where wasmyDevere! “By God, whose nightmare is this?”

The music went on, violins and piano racing in a waltz to which nobody danced. Then I saw a figure different from the others in small but significant ways. He was slumped on the ballroom floor. He wore the same black, looked the same from behind, but as my gaze settled on him, my heart lurched, knowing its other half.

I walked into the motionless forest of eerie dolls, sidestepping around them and avoiding their cold-eyed gazes, then crouched behind Devere. He swayed a little and muttered under his breath.

How long had he been like this?

“Dev?” I reached out to touch his arm.

He didn’t hear me, just muttered and swayed some more. My fingers brushed his sleeve, and at that, he twitched and swung his glare around. His beautiful eyes glistened with tears. His hopeless expression stole my breath in a gasp.

He reached out, as though to touch my face. “Valentine, is it truly you?”

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