Chapter 38 · The Audience Clause

The thing wearing Maeve’s face opened its eyes beneath the stage.

They were not Maeve’s eyes. Hers were green, flecked with amber near the pupils. The thing’s were black from lid to lid, glossy as wet ink, and they reflected the underground theater in perfect miniature—the red velvet seats, the hanging ropes, the trembling gas lamps, and the five figures standing at the lip of the pit.

“Maeve,” it whispered.

The voice came from everywhere.

Eli moved before anyone else could. He shoved Maeve behind him, one hand pressed to the blood soaking through his shirt. His knees nearly buckled, but he caught himself against the iron rail separating the stage from the orchestra pit.

“Don’t answer it,” he said.

Maeve stared at the back of his coat. Blood ran down his fingers and dripped between the floorboards. Each drop vanished with a soft hiss.

“You don’t get to give me rules anymore.” Her voice shook, but not with fear alone. “Not after what you told me.”

Eli flinched as if she had struck him.

The thing below the stage smiled with her mouth.

“There is always a rule,” it said. “There is always a price.