She’d begun to see it in the daylight, moving between the trees—decayed skin stretched taunt and white, bleached bones protruding from the skeletal face. Hollow eyes, nothing more than empty sockets, followed her, boring into her. Even from this distance she could hear its vile, beating heart. Without a sacrifice it would draw nearer, eventually drawing her into the otherworld. Only a captured heart, substituted for the one Lugh had stolen from her, would hold it at bay. She could feel her skin crawling as it watched, turning her head and shivering from a winter breeze that did not exist.

Always, it watched.

Always, it followed, moving on rotten hooves and leaving behind the stench of a preternatural corpse.

Her mother had cursed her, and Elvira had stayed behind. She was no longer a part of that family. She needed to pursue another, more suited to her needs. Her father belonged to the coyotes. Intrigue aroused, she headed north. The cobweb gown hung loose on her limbs—once so plump and full, a gaunt, eerie beauty had taken over. Long, pale curls hung free, crowned by the black bow she’d worn since childhood. Within the jar nestled in her basket insects writhed and clawed at filthy glass, eager to regain freedom.

The sun hung low—blood red as early evening swept across the landscape, drawing the day to a steady close. Dead leaves and grass crunched beneath her feet—dried and dying from winter’s creeping embrace. She moved between the pikes—slowly and lofty as a lost soul, drawn to life by the impending twilight.

Of course she remembered him. She’s never held his fancy as Elijah had, and no one had ever struck Elvira’s personal interest, but she could still recall the coyote. There wasn’t anywhere that she could go where she would be welcomed with open arms as long as they knew of her.

Not once had she taken the time to bother building friendly relationships with anyone, even within her own family. Now, she would bear the consequences. His name floated to her tongue from somewhere within her subconscious, unbidden, as she drew nearer. “Ezekiel.” She paused now, watching him.

Oh, easily she could return to being the plump princess perched atop a throne of wilted, bleeding briars. She was a selfish, gluttonous beast and only misfortune had created the frail, delicate woman that stood before him. It appeared that a mere glance could ruin her, scattering her to the wind like the tendrils of a spider’s misplaced silk.

Her lips pursed, as though threatening a jackal’s smile, but she refrained, simply pressing them together in silent mirth. “Of course they did,” she returned, as she’d never belong there—or anywhere else. “Though I did find out something curious. Apparently, my father’s blood resides here. So I came to see for myself.”

She wasn’t lying.