It is the coldest slumber I have ever known. Ice encapsulates me. Pulling me under. Holding me down. Wrapping me in its freezing embrace. In its cold arms, I cannot move and yet I know I must. Black wings brush at the edges of my dreams. Bird screams seek to rouse me from my sleep. I must wake.

Wake up, Lily.

I am scared to wake. Scared to remain here. Scared to dream. To live with such fear is the foulest of dreads and yet, to wake into the unknown is fouler still.

Wake up, Lily, you must wake up.

My throat feels dry and wanting. My body is heavy and pained, weighed down by semi-consciousness and the ghost of a nightmare. I do not want to wake and yet I do. I must.

As I rouse, I feel hard, unforgiving stone pressing against my back. Binds shackle my wrists and ankles. Gently, I open my eyes, not wishing to force the nightmare on them all at once. So much better to ease in the terror, fraction by fraction, for fear that my whimpering heart cannot take much more.

Candlelight flickers on stone walls. I smell wax and cold earth. Damp and rot.

'Lily, thank Heavens.'

Oh, how I am glad that his is the first voice I hear. Warm, gruff, and yes, fuelled with worry, but it is he that I hear and I am thankful for it. To be wakened by the sound of his voice seems a blessing, a reach into the darkness, pulling me out from the ice that I half-wish would refuse to let me go. If it were not his voice I hear, then I think I would almost rather stay, but the need to see him is stronger than my reluctance to face the nightmare I know is coming.

'Daniel?' I open my eyes and at first, he is not there, and I think it to be a cruel trick to force me back to the surface, but then I turn my head and I see him.

Daniel Carver. Sin-Eater. I owe him a fish supper. That I remember. And his scowl. The way he frowns at his feet as he walks, clutching that Bible to his chest. The way his body moved with mine under the water. The way his lips feel against my own. The taste of him.

'Well met, Mr. Carver,' I whisper.

He smiles, shaky and weak, but a smile, nevertheless. 'Well met, Miss Elmes.' Before he can say another word, his gaze darts to something beyond my vision, an anxious glance steeped in fear and anticipation. I twist my head to follow his gaze, but it hurts too much to move that fast and I must still myself to stop the world from whirling like a spinning top.

'Daniel, where are we?'

'I am not sure. A chamber of some sort. Underground. I do not think we have been moved far from Lutwyche.'

My mind whirls with the possibilities. 'Wait... the folly,' I say. 'There is a folly built within the gardens. Most of them are nothing but ridiculous ornaments with no purpose, but I recall Papa telling me that the Hawkstone's folly had an underground chamber. It was meant to replicate a Roman temple. This might be it?' Panic rises like the tide and I strain against my binds. 'We must get out of here. We must find Papa and William.'

'Lily, look at me,' he says, and I do, for it brings me a tiny thread of comfort to see his face.

When I look again, I see that he is not bound as I am. I am higher off the ground, laid out on a bed of stone. An altar, I think. No shackles keep Daniel in place, and yet he does not move and remains kneeling on the cold ground. Why does he not move? Why does he not unfasten my binds?

Around him, I see a shape chalked onto the ground and with a growing curiosity, I realise I have seen it before, but where? I think of wafer-thin pages that smelt old and comforting, even if the contents of the book scared me a little. I think of Daniel's neat, small script and how I always ached to see him write, even if what he wrote I did not understand.

His Bible. That one he clutched to his chest as a boy and as the man I now know. That's where I remember seeing the symbol on the ground. Etched into the empty gaps in the pages of his Bible. What did William call it?

An inverted pentagram.

The sign of evil.

The Devil's symbol.

'What is happening? Why do you kneel there? Will you untie me?'

'He cannot untie you,' a voice calls out from the gloom. Then laughter, high-pitched and full of glee, but a man's laughter. I turn my head to find the voice, ignoring the flashes of light in my vision and the screaming in my skull as I strain to see the source of the laughter.

The Rector had always been one of those robust men, with a generous waist. A man given to much gluttony, despite his religious leanings and his supposed dedication to doing God's good work to help those less fortunate. William always said that the Rector much preferred to help his own belly, before he helped those in need, and while I often chided him for his cheek, I had half a mind to agree with him. Now, the Rector does not look like that man I knew. He looks smaller and weaker than the man who stood in our parlour room doorway, empowered by his own authority to come and take Daniel and condemn him to the gallows. Now, he looks nothing like he once did. He is shackled to the wall, his knees bent, and legs folded underneath him as if in prayer. His clothes are dirt-streaked, his hair dishevelled and sticking out in odd angles. I notice there are some bald patches and blood staining his scalp and I cannot help but think of Lizzie and how she looked in Shelton Hospital.

The Rector is but a shadow of the man he was, and yet his eyes burn with a fervour that lights the gloomy corner where he is held prisoner.

'He cannot untie you,' he repeats, grinning. 'He has his own binds from which he cannot escape. The pentagram holds him still. The lord's power forces him to his knees. So much for the dark priest!'

It takes me a moment to realise he speaks not of God, but of his new Master. The one for whom the pentagram has been created.

'Oh, Rector,' I say, repulsed and yet saddened for this man who has spent his whole life in service to the Church and the Lord. 'When did you sell your soul? Was it before or after my father and Mr. Hawkstone attempted to rid this place of your new Master? When did you fall from such a great height?'

The Rector giggles, spittle dribbling out of the corner of his mouth which he cannot wipe away for his hands are shackled close to the ground. 'No fall, Lillian. A graceful glide on black wings. How beautiful it was. How peaceful. I have not known such peace in years.'

'Is there peace in your shackles, sir?' I say. 'Or is it subjugation and madness?'

His eyes burn brighter still. 'Yes, yes, peace! My heart is full. My soul is embraced by my Master.' The smile fades, replaced by a twisted sneer. 'You will find no such peace, girl. Endless suffering is your penance. An eternity of pain and darkness for you.'

'Well, if it means I do not have to listen to your miserable voice touting fire and brimstone, then I should think it is a penance I will welcome, you weak insufferable man. How dare you kneel there and talk to me of peace when you have granted none to those who only ever sought goodness! Elizabeth? Daniel? Not to mention those dear departed souls you allowed to be caught up in this twisted web and forced to walk this Earth again when they deserved nothing but rest.'

The Rector eyes widen, and he twists in his shackles, his body trembling as if in fear, but instinctively I realise it is not I nor my words that terrify him. 

'I always knew you contained the fiercest of fires, Miss Elmes,' speaks another voice beyond my vision.

I freeze. That voice. Tinged at the edges with affection, and can it be, admiration?

Yes. I see it in his eyes as he comes into view, approaching my bed of stone and looking down upon me with warmth in his eyes. How strange that someone so despicable could display such kindness in his gaze, only now I know Captain Andrew Hawkstone is the master of guile and deception. He can manipulate with one smile. He can cajole with just one look. How easy it must have been for Lizzie to fall for this man's lies and trickery. He looks nothing like a monster and yet houses one within his soul, hidden from plain sight, masked by handsome features and affection in his face.

Somewhere an animal mewls. Soft, heart-rending cries of a creature in pain and it takes but a second for me to realise it is the Rector whimpering, pushing himself against the wall as if he seeks to bury himself within stone.

Andrew touches the lace of my dress cuffs, rubbing the material between his thumb and forefinger. Once, twice, his fingertips brush my wrist and unbidden thoughts rise in my head of what it would be like for him to touch me like he touched Lizzie. He smiles then, softly, and my heart judders to think he can read my mind or has pushed those wanton images into my head. I ball my hands into fists, my whole body tense and in fear of what he intends to do.

'Such a storm resides within you, Lillian Elmes,' he muses, snagging his lower lip with his teeth. 'I think, had the situation been quite different, you and I would have made the world thunder with our union. Instead, I have enjoyed knowing the woman you have become. None as tenacious and wild as you. None that can even light a candle to what you hold inside you. If I was a regretful man, I would regret not allowing that to flourish, but alas, if I am to become what has always been destined, then the storm must be mine and mine alone.'

I stare at him, desperately trying to remain composed. Desperately holding on to whatever courage my trembling body still possesses.

'Captain Hawkstone... Andrew...'

How I hate how shaky my voice sounds. I cannot be a mouse now. I cannot.

'Please. I know not what your mother has planned for you, but whatever you are embroiled in here can be undone. I know it! I see such warmth in you, and Lizzie saw it too. You escaped from this once before when you became a Naval Captain and a fine one at that, if my father is to be believed and I do believe him. He spoke only good of you at that time, and I know that you can be that man again. It is this place that brings you to evil. It is her that casts this shadow over you.'

He looks at me with sadness then, a deep aching sadness that surprises me. Does he believe it too? Does he believe he is capable of goodness?

'Such a generous soul, that you hold so much faith in your fellow man.' His raises his eyes to meet Daniel's, who is glowering at him from his position on the ground, like a predator coiled and ready to strike if only he could be free to do so. 'Even the Sin-Eater himself has benefited from your generosity. Who would have thought that anyone in this town would be willing to cast superstition aside and welcome a dark priest into their midst? Of course, Mr. Carver here lacks the skills of his late uncle, so the term dark priest can be used only in the meekest of terms.'

'You know nothing of me nor my uncle, so you would do well to keep our names from your mouth,' Daniel says.

'The uncle who beat his unwanted ward senseless on many an occasion. The uncle who was ashamed that his own sister had left him with her bastard child. The uncle who taught you barely a thing.' He lifts his brow in question. 'Well, Sin-Eater, it is true, is it not? For if Joseph had taught you anything of worth you would be able to free yourself from this spell that binds you. If he had taught you how to defend yourself, you would not be kneeling there, as you will soon be kneeling at my feet. Instead, he left you without knowledge and defenceless. You must see the truth. You can no more save yourself than you can save Miss Elmes. A pity.' He smiles, full of menace. 'There will be no hero's ending for you, Mr. Carver.'

His gaze drifts back to my face, his eyes troubled immeasurably. 'I must say, Lillian, you have no idea how disappointed I was to know of your affection for this man. You are worthy of so much more and I do not speak of something so crass as social class. I speak of spirit and fire and a desire to be free. Myself, I have never much cared for the confines of social standing. You can thank my travels at sea for that. To meet with and learn from people of all cultures, all races, is such a gift. There are no limits to your education. No restrictions on what you can discover and discover I did. Tread not with fear into dark places and you shall be rewarded tenfold.'

Andrews sighs, a strangely content exhale of breath that makes him close his eyes in awe for just a moment. 'The power I discovered during my journeys at sea was bountiful indeed. From the tribal leaders of the Ottoman Empire, to the lector priests who still practised in secret on the shores of the Nile, I feared nothing and no one in my quest to learn. It was not by chance that I was well met with a sorcerer of Persian origin, one who was willing to teach me, a decorated Naval Captain of her Majesty's Empire, the art of death magic. Oh, Lillian, you have no idea how my eyes were opened to discover such unlimited power. On board ship for months gave me plenty of time to master my art. Do you have any idea how many men die at sea? I am sure your father spared you the most gruesome stories, but how easy it was to test my newly acquired necromantic skills.'

'And those you dragged back from death?' I ask.

'Tossed overboard, of course. Even dark resurrection cannot withstand the power of the ocean. Do you see? If I was an exemplary naval officer, it is because I knew with each day, what I was becoming. There is peace in that. In accepting your fate. Your destiny. And in death magic, dearest Lillian, we shall soon both find ours.'

'Death magic is an abomination, as you fully well know,' Daniel seethes. 'To disturb the dead from their slumber is the most despicable dark art of all. It's forbidden.'

Andrew's face flickers with irritation. 'As are a great many things in the eyes of the Church, Mr. Carver, as you fully well know. Take your particular dark craft, for example. There is a reason Sin-Eaters are shunned and hidden away from plain sight. There is a reason good folk dare not look upon the likes of you. You are nothing but a whisper. A filthy secret of which they dare not speak. The Church forbids it. And yet you choose to judge the necromancers? You who consumes as we consume.'

'I consume sin. I bring peace. I do not consume rotten flesh and use the dead to replenish my own power.' Daniel presses his fists to the ground, his face darkening.

Andrew waves off his protests, as if brushing away an annoying insect.

'Ah yes, the very noble pursuit of taking coin for pretending to grant absolution for the suddenly departed. You grant nothing and bring nothing. Thanks to your uncle you barely even know the depths to your dark craft. All that power at your fingertips and yet you skulk away in the woods, away from those who despise you – because rest assured, you are despised – and you waste your life. But no more. I shall give you purpose, Sin-Eater and I shall enjoy it immensely. No longer will you be a dark priest, but a dark servant, bound to me and me alone.'

'And who will you be bound to, Andrew? Your mother?'

Andrew rolls his eyes, a frowning crinkling his handsome face. 'Lily, Lily, please I beg you, think before you speak, for I do so hate for you to disappoint me. Do you think me a puppet? The poor manipulated child, moulded and shaped by his wicked mother to achieve her dark aims? Everything that has happened to me, I have welcomed. Everything I have become, I have demanded. My dear mother simply saw me for what I could be and why should she not, for she knew full well what resided in her belly from the moment she was with child, and it was not the weak offspring of a Hawkstone, that is for certain.'

I gasp, unable to stop the sharp exhale of breath from escaping my lips.

'Hawkstone was not your father?'

Andrew smiles, amused more by my shock or my naivety, I know not. 'That disgusting old buzzard? You insult me, although I am quite sure you do not mean to. No, Lillian, that man was not my father. My mother knew better than to let that repulsive creature touch her. Why do you think he sought out the soft warm flesh of younger women than she? I was seeded from another much like my mother, a ritualistic union meant for one purpose only – to create the one who would give human form to the Devil himself.' He wrinkles his nose. 'Of course, my dearest Papa decided to meddle in my mother's affairs and believed he could save me. He and his foolish friends failed, all they achieved was to simply delay matters, but it all worked out perfectly, do you not think? Sadly, not so perfect for Papa.'

'I knew something felt wrong in that house on the day of the ritual. I knew I would struggle to help him find peace,' Daniel says. 'You killed him.'

Tap... tap... tap.

'Actually, Sin-Eater, I think you will find it was I that killed him.'

I turn my head, swallowing down the abrupt shock of fear as Mrs. Hawkstone walks slowly into the candlelit chamber. She approaches, giving the Rector a disparaging look, as if he is nothing more than a roach or rat that repels her, and each step closer tears my ever-wavering courage away from my bones. I cannot say she looks upon me anymore favourably than she does the Rector.

'You pushed him down the stairs,' I accuse. 'It was you.'

'I did not touch him. I have no need. I have other means.' Reaching up, she strokes the head of a crow that nestles on her shoulder, nibbling at her fingers with its sharp beak. 'But his fall was as wondrous as his suffering when he lay twisted and broken, realising that all along, I was the one who had conspired against him and his mission to cleanse my son. My son. I confess, I had no idea he was so attached to the idea of being the boy's father, but his tears were a joy to behold.'

'And then you set about attempting to destroy everyone who had come to Hawkstone's aid.'

The old woman grins, the lines on her face deepening with shadow. 'A delightful diversion, I must admit. To destroy one's enemies can be a long, arduous game, but patience, as they say, is a virtue. Major Smallman was a particular favourite of mine. Two birds, one stone. Poor Edith lost her child, thanks to a potion administered by their new housekeeper, Miss Augusta Potts, and the devastation she suffered prompted her to take her own life. The loss of both his wife and child, sent the Major quite mad, I am afraid, so mayhap the final tally there was three birds, not two.'

'And then there was my mother,' I say, bitterly. 'And to think she thought you a friend.'

Mrs. Hawkstone laughs dismissively. 'A woman such as I needs no friends, and certainly none as arrogant and as priggish as Rachel Elmes. If you were to live beyond tonight, you would soon begin to thank me for ridding you of such a ghastly mother.'

Anger erupts within me, and I strain against my binds. 'My mother was worth a hundred of you. A thousand, even. She was many things and mayhap she did not always make the right choices for reasons of her own, but she would never have guided her children down such a dark path. She sought nothing but light and happiness for us both. Not all this destruction. Not all this death.'

Mrs. Hawkstone leans forward slowly, each inch closer draping her in even more shadow. Feathers ripple across the surface of her dress, as if the crows are displeased at my words. 'But, my dear,' she says. 'Death is the only path, for it is through death and death alone that we can be resurrected.'

'Of which madness do you speak now, old woman?' I say.

Mrs. Hawkstone gives a nod to Daniel. 'The Abomination knows of what I speak.'

I turn to him, and he can barely meet my gaze. Instead, his shoulders slump, taking on that defeated look he used to have about him when we first met.

'Daniel?' I whisper. 'What does she mean?'

He knows. I can see it in his face. He knows.

'The curse,' he says. 'The Sin-Eater's curse.'

'But you said there was no curse. You said that.'

Daniel looks at me then, full of apology. Full of sorrow. 'Not the one everyone speaks of. Not the one they think it to be. The true Sin-Eater's curse. To be honest, I scarce believed it myself. My uncle never spoke of it to me, but I found references to it in his journals. I do not think he even truly understood it himself.'

'But you do.' My words sound like an accusation, sharp and hard and he flinches.

'Yes. I do now. When you spend a lot of time isolated from everyone and everything, what else is there to do but read? So, I read, and I learned many things my uncle had never told me, and when you...' He trails off, his face flushing. 'When you told me that you had exhibited the same symptoms as Edna, essentially the same symptoms as does a Sin-Eater after each ritual, then I knew there was a connection.'

'What is the connection? Daniel, what is it?'

'You are, Lily. You are the connection. You are the bridge between life and death, the one that will allow them to achieve what they want.' He glares at them both, pushing himself up to stand, albeit still within the borders of the inverted pentagram. 'With your sacrifice, he will harness the powers of the very Devil himself.'

'Sacrifice?' I croak.

'I told you, did I not, Lillian?' Andrew says, with that same affection that is starting to feel like the real curse here. He touches my face, trailing his thumb down my cheek, my neck, to my chest. I inhale sharply, violated by his touch, but instead of moving his hand to my breast as I thought he would do, he presses his palm to my sternum, over my heart. He breathes in and out with my heartbeats, a beatific smile alighting his face.

'You contain a fire, Miss Elmes. One that I intend to be mine. For only through consuming such fire, can I finally meet my fate. Only through your sacrifice, and the consumption of your heart, will I become what destiny has had planned for me all along.'