The choking, bitter taste of smoke filled Charlotte's mouth, seared her throat, and coated her lungs. Heat scorched her back and the side of her face, dragging her to the surface of consciousness.

She lay on her stomach, cheek pressed to the smooth wood floor. A thick layer of ashes smothered her skin and clothes like oily snow. More ashes piled up on the floor around her, along the railing of the stairwell leading down to the foyer.

Golden light writhed with the dark shadows in a macabre dance Charlotte knew all too well. A dance every witch feared.

Laeves Keep was on fire.

With a groan, Charlotte pushed herself up to rest on her knees. Gingerly, she touched two fingers to the back of her head. Her hand came away stained with red.

The Endless One held the power of dark magic—the privilege of a fallen god. He could have killed her with a mere thought.

Why had he chosen to use physical violence against her?

Unless The Endless One didn't choose to.

Alexander did.

"Time to wake, my sweet bride," Alexander called from the foyer in a sing-song voice.

Charlotte rose to her feet and the floor pitched beneath her. She clamped a hand onto the railing, gritty from the residue of ashes. Smoke hung low and thick, preventing her from seeing anything higher than her waistline.

"Papa," Charlotte whispered. She whirled, scanning the haze-filled hallway.

Was it too late? Had the fire reached him? The wards would have prevented mortal or magic to touch him. But not fire. She hadn't thought of that, though she should have.

"Come down, darling," Alexander said. "I've done a little redecorating while you were sleeping."

Charlotte turned her hand palm up, willing her aching head to conjure enough witchcraft to her fingertips. A weak crackle-crackle darted across her palm then fizzled out. It was still there, yes, but it needed time to grow strong again.

And time was what she did not have.

The heavy tread of a footstep on the stair made Charlotte twist around. But the stairwell was wreathed in smoke, only faintly illuminated by the flickering crimson light of flames.

"Charlotte, my dear," Alexander said, his voice a little closer now. He must have grown tired of waiting for her in the foyer. He was coming to fetch her himself.

"Why can't I get out?" he said. "I wish to go for a walk around the countryside. I heard there's a charming little village nearby."

Charlotte retreated into the smoke, patting her way along the walls. She didn't need to see where she was going. She knew Laeves Keep by heart.

"I won't let you," she replied.

Her throat was scratchy rough and her voice sounded as if it had been stripped raw from the smoke she had inhaled while she was unconscious.

"You don't trust me."

He didn't pose it as a question. It was flat, spoken in a low tone with an edge of danger.

It was a threat.

"No," Charlotte said. "I trusted the Alexander I once knew and loved. Not you."

Through the smoke, Alexander's figure emerged, his thin shoulders and sharp, high cheekbones. He dragged his long fingers along the wall, seemingly unperturbed by the smoke that parted before him while Charlotte was struggling to get a clean breath.

Alexander's shoulders twitched. His spine snapped rigid. He scratched the back of his neck and as his fingers moved the collar of his shirt aside, Charlotte caught a glimpse of something...

Something small and black that resembled a black ink stain. The splotch began to spread like a tiny squid, tentacles clenched tight, snaking around his neck to latch onto his vertebra, sinking into his skin.

"I'm cold, Charlotte," he said. "So cold. I can't get warm."

The curse had never left. Did the spellwork do anything at all? As Alexander advanced towards her, his wedding attire dusted with soot, she still didn't see the usual signs of the curse she was accustomed to. His body was his own, not controlled by another.

But he wasn't Alexander. The way he carried himself—sharp, angular lines, the jut of defiance in his chin—it looked wrong on him. And his manner of speech was stilted. Before he spoke, there was a split second of delay, a pause, as if he was reading from a script.

What a fool she had been to think she could save Alexander from this. He must have carried the curse with him ever since he met her at the library's threshold. It might have abandoned the safety of his mind but it still fed on his blood. And as long as there was blood in his veins, Alexander would meet the same fate he had tried to avoid for so long.

That day on the altar, Charlotte had lost him. She denied it over and over. Until now. Nothing could bring Alexander back.

He had to die.

Charlotte retreated further, bumping into a wall, fingers fumbling around the edge of a corner. A table should be nearby with a vase...if she could find it, she could break it and use the jagged edges as a weapon. At least then she wouldn't be empty handed. Until her magic regained strength, she had no choice but to improvise.

"Who are you?" Charlotte said.

Alexander spread his hands. "Don't you recognize me?"

Charlotte's knuckles brushed the gliding curve of the vase and her fingers curled around the neck with a tight, resolute grip.

Alexander let his hands drop and his gaze darkened.

"Leave it," he growled.

For the span of a heartbeat, Charlotte and Alexander simply stared at each other.

Then Charlotte swung the vase at his head. He threw his arm up, blocking the blow. The vase shattered, shards clattering across the floor. The neck of the vase remained in her hand, sharp, uneven edges extended like claws.

Behind Alexander, flames crept up the stairs, slithering along the wall in ribbons of crimson and gold.

"Who are you?" Charlotte demanded again, louder this time despite the scratchiness of her throat.

Alexander bared his teeth in a smile. "Something much more powerful than you can ever hope to be. My name is of little consequence. All I require is your fear when you look upon me wearing the face of the one you used to love."

Then he snapped his fingers.

The tentative grasp of Charlotte's hold on her wards exploded, obliterated in the blink of an eye, as easily as if they were dandelion seeds blown away by a gentle puff of breath.

The ancient wards put in place by witches before her, decades ago, centuries ago, buried in the foundation, carved into the stone, etched by magic...gone.

The suddenness of it made Charlotte's knees give way beneath her. She clutched at the wall for support, fingernails leaving pale trenches in the dark polished wood. She felt as if she stood at the top of a mountain, with the rush of wind screaming around her. And when the wind finally buffeted hard enough to push her over the edge, there would be nothing to catch her.

Then a worse thought rose up in her mind.

There were no wards on Jonathan's bedroom door anymore. And while Charlotte's magic was only lukewarm at her fingertips, she didn't have enough to protect herself as well as him.

Alexander tugged at his collar again. The black stain had grown, spreading to encompass half of his face. His head jerked to the side and he closed his eyes. Rubbed at his ear.

"Listen to me," Charlotte said, trembling. "Whatever you want—"

Alexander snorted. "Bargaining will do you no good now. Watching you burn is the only thing I want now."

The black stain moved to his lips, one tendril curling out and hooking into his mouth.

"I should thank you though," he continued. "I made an oath, many, many years ago. Troublesome thing, always getting in the way. One night, one soul. I was never allowed more than that."

The black stain dripped down his chin, darkening his teeth. With every breath he inhaled, it slipped deeper into his mouth. He flicked his wrist in a lazy motion.

Pain hammered into Charlotte's chest, knocking her flat on her back. The crackle of flames roared closer, casting Alexander's figure in silhouette.

"You were the one who made me break my promise," he said. "I couldn't get out of it on my own. Not without your help. You freed me."

Charlotte sobbed. Alexander had said those words before. But she hadn't realized what he meant.

"Alexander," she pleaded. "Fight it. Please. Do it for me."

A spasm of hesitation crossed his face. He turned to look at her. That black stain spilled from his mouth, a soft, liquid mist.

"I don't—" He started. Coughed. Wheezed. "No. I don't want to fight it any longer."

Then he swallowed.

His shoulder twitched to the right hard enough to send him to his hands and knees. From this distance—only a few feet away—Charlotte saw his spine arch, his body bowed nearly in half.

Then Alexander raised his head. His eyes were fathomless pits, black and smooth, mirroring the same black stain that had slipped into his mouth.

Slowly, he rose to his full height, towering over her. And Charlotte knew.

Alexander was beyond retrieval now. The Endless One and his curse lived in Alexander's body but Alexander's consciousness, his soul, was lost, surrendered to The Endless One's desires.

The Endless One reached out with Alexander's hand and traced a finger along Charlotte's cheekbone. She snapped her teeth at him. He snatched his hand back.

With a scathing look, The Endless One summoned the flames to climb higher, hotter, and faster until curtains of fire streamed along the walls.

This was no ordinary fire either. It chewed through stone and wood as easily as if it was paper. No spell conjured fire like this.

"The world is mine now," The Endless One said. "But you..." He smiled with Alexander's face, a slow, wicked expression. "You will stay right here and burn."

The Endless One turned and descended the stairwell to the foyer. At the last minute, before he disappeared from sight, he lifted two fingers. Charlotte was flung flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling where flames slithered and coiled like snakes.

"You're dying," she called out.

The Endless One stopped mid-step. Charlotte didn't have enough witchcraft at her command to do much more damage than a paper cut. The only weapons left were her words and her wits.

"A cast-off god no one wanted anymore," she continued.

A deep growl reverberated through Laeves Keep and the flames surged towards her.

"You risked it all," she went on, shying away as much as she could from the heat that tongued at her skin. "When I cast that spell, you felt it. But I couldn't get it right on the first try. And you knew that."

"Your beloved Alexander held some admirable memories of you," The Endless One replied. "Quite tenacious."

"I was close, wasn't I?" Charlotte said. "The spell would have destroyed you the moment I got it right. It was only a matter of time."

The Endless One turned, darkness spreading wide like wings to blot out the fire skittering at his back. He loomed over her, stench of rot mingling with smoke.

"What happened?" Charlotte said, willing her voice to be steady despite the shiver of fear shaking through her. "How did you lose favor? What did you do?"

"Quiet, witch," The Endless One hissed.

"Were you abandoned?" she pressed on. "Or did you do something that made people speak of you with disgust and loathing?"

The Endless One spread his darkness over her head and fire rushed in to surround her.

"You open your mouth," he said. "To show how ignorant you are. I was summoned. My presence was desired. The Prescotts welcomed me. Every single one of them has."

Charlotte clenched her jaw, fighting to maintain a neutral expression. She refused to accept the seeds of doubt he tried to plant against Alexander. Not now. Not when Alexander was lost.

"Ah," The Endless One said, smug satisfaction thick in his tone. "He didn't tell you."

"I don't believe you," she said.

"That's hardly surprising. The way you look at him, as if he's an innocent victim, trapped with no way out. It's terribly naïve."

I don't want to fight it any longer.

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and bit the inside of her cheek to maintain her composure. She reached deep into her mind, scouring for remnants of magic she could conjure up until it fizzled and popped, weak but warm beneath her skin.

Just one hit. Something to throw The Endless One off-balance and break his concentration.

"He wouldn't lie to me," Charlotte said. But the conviction that should have been in her voice wasn't there.

"Oh, he has. He's been lying to you for years. He could cast me off any time he chooses."

Charlotte turned her head away. She wouldn't listen to this, wouldn't listen to what came next, what she dreaded.

"What was left of me," The Endless One went on. "I perched on the edge of his cradle when I was born. Just a smudge of black really."

The black stain. Crawling up his neck. Not under his skin or in his veins as the curse had been. That black stain had been on top of his skin.

"That tiny child looked right at me," The Endless One said. "His father did the same thing. And so did his grandfather, his great-grandfather, on and on down the line. Do you know what Alexander did?"

Charlotte shook her head. "Stop," she said through her teeth, more plea than command.

"He reached out to me. He was drawn to me, to the power we could wield together. Immortality. Eternal life."

"The Alexander I knew wouldn't agree to that."

"The Alexander you knew was a façade. He never existed. He wanted this fate. He chose me over you."

The words settled over Charlotte, crushing with the weight of their finality. As much as she wanted to deny it, somewhere in the back of her mind, it made sense. The curse that clung to Alexander had always been strong, much stronger than she could manage with her magic. She had never allowed herself to consider that such strength came from acceptance.

"He was only a child," she protested in a small voice. "He couldn't possibly understand the consequences of his decision."

"As young as Alexander was at the time, his nature had not been influenced by the world yet. He merely responded to what was already in his heart. A dark, twisted little thing. One way or the other, we were always meant to be here. You, burned alive for being a witch. Alexander and I, free to collect as many souls as we like."

With that, The Endless One walked down the stairs, dragging his hand over the railing, wiping away ashes as he went to reveal the gleaming dark wood beneath. Distantly, the click and drag echoed softly in the foyer as the door was opened. There would be no wards to prevent him from leaving this time.

And Charlotte was left pinned to the floor. Pale gold cinders drifted down to land on her arms and in her hair, scorching black marks into her clothes, with fire encircling her in a rapidly closing ring of unbearable heat.