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saw, what he thought. I’m sure my face was flushed and my eyes were wild. A person doesn’t play an instrument so fast that it begins to smoke without her appearance changing too.
    Maybe I’d imagined the smoke—it couldn’t really do that, could it?
    I met his eyes.
    “Theia,” he began, and then guarded his face again. “For heaven’s sake, sit up straight.”
    And he left the room.

CHAPTER THREE
     

     
    T hat night, the labyrinth wasn’t a hedge of green, but instead walls of twisted branches barbed with thorns, and no signs of vegetation … or life. The gnarled, sharp sticks were plaited together so tightly that no light poked through the walls, but some of the sticks stuck out and scraped my skin if I passed too close.
    A new song pierced the night air. In the thrall of the music there was no escape, not for me, but still I walked slowly, each step carefully choreographed, wary of stirring up anything like the birds I’d encountered earlier. I wrapped my arms around myself, with no other protection from the chill or the razor-sharp branches. I didn’t really want to be there. My fascination with Haden Black notwithstanding, the nocturnal adventures scared me. I shouldn’t have been so lucid if I were only dreaming. And if I were sleepwalking outside, I worried I could really hurt myself.
    I think Father knew all along that I had the capacity for this kind of trouble. That must be why he’d always tried to tamp down my natural inclination towards being free-spirited like my mother. Maybe he was right to try and stifle this predilection—just look what I’d done when left to my own devices.
    The lure of the maze’s center pulled me too strongly to be denied, like an echo of my own heartbeat. When I reached the clearing, I searched for my host—half hoping and half dreading his reappearance. On a dais, the same faceless quartet played their haunting, moody song. In front of them, a ballroom floor of sorts showcased pairs of ghoulish dancers. They were costumed in silks and lace, the ladies’ hair in elaborate updos and cascading curls. The gentlemen, all very graceful, were also decked out in formal wear of black tuxedos with jewel-toned cummerbunds and ties.
    But their faces … each was unique in a completely horrible way. Some were fleshless skeletons, bones with empty sockets. Others were worse, with one feature malformed or missing completely. Noses like beaks, mouths where noses should be, eyes set too far apart—and yet they danced beautifully, as if they were enchanting and not horrifying. As if it were perfectly normal that a gaping mouth should open to two sets of gnarled teeth.
    I wished I could unsee the dancers and their morbid expressions. So far nobody had even glanced at me, a fact I was grateful for. Then the dancers parted as if invisible walls had moved them away from the middle.
    Him.
    My pulse pounded so hard, my skin rippled. I tried to breathe in deeper, but I couldn’t fill my lungs with enough air. It was as if he commanded all the oxygen, like a vacuum or a black hole. Around him, his cheerful ghouls danced merrily.
    Tonight he wore a top hat, which he removed with a flourish when he bowed, reminding me of a wicked Mr. Darcy. He was definitely mischievous—and dangerous. Due to my strict upbringing, my etiquette was impeccable, so of course I curtsied in return and then felt stupid and childish.
    The heaving of my chest suddenly embarrassed me. I didn’t wear a bra to bed and his smile suggested that he could see that very well from his spot in the middle of the parquet floor. Crossing my arms over my chest would have been even more obvious, so instead I stood still. Very, very still.
    I swallowed as he replaced his hat and slowly paraded past his morbid partiers. They smiled at him adoringly—at least it was similar to smiling—and quickly filled in the middle, never missing a step of their intricate waltz.
    Haden stopped in front of me, the material of his formal