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They say you can't outrun your past.

And you definitely can't change it. But you do can keep it secret as long as that secret lasts, and it turns out Laverna is good at those. She doesn't ask, doesn't look troubled, and doesn't mention what's happened at the boutique.

On our way back home, she simply complains that all new dresses are garbage, and she'll have to rummage through her old clothes to...

"...hopefully find something striking enough," she says, her voice lilting.

Mir's gone when we return to the apartment. A lonely note rests on the stand in the hallway, the basilica's address scribbled on it.

I doubt I want to go now, even if it means an extra day added to my new second life. What if that boy will be there too? What was he talking about that I supposedly had to remember? Vlad? The fire? The people who died that night? But I died that night too. How does he know I'm alive again?

When I almost convince myself I should stay in tonight, my hand stops on a folded chiffon attire in the wardrobe of my room. I've been inspecting Polina's clothes, counting endless blouses and sweaters, just to occupy myself with something. Not a single dress--as I thought--until I found this folded attire. It lay abandoned in the furthest corner of the wardrobe, hidden on purpose or maybe forgotten by the previous owner of the room.

A dress.

Its indigo skirt billows about my legs as I put it on, a thin golden lace holding the bodice around my waist and plunging neckline making an elegant curve on my collarbones. It feels right. Not long, not short, not gaudy...Just right.

The day I found my mom's dress in the box in the attic of our house surfaces to my memory. The day when Vlad gave me my scar and my magic. When I dreamed about a dress like this one, and a party, and the city.

And here I am.

"Oh, girl," Lav stops in the hall, peeking into my room, her prying eyes glued to my outfit. She's changed too--a brown silk dress, like melted chocolate, flows down her slim figure. The shade matches her hair cascading around her shoulders in loose waves. "I didn't know Polina's sweaters were covering such assets."

"You don't think it's too much?" I frown, taking my pendant off. Because of the deep neckline, it's visible, and I can't risk letting Mir know I have a magical artifact. He just started to trust me. "My breasts are almost exposed."

Lav smirks, crossing over to stand in front of me. "Definitely too much. You look like a goddess. I mean, obviously, my standards are high, but...The sight of you teases me to sin." A naughty glint flashes in her pupils as she fixes a strand of hair behind my ear. "You do know two girls don't necessarily need a boy to sin, right?"

Before I figure out how to reply to that, she giggles and pivots on her heels. "Come now! Or we'll be late."

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When we arrive at Lajariá's basilica, the place is already noisy and crowded.

If it used to be a church, I can hardly believe it. A dark zigzag runs along one of its walls and between the stained glass window, resembling a bolt of lightning which, as Mir said, has hit the building once. Yet, the pattern reminds me rather of art than of nature, and inside, the nave is nothing but an art gallery.

Looking for a familiar face, Laverna and I weave through the people, sculptures, photos, and art objects that I struggle even to describe.

"Is it a giant fork or a trident?" I ask when Lav snatches two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.

"Hmm, maybe a wizard stuff with a spear attached to it?" she muses, handing me one of the glasses. "Who cares? Today's theme is Seraphs. You know, the old story of the angels protecting us from the dark magic after the vedmaks who founded the city were exiled."

"I thought the vedmaks left on their own."

"Think whatever you like, but never say it out loud if the High Priestess is around. The vedmaks were bad and they were exiled, and the Seraphs guard our city ever since. That's the version the Church preaches."

My eyes scanning the lustrous nave and aisles filled with chatter and classical music, I notice Adélard and Gyoku among the guests. Adélard's wearing an exquisite long blazer trimmed with silver threads that look regal against his dark skin. The only thing that doesn't match his urbane appearance is a grin Ady fails to suppress when Gyoku whispers some joke in his ear. When Ady starts chuckling, Gyoku's lips quirk with a smug smile--he, himself, is akin to a piece of art in his paisley shirt and with the speckles of golden glitter, left after a rehearsal, at his temples.

Then I see Mir, and my stomach does a little flip. Lav is right, he does know how to look perfect. So far, I've only seen him wearing gray and black, but tonight, his shirt and pants are snow white. Simple, but such a mesmerizing contrast. Like that lightning overshadowing the unholy darkness. Only his hair is still raven, still untamed and falling over his brows.

Our eyes lock across the hall, and a hint of a smile touches Mir's lips. He takes a step toward me, but then his gaze lowers to my dress. He halts. Worry coils inside me as Mir's smile vanishes. His expression hardens into something different. Shock? Anger? Disgust? The emotion dissolves behind the mask of polite indifference a fraction of a second later.

I should have known that this dress was a terrible idea. I look ridiculous, I don't belong here.

"I'll go and ask if Mir wants a drink." Laverna clinks her glass of champagne against mine as if it's a toast. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, and heads off, her back erect and proud.

I don't belong here.

The moment when Laverna approaches Mir and loops her arm through his, I turn around. It's not even my role of an outcast that hurts me, but the wretched hope of mine that refuses to die in my heart. Why do I daydream about a life I know I can't have? Despite all the blood in my past, I've never had the courage to stop anyone's heart on purpose.

And I clearly don't have the bravery now. I won't be able to live knowing that Polina's soul resides among the dead because of me. Because of my selfish desire to try--and ruin--everything around me again. I can't take her life.

Perhaps Mir was right, too. This is my chance to earn my place in Heaven, nothing more. Witches rot in Hell, but I have no magic now, therefore I'm not a witch anymore. I'll atone for my crimes if I help them stop the killer. Then I'll destroy my bones and die forever this time, free of guilt. I'll join my family.

"Hey there." Nilam's surprised voice pulls me out of my pondering when I cross over to the makeshift bar at the other corner of the basilica. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Neither was I," I murmur, disheartened, and drop my purse on the counter next to him.

"There's nothing to see here anyway," Kadri says, playing with the straw in her drink. "I only came because Ady asked me to."

"And I came for...doesn't matter. So none of us wanted to be here?" Nilam laughs. "The time of our lives, I see." A blue jacket, the exact bright hue as his hair, covers his tattooed shoulders and arms. Yet, it's not his outfit that startles me. It's his cheeks that blush, just a bit, when his gaze travels along my dress and then rises to meet mine. "But you look beautiful tonight, Yara."

My ears suddenly burn hot. "Thanks."

Kadri looks between us, her eyes spark with amused suspicion, but she doesn't say anything. Silence hovers over the three of us for a long moment.

I clear my throat, shaking the unexpected heat off, and slide onto the stool between Nilam and Kadri. "Actually, there's something I wanted to tell you guys." I wanted to tell Mir, too, but since he's not interested, I can manage without his help. "I believe I know how to catch our supernatural hunter."

Kadri groans, uninspired. Nilam nods, his face becoming serious.

"I've been thinking. Why leave Jasna alive? There's no point. You can't threaten a magic user with magic, right? If only--the hunter had no choice. If it was Jasna who somehow figured that she was about to become the next victim, and she was prepared. If she cast the sleeping spell upon herself."

Nilam's forehead furrowing, he pushes his drink aside. "Go on."

"Then Jasna must have arranged the spell to break whenever she wanted, presumable when the threat was gone and the killer chasing her was dead."

"But to see the hunter coming, she had to know who to expect. She needed to know the killer's face, Yara. And I haven't found that face in her memories."

You can't find a face of a dead person. Or a demon. But I don't suggest it. Until now, nobody but Mir has pronounced Vlad's name. I can't tell if they are terrified of this name or if Mir hasn't even told them who Vlad is.

"Bear with me, okay?" I draw the paper with the list I've been working on last night out of my purse. "The hunter doesn't know when Jasna wakes up either, but they'll want to finish the job. To find Jasna and kill her before she exposes them. So what if we make it look like Jasna's awake? Spread a rumor that she's been to this party, for one. And lure the hunter to a trap of our design." I hand Nilam the paper. "Here are the things we'll need. Do you know what a Bloodcage is?"

Reluctant, Nilam takes the paper and looks at my hasty writing. "Someone should have told you that talking about murderous magic when you're dressed to kill is kind of scary, hon."

"Do you?" I press.

"Yes, I know what a Bloodcage is. It's a sigil drawn across the floor or something, drawn with the blood of a dead person. A cage. Whoever steps over that mark is trapped within its perimeter. In theory." He shrugs. "But only a dead can perform the ritual, and since no human without a corporeal body can use magic in our corporeal world, it can't work. It's bullshit."

A grin etches its way across my face. "I am dead. And I have a corporeal body."

Nilam stares at me for a stupefied moment, blinking. "No." He shakes his head, his expression darkening. "No! Do you know how fragile the balance that allows your consciousness to stay in Polina's body is? For your blood to work as a trap, you'll have to drink a potion that can naturalize the one Polina drank to let you in. Disturb the balance--and poof!--you're back to the abyss." He lowers his voice as if afraid to upset me. "Nature craves balance, Yara. To keep the dead gone."

"Not if I wear this." I hope. I show him my white wooden crescent I took with me in my purse, too. When Mir rid me of the bracelets, I charged the pendant with the energy Nilam's topaz had inside. "And even if something goes wrong, if I...die a little, you'll resurrect me once more, right?" I wince at the insecurity in my own voice. "Mir promised me a year."

Thoughts fog Nilam's eyes. "Maybe you're right. One's spirit is in one's blood..."

"...And Polina's blood is mine right now."

"Thus it is dead."

"I don't understand a thing you two are saying." Kadri sighs beside me. "Why is magic so complicated?"

"It can work!" Nilam hops off his stool, almost knocking mine over. When he looks up at me again, his eyes feverishly rapt. "Why haven't I thought of this myself? You're a genius, Yara!" Tucking my paper in his pocket, he throws his arms around me with a quick hug and then veers toward the exit. "Tomorrow everything will be ready!"

All I'm left to do is watch Nilam's blue jacket flicker among the guests. "I didn't know magic could be so elating." Somehow I've missed the moment when he turned from grim hesitation to ecstatic motivation. As if a safety switch went off.

"It's Nilam," Kadri says plainly. "He's either elated or depressed. Never in between."

My eyes still following Nilam, I catch sight of Mir talking to a company of people I don't even know. With a brilliant smile, Laverna fidgets around him. When Mir sees Nilam leave, his eyes narrow and dart in my direction.

I ostentatiously turn away, nettled. But I also feel lonely again. I don't even know what I've done wrong this time to rile him up.

"Isn't it sad?" Kadri asks, leaning against the counter and gazing upon the crowd. "Laverna tailing Mir everywhere like a puppy? Can't she see he'll never look at her?"

Before answering, I consider Kadri for a moment. At her jeans, t-shirt, and organza tunic with a flowery embroidery over them. The tunic is almost transparent, so it seems as though the flowers soar around her body and arms. Kadri looks...cute. Innocent. Yet, her eyes are like piercing daggers.

"He will," I say, finishing my glass of champagne. Loathing a pang of jealousy beneath my ribs. "Lav is pretty." And she belongs to this world.

"No, Mir doesn't go for pretty. And he hates being played, while Laverna doesn't lift a finger without personal gain. Ady told me Jasna ran away from home for her once. And then Lav traded her for Nilam. Only Nilam has nothing but an illegal nightclub that makes little money. Mir, though, is the heir of his father's empire. The law firm."

"You need powerful friends if you want to be powerful," my sister's words roll off my tongue.

Kadri cants her head toward me. "You don't understand. Nilam and Mir are best friends, and Laverna used Morox to forget Nilam. She chose to forget that Nilam loved her, and then she went for his best friend. Tell me there's a crueler way to break someone's heart."

My chest grows hollow at the realization. Nilam still loves her. A single glance is enough to see that. How his face brightened when he saw Lav at his club; how he brought her a blanket and tea when she returned to the apartment, tired and tipsy. And didn't he come here tonight just to see her?

"Mir will never look at her," Kadri continues, "because Mir--"

"Because I what?"

Caught off guard, Kadri and I whirl in our places. Goosebumps crawl down the nape of my neck as Mir stands before us, his features unreadable.

"Kadri, you do know that other people's secrets are only valuable to you while you keep them, right?" he asks, and his expression shifts into something akin to amusement. "I thought you came here with Ady."

"So?"

"So where is he?"

Kadri's face pinches with concern as her eyes roam over the guests and don't find Adélard. "Shit, not again," she mutters, grabs her drink from the counter, and then quickly strides off. I can only guess what Ady has done again. It seems Mir doesn't even need magic to persuade others to do his bidding. Or maybe it's him who knows everyone's secrets, not Kadri, not Lav.

But he doesn't know mine. And it drives him crazy.

"Why did you invite me here tonight, Mir?" I ask as he flippantly fishes a mint leaf out of his emptied cocktail glass and puts it on the tip of his tongue. "We both know there's no place for me in your world."

He chews the mint, pensive. "We do?"

Is this a joke? A game when he's first angry with me for no reason and then happy to see me a minute later for no reason as well? Is this his attempt to manipulate me into telling him my secrets? He's one of those unfathomable people who pretend to be flawless, to be above all hurting feelings and mistakes. But nobody's flawless, that's the law even magic can't break. So I can only speculate about what hurricane reigns his mind and who incited that hurricane.

"What?" A confused line appears between his eyebrows when I keep staring at him with no answer.

"Are you drunk?"

He stops chewing. "No." He sets his empty glass on the counter behind my back, his shirt brushing my shoulder slightly too close to be by accident. "Unfortunately. You?"

He is joking. We've arrived at the point when he begins veiling his real feelings behind jokes. Fantastic. Well, I can play this game too.

"No." I place my drained glass of champagne next to his. "Unfortunately."

"Good. Come then. I want to show you something."

Without bothering to check that I follow, Mir heads toward the other side of the basilica, to the row of the photo stands beside which he's been talking to people a few minutes ago. As Lav said, all the pictures are Seraph-themed, the shots of angelic statues and domed cathedrals and churches.

"You wanted to know who would I be if not a lawyer," Mir says, halting in front of one of the images. "Here it is. I guess."

For a beat, I'm not sure what I'm looking at. It's not an angel, even though she looks like one under the bright gallery lights. A girl painted with silver dust, a divine creature fallen asleep.

"Jasna." Her name forms on my lips before I can think it.

It's one of Jasna's photos Mir showed me the night he resurrected me. So he took those pictures himself? She rests amidst the green grass by the pond we've visited. The camera is positioned on the ground and angled just so that it feels like Jasna offers the viewer her silvery hand. Like you can reach out, and touch her, and step into the photo, into this enchanted world of her dreams. Her face is averted from the camera though--she doesn't want you to touch her--and a shiny lock of her hair covers her cheek so you can't even catch a glimpse of her eyes and try to recognize her.

It is a shot of a talented artist, a mesmerizing mixture of fantasy and reality, life and death. Who if not a lawyer? A photographer. Did Mir invite me here to tell this? Does he really trust me now?

"Say something," Mir prompts.

"That's supposed to be a crime scene," I blurt out instead of admitting I love the photo.

Mir sighs. "One of my university professors accidentally saw the printed photo tucked between the pages of my notebook. He called it one of a kind and asked me to bring it for the exhibition. Among all the pictures I took, do you think I wanted to be praised for the one of a half-dead girl? But I couldn't say Sorry, no, this is my personal project where I hunt a supernatural murderer who hunts me."

"So for people here, it's art."

"Yes. Deadly art."

Sliding down to the name of the photograph author, my eyes land on the tag.

Mir Praejis.

Praejis?

Praejis.

No. The name is a needle driven into my memory. It can't be. The business card I stashed beneath the cathedral walls, along with my pendant, had this name on it. The business card I found in Vlad's wallet. The name I followed that last night of my life in my despaired attempt to find him.

Mir hasn't told me his full name, I realize. Not once.

Mir Praejis. And the person who that business card belonged to? Igor Praejis, Mir's father. Only when I came to the address the card mentioned, I didn't find Vlad--I found Igor Praejis. Murdered. Then the police arrived, and I ended up shot and bleeding, trying to escape--when my emotions wouldn't obey me anymore because all that was left of them was fear. When my magic, answering to my fear, turned to chaos defending me and spreading death everywhere around me... When I earned my title.

The Queen of the Dead.

Everyone believed I killed Igor Praejis.

Liar.

Mir believes I killed his father.

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