Cecilia Monroe was sitting at her vanity, reading a book by the flickering candlelight, when she heard the sound of her balcony door swing open.

She looked up, expecting to see that the latch had come undone from the wind. Instead, she saw Charles standing in her bedroom.

"Charles," she said, pulling her dressing gown around herself. "I'm not decent."

But Charles wasn't looking at her attire. His eyes were dead and dull, full of a gravity that frightened her. The darkness under his lids made him look like a man who had just crawled out of his own grave.

"Is your father home?" he asked. His voice sounded strange, as if he were possessed.

"N-no," Cecilia said, standing up. "He stepped out."

"Where did he go?"

"I-I don't know. I think he plays Whist on Sundays. With some of his friends."

Charles walked towards her, slowly. "I don't believe you. Tell me where he is."

Cecilia countered Charles' movements, working her way around the edge of the room. "Charles, what is going on? You're scaring me."

"You and your father have something of mine," he continued, "and you're going to tell me where it is."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Cecilia had made it so her back was to the balcony. She made a quick calculation, wondering if she could make a run for it: dangle off the edge, fall the one floor down into the bushes, and escape into the night. But before she could make up her mind, she was grabbed—roughly—from behind.

She screamed, looked back, and realized she was being held by Charles' cousin, Lavinia.

"Lavinia!" she cried, but the woman wrapped an arm around her and pressed a cloth over her nose and mouth. The smell made her head spin. The last thing Cecilia heard before succumbing to the darkness was Lavinia murmuring, "You're coming with us."

Charles stared at the body of his fiancée lying limp on the hardwood floor.

It was the same spot in their parlor that Lillian had been just a few days before. Only this time, instead of Juliette's lightning cage keeping her hostage, there was a large rune circle transcribed in Charles' blood.

Charles didn't like blood magick: it was a messy, primitive, and typically left a bad taste in his mouth. But sometimes, in situations where rage and madness coursed through his body, blood magick worked the best. And right now, he was furious. He couldn't even feel the cut he had made on his arm.

Slowly, Cecilia stirred. When she opened her eyes, she tried to scramble out of the circle, but that was impossible: the blood magick held her, trapping her within an invisible barrier. Once she realized this, she surveyed those who were gathered in the parlor: Charles, Lillian, and James. Her eyes were wide and fearful, and with it came that sickening sense of calmness, of trust, washing over Charles, toying with his mind, telling him to set her free...

But he was used to her games. "Don't get near her," he told James, who had unwittingly taken a step forward. Although she was bound by Charles' blood, if anyone besides him crossed the pentagram, she'd be able to escape. "It's her power. She's toying with you."

James looked uncomfortable, his eyes red from worry and spilt tears. Lillian, meanwhile, had a hardened look on her face. She had spilled enough tears for one night. Now she was ready to get answers.

"Charles," Cecilia whispered, her voice a half-choked sob. "Charles, please. What's going on? I'm... I'm confused. And I'm scared."

Charles crouched down so he was eye level with his fiancée. He had never seen her with so much as a hair out of place, but now she was a pathetic mess curled up on the floor.

"This," Charles said, pointing to Lillian, "isn't my cousin. This is actually the thief who attacked me the other night."

Cecilia's eyes widened further in terror as she took in Lillian's stony countenance.

"And I lied to you about Juliette. I didn't hire her to perform at your father's banquet. I hired her because I thought I needed a battle mage to protect me. The problem is, I thought I needed protection from Lillian. But who I actually needed protection from was you."

Cecilia gasped. "Wh-what?"

"We know what you and your father are doing," Lillian hissed. "Sacrificing mage children to absorb their powers."

"What? No," Cecilia insisted. "You must be mistaken." She looked at James. "James, please. You must believe me. You must."

James looked absolutely miserable. "I want to believe you Cecilia," he mumbled. "But I can't. Charles and Lillian saw you at the orphanage today. They saw you bring that boy Elijah to a pair of cult members, people who would have killed him had Charles, Lillian, and Juliette not intervened. And after almost getting killed himself, Charles saw a memory of your father... slicing a little girl's throat."

Cecilia's mouth dropped open. "No, you must be mistaken—" she started, but Charles cut her off; he didn't have time to listen to her excuses.

"Juliette is missing," he growled. "She was abducted off the streets just an hour ago. Where is she?"

"I don't know! I don't know anything about this. Please. Please believe me Charles."

Charles pressed his lips together. Un-swayed, he turned to James and nodded his head.

James blew out his breath, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. He took a few steps forward and grabbed a vial off of the mantle of the fireplace. The liquid inside was a dirty green, and as soon as he uncorked the top, the smell of rotting flesh filled the parlor. He passed the vial down to Charles.

Cecilia eyed the bottle with wide eyes. "What is that?" she whispered, trying to scuttle away from him.

"A truth potion," Charles said, passing it through the circle of blood. "Drink it. Don't make me force it down your throat."

Cecilia stared down at the vial for a long time. Then, she seemed to suddenly make up her mind. In one quick movement, she grasped the bottle, closed her eyes, and drank it all. She gagged as the potion made its way down her throat, and when she finally opened her eyes, they were watering.

Charles knew the potion would take a moment to worm its way into her system, so he waited a few painstaking seconds before starting his questioning.

"Cecilia," he addressed her, "where is Juliette?"

"I don't know."

Charles frowned. It was the same response she had said before. He looked back at Lillian, whose eyes were narrowed. "You need to be precise with your wording," she said. "Skilled mages can skirt around the truth, even with truth potions in their systems."

Charles turned back to Cecilia. "Are you involved in a cult that sacrifices children?"

"No."

"What about your father?"

"I don't know!" she insisted. And now the words were flowing out of her mouth, in that frantic rush that Charles recognized from when he had taken the truth potion. "I've never been involved with a cult and I don't know what you're are talking about and it's frightening me. My father asked me to help with the adoptions because he said children get nervous when they meet their new parents. I don't know where he is right now, and I don't know where Juliette is and I'm... I'm so scared and I don't know what's going on." And now she was sobbing, burying her face into her dressing gown.

There was stunned silence as everyone watched her cry.

"I... I think she's telling the truth," James said.

"Her father could have trained her to resist the potion," Lillian bit back, glaring at Cecilia. Her hand twitched. "Let me at her."

Although Charles knew that finding Juliette was a time sensitive matter, he didn't think Lillian trying to beat the truth out of his fiancée would work. And yet he didn't know what else to do.

Suddenly Cecilia looked up, eyes wide and frantic, and she pressed her hands against the invisible barrier. "Charles," she said, "I'm sorry I lied about not being a mage. But I promise I'm not lying about this. I'm not. And I can prove it." She hesitated for a moment, then said, "Enter my mind. Go through my memories. See that I'm telling the truth."

Charles froze. He had never intentionally entered the mind of anyone close to him. He had always tried to keep his work life and his personal life separate, and sifting through the memories of those closest to him—even at someone's request—seemed like a gross invasion of privacy. But now, with Juliette missing, likely tied up with a blade to her throat, he didn't have time to question his morals.

He reached into the circle and took hold of Cecilia's hand. She closed her eyes, lip trembling. And that was the last thing he saw before he entered her mind.

The parlor disappeared, replaced by a flood of memories rushing around him, swallowing him up in a great storm that mimicked Cecilia's distress. However, a single streak of light lingered in front of him: a memory that Cecilia was focused on, something she wanted him to see.

From his vantage point, he could make out the familiar halls of the orphanage. Reaching out, he pulled the memory towards him, letting himself be engulfed by the shining golden light.

When he settled in, he realized Cecilia had summoned a memory from earlier that day. He stood in her body, reliving the moment she had watched Elijah walk out of the orphanage with the Tennysons. Charles could feel Cecilia's emotions pulsing through him: pride and joy at helping yet another poor child find a home.

Cecilia didn't believe Elijah was going to his death; she thought he was going home.

As the memory faded away, orphanage walls disappearing, Charles found himself lingering in Cecilia's mind. She didn't know about Elijah, he thought, but this doesn't prove her innocence. Perhaps she knew about some of the other children.

He called out into her mind, willing other memories to show themselves. He could almost feel their reluctance, and found himself digging in deeper, using more energy than he ever had to pull the memories into place. He knew that Cecilia could sense that he had moved away from the memory she had provided, that he was sifting through her mind and could likely uncover memories she hadn't want him to see. He could feel her fighting against the invasion of privacy, but he didn't have time to worry about her comfort. He needed know the truth.

Soon he had several memories lined up in front of him. He flipped through them quickly, watching each of Cecilia's interactions with the various children at the orphanage and gauging her emotions in each moment. He saw Juliette's friend Emma—bright-faced, cheerful, so full of life—and the little boy Lillian had stumbled upon two weeks ago. Both times, he could tell that Cecilia had been blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. That she had truly thought she was leading these children to brighter futures instead of to their dark fates.

She's telling the truth, Charles realized, and suddenly the anger and denial he had been clinging to all day melted away in a rush.

He hadn't realized how much of his emotions he had been suppressing, how much the betrayal had stung him that morning. And now that he knew the truth, now that he realized his worst fears were nothing but worried thoughts, he couldn't help but be overjoyed.

As if sensing his change of emotions, several new memories appeared before him, begging to be seen. Almost without realizing what he was doing, Charles started skimming through them.

He was surprised to see that they were memories of Cecilia courting other men—attractive men, likely from good families—before she had met Charles. There were supervised trips to the park, and small dinner parties, and moonlit carriage rides. But despite all these moments of joy, each memory ended the same: with each man looking at her darkly, betrayal in their eyes, as they excused themselves from her life.

And then there was one final memory. It was from early that morning, of her and Charles in the garden. He could feel Cecilia's emotions: her deep love for him, her gentle concern when she noticed that something wasn't right, and then all of her fears and insecurities surging up, like a terrifying wave, when she realized that Charles knew the truth about her and would likely leave like all the others...

When Charles finally returned to the parlor, Cecilia was looking up at him with wide, tear-stained eyes. She was small and pale and fragile, and yet all he could see was the beautiful woman he had fallen in love with, the one who made his heart leap with glee.

He reached down and smeared the circle of blood, breaking the enchantment that trapped her. She tumbled into his arms as soon as the barrier melted away, and he found himself holding her, so tightly, and pressing his lips into her auburn hair.

"She's telling the truth," he said. "She's telling the truth." He nearly sobbed. "I'm sorry."

While James rushed forward to wrap Cecilia in a hug, Lillian let out a frustrated groan and kicked a wall. Charles jumped at the loud thud, but Lillian didn't look like she was about to apologize. "That's great," she muttered. "Your fiancée isn't a liar. But if she doesn't know anything, it doesn't get us any closer to finding Juliette."

Cecilia wiped the tears from her face and shakily stood up, holding onto Charles for support. "I'm so confused, Charles. You think... you think my father is involved in this cult?"

"Not think," Charles said. "I know. I have the memory in my study. It shows him slitting a young girl's throat. And now that Juliette is gone..." He trailed off, not daring to think about it.

Cecilia pressed her lips together. "Can I see it? The memory?"

Charles looked over at Lillian, who seemed irritated by the whole scene, but she nodded.

Charles led Cecilia into his study. He poured the yellow memory into his sieve and let Cecilia peer into its depths. At one point, she gasped and looked away from the bowl, eyes shut tight at what she had just witnessed.

"And you're sure," she asked quietly, "that this memory hasn't been tampered with?"

"I can tell," Charles said. "It's real."

Cecilia put her hands over her face. "I don't understand why my father would do this—"

"Power," Lillian said bitterly. "Fame. Innate cruelty. It doesn't matter why. What matters is we need to find him before Juliette is slaughtered. And so far, you've been particularly useless."

If Lillian thought that her comments would make Cecilia shirk back in fear, she was wrong. Instead, the redhead set out her chin and looked Lillian straight in the eyes. "I wasn't lying when I said I didn't know where he is. But that doesn't mean no one knows where he is. Foote, our coachman, takes him everywhere. He can take us to him."

Charles heard James' sharp intake of breath when Cecilia said the name "Foote." Charles knew what he was thinking: getting Foote involved meant he was putting him in danger. And yet they needed his help.

And at the same time, the word "us" was echoing through Charles' mind. He can take us to him.

Us. "Cecilia," Charles warned, "if you come with us, you have to be prepared to..." He trailed off, uncertain exactly what to say. Kill? Or be killed? Instead, he said, "Our lives will be in grave danger, and I don't know what we'll have to do to stop your father."

Cecilia clenched her teeth. "I know. But that memory is horrendous. And I... I couldn't live with myself if I let this go on without trying to stop it."

Charles knew he should be feeling more frightened, but right then, at that very moment, a wave of relief washed over him. It felt so good to have Cecilia on his side again. "Okay," he said, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Let's stop this then."

Lillian rolled her eyes and slipped on her shoes. "Enough talking. We have to find Foote. Now."

And just like that, the four of them set off into the night.