Nieve turned to observe her, this Impress. Which was supposed to mean what? Queen of the imps? The thick veil shrouded her face entirely, which suggested that she was a fright, a gorgon with features too alarming to expose. Still, Nieve knew she had to prepare herself for the shock of seeing her unveiled. The woman (if she was a woman) was about to dine, after all. The table was set for two, with plates and glasses and silverware, and she had a sinking feeling that one place setting was intended for her.

She was right.

“Take a seat, please. You are late, but as this is your first night here, I have forgiven you. There will be many nights, dear, many many nights. Do sit down.”

Nieve took the seat indicated at the other end of the table, relieved to be situated some distance away from her. She’d been eyeing the peculiar ropey thing – some sort of bizarre jewelry? – that was slung around Elixibyss’ neck. Red as a sinew, it seemed to be alive, a skinned “thing” that twisted and writhed.

Repulsion overcame her alarm, and she blurted, “Why do you have that wall in front of your house? With those people . . . it’s horrible! ”

“Why, thank you. It is horrible, isn’t it. I’m so glad you like it. I do so enjoy being surrounded by people.”

Nieve stared at her dinner plate. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her.

“Bone china,” commented Elixibyss.

Nieve examined the plate and sucked in her breath. The bone-handled cutlery, the freckled, skin-soft napkins, the finger bowl containing what looked like . . .

“Marinated fingernails. A little something to nibble on if you’re nervous. I can understand how excited you must be to finally meet me . . . Nieve.”

That voice.

“You’re the one,” Nieve said, looking up at her quickly. The haunting and insinuating voice that had followed her when she’d been walking to Ferrets. Likewise the one that had burrowed into her head during that fog attack.

“I am the one, yes. Absolutely the One. I’ve been calling and calling you, Nieve. Because you’re mine.”

“I am not yours.” Trying not to be too obvious about it, she glanced aside, sizing-up the room. The double doors were the only way out, and the Weed Inspector had locked them.

“You can’t run. Not this time, not from me. ”

Nieve glared at her. If only she could penetrate that veil, she’d knock her out of her chair with a good blasting.

“You have spunk,” Elixibyss observed. “I like that.”

She continued to glare. “Did you follow us here? That was you, wasn’t it?”

“Follow you?” Elixibyss laughed. “Life’s too short. Well, it is for some people. Perhaps it was the boogeyman. Not a very solid citizen, I’m afraid.”

Joke all you want, thought Nieve, undeterred. “But you have Lias, you took him, I know it.”

“Ahh, the boy. Would you like to see him?”

“Yes,” she said, indignant. “Of course. You better not have hurt him, either.”

“Ha, you are so delicious, my dear. So feisty, eh?” She got up and walked over to the large object in the corner near the fireplace that was covered with a black felt cloth. “On the contrary, I’m keeping him safe.” Elixibyss whipped off the cloth. “Violà! Here you see a rebellious young heart where it belongs. In a rib cage!”

“Lias!”

Nieve jumped up, but the Impress stopped her with a pointed finger and a command, “Sit! Did I give you permission to leave the table? I did not.”

She sat back down, glowering.

Lias was imprisoned in what indeed was a cage made of ribs. Ribs and all kinds of other bones. A dismantled skeleton, minus the skull, had been assembled and wired together with more of that sinewy red stuff, forming a cage about the size of a medium dog kennel. No room to stand, Lias was curled up inside, face tucked into his knees, his fiery hair flat and lifeless on his head.

Elixibyss reached up and plucked a small gold box with a hinged lid off the mantel. She gave this a rough shake, an action which also seemed to make Lias shake. The contents, whatever they were, rattled around inside like dice.

“This little piggy . . . ”she said, amused, watching Lias tremble. She rattled the box once more and tormented him a moment longer before replacing it on the mantel and tossing the cloth back over the cage. “A harmless little game,” she explained to Nieve, as she strode back to the table and resumed her seat. “The boy and I, we understand one another.”

“Doesn’t look harmless to me,” Nieve said. “Looks vicious and cruel.”

“No more vicious and cruel than turning someone into a glob of jam.”

“What?”

“I understand that my head administrator at the hospital, Murdeth, has been discovered in a sticky situation, shall we say, on the floor of his office. Completely boiled down – nothing left but jam with eyebrows! A bore, if you must know, he’ll have to be replaced. But still, wickedly funny of you, my dear. I’m so glad to see you have a sense of humour.”

Lirk, Nieve thought, remembering the vial of acidic stuff he almost poured on her. “I didn’t have anything to do with . . . with that.”

“Now, now, don’t fib to your darling mother.”

“You’re not my mother!” The woman was clearly insane. Nieve realized she shouldn’t have said anything. Better to go along with her, not get her too worked up. She’d have to bide her time (assuming she had some) until she could rescue Lias . . . then together, Malcolm.

“Oh, but I am,” Elixibyss said quietly.

Nieve tried to hold her tongue, but failed. “My mother doesn’t trap anyone in cages, or offer fingernails to her guests to nibble on, or . . . or have moss growing on her arm. Or mould, whatever it is.” When the Impress had pointed at her earlier, the sleeve of her gown had fallen away, revealing a patch on her forearm that was greenish and weirdly furred.

“Ah, but does she look like this?” Elixibyss promptly raised her hands and flipped the veil back to show her face.

And Nieve, astonished, saw that it was true. It was . . . she did resemble her mother, shockingly so. The same eyes, the same nose, the same everything, including her smile.

No, the smile wasn’t quite right. It had a wryness, a twist of cruelty in it that Sophie’s never had.

“Let’s eat then, shall we!” Elixibyss rubbed her dead-white hands together in anticipation. “Weazen will bring our dinner presently, now that we’ve had our cozy little reunion. I’ll be dining on snake tonight, keeps one young, that’s the thing. And you, my love, will be having Gowl. You remember him, don’t you? Poor creature never quite got over that nasty turn you gave him, and I thought, well, what a shame to let him go to waste.”

Nieve said nothing, only stared and stared. If she were the fainting type, she might have done that and gotten some relief, a respite from this horror, from her, however brief. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t.