I find myself in a small ballroom lit by hundreds of candles. A small orchestra takes a break on a raised platform against the back wall. Men and women dressed in nineteenth-century ballroom attire stroll like royalty across a hardwood floor. The women wear flamboyant gowns of gleaming silk and transparent gauze in a variety of colors. The men wear black waistcoats with close-fitting pants, white shirts, and black or white cravats. A few of the men wear military dress uniforms with jackets of pale blue and burgundy, with gold buttons. This is a masquerade ball, and all the participants carry elaborate masks held on elegant sticks of carved wood or polished silver.

I feel a strong sense of bliss, as if I've entered some kind of utopia. I smell food and turn to find a table arrayed with biscuits and cut meats such as ham, steak, and tongue. I know the beef tongue ought to be disgusting me, but for some reason, it doesn't.

I look over at a window with a magnificent view of the night sky. The full moon is blue! I step closer and realize the window is tinted to produce the effect.

I study my reflection in the window. Larkin is a beautiful woman, now in her late twenties, with long dark hair and tan skin. It looks like she may have some Hispanic blood. She's come a long way from that little girl in the trash pit. Now she's living like a queen. I'm wearing a beautiful blue ball gown with bows on the bodice, and I'm carrying a crescent moon masquerade mask made of ivory and gold dust. It must be worth a fortune.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Rowan didn't destroy the world. I feel like I'm in heaven.

I turn back to observe the crowd. A young woman in a diaphanous white gown and a ruby cat-eye mask walks toward me from across the room. She looks like an angel coming to take me to heaven.

But she gets cut off by a stout matron in a green dress so dark it's nearly black. The older woman hurries up to me and makes a shallow curtsey. "Governor, we're so pleased to see you here. Are you enjoying the ball?" she asks.

Governor? Larkin is the Governor?

I have no idea who this woman is, or what I'm expected to say. So I nod, hoping that will suffice. Meanwhile, the woman in white waits patiently in the background.

It appears that I've crashed Larkin's party and taken over her body. I haven't had any dreams about her, so I know nothing about her life. I can sense her soul nearby, but she isn't here with me. I can't seem to access her memories. Why is that? Is it because I haven't spent as much time with her as I have with Hanna? Or is it because she's in my future, which hasn't happened to me yet? And why have I been drawn here? Why now? What is special about this moment in time?

The matron casts a sour look at an older man in a black top hat, speaking to a group of younger guys across the room. "I would keep an eye on that floor manager. He's been leaving several of our mature women without dance partners," she says.

I nod stupidly. What's a floor manager?

A handsome man with a salt-and-pepper beard emerges from the crowd. He has no mask. The silver buttons on his waistcoat twinkle under the light of the candle chandelier above.

The matron smiles and whispers to me. "The Mayor is headed this way. Best clear a space on your dance card," she says.

The older woman slips away, holding a green mask to her face.

The Mayor approaches with mild eyes and a courteous smile. He bends gracefully at the waist and extends his right hand. "Governor, will you give me the honor of this next dance? It's the waltz, I believe," he asks.

Oh crap, I have no idea how to ballroom dance!

The Mayor sees my hesitation. "Ah, I understand. Another gentleman precedes me. But several dances remain. May I sign your card?" he asks.

He extends his hand for the card.

They're using dance cards. Where does Larkin keep hers?

I search my dress and find a pocket sewed in the front of my waistline. I reach inside and pull out the tarot card. It's the same card that little Larkin had in the trash pit. Currently, it's upside down. I flip it upright, as she did, and study its worn, faded surface. The card is labeled "La Luna." It has a crescent moon, a lobster, and a pair of dogs or wolves at the bottom. I know nothing about tarot cards and have no idea what it all means. But one thing is certain, this is not my dance card.

I return the card to its little pocket. Immediately, my lovely mood disappears. I feel as if I've been slapped. The ballroom looks different now. I see dust on the floor, a crack in the window, and a wart on the Mayor's nose. It's a starkly negative view of reality, with everything painfully focused.

Now I understand the power of the tarot card. When it's upside down, I'm happy, and I see only a blissful fantasy world. When right-side up, I'm unhappy and see the ugly truth of the world in high-resolution. That is how little Larkin used the card to escape the creature in the pit. It gave her the clarity she needed to form a plan.

The Mayor points to my left hip. "I believe your card is there, Governor," he says.

I look around and see a little book with a small pencil dangling from a string. It's attached to my dress with a thin blue ribbon. I free the book from my dress and hand it to the Mayor, who signs the last available slot.

He returns the book to me with a smile. "It seems I'm just in time, dear Governor. I look forward to sharing the Schottische with you at the conclusion of the program," he says.

I nod as he departs. It seems I'm doing an awful lot of nodding.

The woman in white, who had been loitering in the background, continues toward me now. Before, she looked like a friendly angel. But now she appears as an avenging angel of death. I look into her soul and see a boiling cauldron of anger.

I step back as she approaches, gripping the stick of my mask like a weapon. Something is very wrong here.

A knife appears in the woman's hand and makes a smooth arc toward my throat.