Evangeline shoved the newspaper clipping that had come out two weeks ago into the pocket of her patterned skirt. The door at the end of this run-down alley was only slightly taller than she was and hidden behind a rusty metal grate instead of being painted a beautiful bright red, but she would bet her father's shop of strange objects that this was the lost door. Nothing in the Temple District was this ugly. Every entrance here was made of carved wood, decorative cornices, glass canopies, and gilded locks. Her father was a religious man, but he used to say that the churches here were like vampires – they weren't made for worship, but to lure and trap. But this door was different. This door was nothing more than a rough piece of wood without a handle and with peeling white paint. This door did not want to be found.

Yet it could not hide from Evangeline what it truly was. Its jagged shape was unmistakable. One end was a sloping curve, the other a notched groove, and together they formed half of a broken heart – a symbol of the Prince of Hearts of Fate. At last. If hope were a pair of wings, Evangeline's were spreading behind her, eager to fly again. After two weeks of searching in the city of Valenda, she had found it.