Some families pass down recipes. The Valentines pass down magic — woven into silk, spun into gold thread, sewn into the linings of gowns that make entire rooms feel something they can't explain.
Seventeen-year-old Izzy Valentine knows the rules: don't stare at the mirrors, don't touch the black-cloth shelves, and never, ever bleed on anything in the archive.
She breaks all three in one night.
Now the wards are down, the dead are awake, and a rival fashion house is herding something ancient and hungry toward the Valentine runway in Paris. Izzy has nine days, a ghost in a jet-beaded dress who has been watching from the mirrors for ninety-four years, and a collection that has never been more alive.
Fashion Week has never been more dangerous.
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