Blaise growled low in agreement.

Claud persuading the innkeeper to let his rooms to witches and werewolves had been nothing. Claud persuading the blood witches and werewolves not to tear a huntsman limb from limb, however, was proving more difficult. Jean Luc didn’t seem to realize the precariousness of his situation—especially as his holy stick remained tucked out of sight in Reid’s bandolier. To Reid’s credit, he didn’t reveal his old friend’s secret. If the blood witches suspected Jean Luc defenseless, they wouldn’t hesitate to attack.

Terrance knew, however. His lip curled in anticipation as he looked between Reid and Jean Luc.

“And where is she, exactly?” Coco had gravitated back to her kin, standing between La Voisin and Nicholina. “Have you managed to divine her location from Morgane’s riddles?”

Jean Luc gestured to the rumpled papers. “She’s—she’s in the tunnels. In this Skull Masquerade.”

“The tunnels are vast, Captain.” Claud turned a tarot card over in his fingers again and again. At my repeated glances, he extended it to me. It wasn’t a tarot card at all. Upon closer inspection, this card was crimson, not black, and painted with a leering skull. Gold letters that read Nous Tombons Tous curled into the shape of its mouth and teeth. At the top, Claud Deveraux and his Troupe de Fortune had been inked in meticulous calligraphy. An invitation. I handed it back with an ominous feeling. “They traverse the entire city,” Claud continued. “Our search will continue long after midnight without proper direction.”

“She’s given us direction,” Zenna pointed out. “She cries alone within her pall and trapped within a mirrored grave couldn’t be more obvious. She’s in the catacombs.”

The catacombs. Shit.

“She has given us nothing,” Claud said sharply. When Zenna’s eyes flashed, his voice softened. “Alas, we must cancel our performance, mes chers. The world below is not safe tonight. I fear you must return to your rooms, where you might escape Morgane’s notice. Toulouse and Thierry will join you there.”

Zenna’s eyes flashed. “The witch does not scare me.”

Claud’s face grew grave. “She should.” To Seraphine, he added, “Perhaps you could . . . ruminate on the situation.”

She clutched the cross at her throat, staring at him with wide eyes.

Once again, I turned to Reid, but he remained as if carved from stone. A statue. I sighed. “The catacombs will still take several hours to search. Does anyone have the time?”

Deveraux pulled out his pocket watch—a silly, gilded contraption. “Just shy of nine o’clock in the evening.”

“Three hours.” I nodded to myself, trying to infuse optimism into my words. “We can find her in three hours.”

“I can perhaps buy you an extra hour or two,” Claud offered, “if I find Morgane before we find this Célie. We have much to debate, La Dame des Sorcières and I.” He ambled to his feet, abruptly relaxed once more—as if we discussed the weather and not abduction and murder. “The hour draws late, Monsieur Diggory. It is clear none wish to proceed without your blessing. A decision must be made. Will we ignore La Dame des Sorcières’ threat, or will we venture into La Mascarade des Cranes to rescue your lady fair? All paths involve considerable risk to those you love.”

Your lady fair. I couldn’t help a grimace. Those you love.

Reid’s eyes snapped to mine, not missing the movement. Neither did Jean Luc. He pressed closer to Reid, unwilling or unable to hide his desperation. “Reid.” He touched a hand to Reid’s chest, tapping insistently. “Reid, this is Célie. You aren’t going to leave her in the hands of that madwoman, are you?”

If Reid wondered about Jean Luc’s sudden interest in Célie, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he’d known. Perhaps he’d known all along. He didn’t break eye contact with me. “No.”

“Thank God.” Jean Luc allowed himself a brief second of relief before nodding. “We haven’t a moment to lose. Let’s go—”

Reid stepped around him to face me. I forced myself to return his gaze, knowing his next words before he even opened his mouth. “Lou, I . . . I don’t think you should come. This is a trap.”

“Of course it’s a trap. It’s always been a trap.”

At last, La Voisin broke her silence. “If you need reassurance of her safety, huntsman, I can provide it.” If Nicholina had been capable, she might’ve bounced on the balls of her feet. As it was, she tittered girlishly. “A bit of Louise’s blood will show me her future.” She extended her hand to me with an inscrutable expression. “If she dares.”

The werewolves looked on uneasily, shifting their feet. Though they remained in their human forms, their nails had sharpened amidst the panic. An instinctive reaction, I presumed.

“No.” Coco slapped her aunt’s hand away—actually slapped it—and stepped in front of her. “If anyone tastes Lou’s blood, it’ll be me.”

La Voisin’s lip curled. “You do not have my skill with divination, niece.”

“I don’t care.” Coco squared her shoulders before asking me silent permission with her eyes. If I said no, she wouldn’t ask again. She wouldn’t let the others ask either. She’d accept my decision, and we would find another way forward. “It’s me or no one.”

Inexplicably nervous, I placed my hand in hers. I didn’t fear Coco. She wouldn’t abuse my blood in her system. She wouldn’t attempt to control me. No, I feared what she might see. When she lifted my finger to her mouth, the blood witches—even the werewolves—seemed to press closer in response. In anticipation. Reid seized my wrist. “You don’t have to do this.” Panic laced his voice. “Whatever this is.”

I gave a grim smile. “It’s better to know, isn’t it?”

“Rarely,” Claud cautioned.

“Just do it,” I said.

Without another word, Coco pierced the pad of my finger with her incisor, drawing a single bead of blood into her mouth. I didn’t turn to see the others’ reactions, instead watching as Coco closed her eyes in concentration. After several tense seconds, I whispered, “Coco?”

Her eyes snapped open, rolling to the back of her head. Though I’d seen her scour the future countless times before, I still shivered at the way those white, sightless eyes studied my face. At least I’d been prepared for it. The others gasped audibly—some cursing, some retching—as Ansel darted forward. His hands fluttered around her, helpless, as if he was unsure whether or not he could touch her. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“Shut up, and she’ll tell us,” Beau said, watching her with rapt attention.

“Lou . . .” Reid edged closer, his hand slipping into mine. “What is this?”

“She’s fine.” I glanced back at the werewolves, who—standing in the tavern of a dirty inn, watching a witch divine the future—seemed to be questioning their life choices. Jean Luc’s face contorted with disgust. “Just give her a moment.”

When Coco touched my cheek, everyone drew a collective breath. “I see death,” she said, voice deep and strange.

A beat passed as we all stared at her.

“I see death,” she repeated, tilting her head, “but not your own.” Reid exhaled in a sigh of relief. The movement attracted Coco. Her eerie gaze flicked between us, through us. My chest tightened at that look. This wasn’t over. This wasn’t good, and Reid didn’t seem to understand—

“By the stroke of midnight, a man close to your heart will die.”

My hand slipped from Reid’s.

“What?” Ansel whispered, horrified.

“Who?” Pushing past us, Beau gripped Coco’s shoulder with sudden urgency. “What man?”

“I cannot see his face.”

“Damn it, Coco—”

“Let her go.” Through numb lips, I forced the words out, remembering her explanation from so long ago. Before the heist. Before Reid. Before everything. “All she can see is what my blood shows her.”

Beau stumbled back, crestfallen, before whirling to look at Reid. “We don’t know it’s you. It could be Ansel or Deveraux or—or that Bas fellow. Or the heart could be symbolic,” he added quickly, nodding. “You are her heart. Maybe—maybe it could mean a man close to you like—like Jean Luc or our father, or—”

“Or you,” Reid admitted quietly.

Beau whirled to face me. “Are there any other ex-boyfriends who—”

“Beau.” I shook my head, and he broke off, staring at his boots. I swallowed hard. My throat ached with unshed emotion, but only a fool cried over what hadn’t yet happened—what would not happen. A small voice in my head warned it unwise to poke fate in the nose, so I gave her the finger instead. Because I wouldn’t allow this. I wouldn’t accept it.

“Can you see anything else, Cosette?” More than one head turned at the cool, detached voice of La Voisin. She surveyed Coco dispassionately. “Ground yourself in the vision. Touch it. Taste it. Hone your focus however you can.”

But Coco’s hand merely fell from my cheek. Her eyelids fluttered shut. “You will lose the one you love.”