“I’m not the same person I was, Jean.” The words, so different than before—so true—fell heavy from my lips. Final. “But neither are you. We’ll never be what we were. But here, now, I’m not asking for your friendship. Morgane is near, and together—regardless of our past—we have a real chance to finish her.”

“You thought she’d attack at the funeral. You were wrong.”

Unbidden, more truth spilled forth. I felt lighter with each word. “I thought whatever I needed to think to attend the Archbishop’s funeral.” I hadn’t realized it at the time. Perhaps couldn’t have realized it. And though I’d thought wrong, I didn’t regret it. I couldn’t. He started to argue, but I pushed forward before the next words died in my throat. Forced myself to meet his gaze directly. “Jean. I . . . I never knew about Célie.”

He stiffened.

“If I’d known how you felt, I would’ve . . .” What? Not accepted her love? Not accepted the Archbishop’s? Would I not have fought him in the tournament or taken my oath? Would I have given up my dreams because he wanted them too? “I’m sorry,” I said simply.

And I was. I was sorry life had dealt us the same cards. I was sorry for his pain, for the suffering I’d inadvertently caused him. I couldn’t take it away, but I could acknowledge it. I could open the door for us. I couldn’t, however, force him to step through it.

A tense moment passed before he dipped his chin, but I recognized that nod for what it was—a single step.

Without another word, we continued our search. It took another half hour for Blaise to catch Lou’s scent. “She is close.” He frowned, creeping toward the tunnel ahead. “But there are others. I can hear their heartbeats, their breaths—” He skidded backward abruptly, eyes wide as he turned. “Run.”

Chasseurs rounded the corner.

Balisardas lifted, they recognized me immediately and charged. Philippe led them. When Jean Luc leapt in front of us, however—shoving me backward, out of their line of fire—they staggered to a halt. “What is this?” Philippe snarled. He didn’t lower his blade. His eyes fell to Jean Luc’s own Balisarda. “Where did you . . . ?”

“Reid returned it to me.”

Those behind Philippe shifted uncomfortably. They disliked this new information. I was a witch. A murderer. Confusion, unease flitted across their faces as they took in Jean’s protective stance. “Why are you here, Captain?” Philippe jerked his chin toward me. “He is our enemy. They all are.”

“A necessary evil.” After a single, hesitant look in my direction, Jean Luc straightened his shoulders. “We have new orders, men. Morgane is here. We find her, and we kill her.”

The Mirrored Grave

Lou

In the middle of the catacombs, I found the Tremblay family tomb.

Never before had I hoped I was wrong as fervently as I did now—and never before had I felt so sick. As with the other tombs, skulls lined the shelves here, marking each ancestor’s final resting place. It was a custom I’d never understood. Witches didn’t decapitate their dead. Did one remove the deceased’s head before or after decomposition? Or—or did they do it during the embalming process? And for that matter, who was responsible for doing it in the first place? Surely not the family. My stomach churned at the thought of sawing through a loved one’s bones, and I decided I didn’t want to know the answers after all.

My steps grew heavier, leaden, the farther I crept into the room until finally—finally—I found her name carved into a pretty rosewood casket.

FILIPPA ALLOUETTE TREMBLAY

Beloved daughter and sister

“Célie? Are you in there?”

There was no answer.

At least Filippa’s skull hadn’t yet been displayed.

Muscles straining, I pried at the casket’s lid, but it didn’t budge. After several moments of struggling in vain, I panted, “I don’t know if you can hear me—and I really hope you’re not in there, in which case I apologize profusely to your sister—but this isn’t working. The damn thing is too heavy. I’ll have to magic you out.”

A rock skittered across the ground behind me, and I whirled, hands lifted.

“Ansel?” Mouth falling open, I dropped my hands. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

He took in the skulls with wide eyes. “When the others left, I tried the trapdoor again. I had a hunch.” He gave me a tentative smile. “After what happened with Coco, I knew you’d try to be more careful with your magic, with the patterns you could safely maintain, and sealing the door against just Reid . . . it seemed simpler than sealing it against everyone else or sealing it permanently. I was right. When it opened, I followed the first tunnel. It led me straight here.”

“That’s impossible.” I stared at him incredulously. “That tunnel is a dead end. You must’ve gotten turned around in the dark. Where are the others?”

“They went to a cemetery entrance.”

“A cemetery entrance.” Instinctively, I released the pattern keeping hold of my heart, and all the love I felt for Reid—all the despair, all the panic—surged through me in a disorienting wave. I stumbled slightly under its magnitude. “Shit. Did Reid—?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. He told me to stay behind, but I—I couldn’t. I had to help you somehow. Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad? I’m not—” A sudden, terrible thought caught my throat in its fist. No. I shook my head, reeling at the complete absurdity of it. Choking with laughter. To him, to myself, I said, “No, no, no. I’m not mad.”

No, no, no, my thoughts echoed, repeating the word like a talisman.

Pasting on a bright smile, I looped my elbow through his and tugged him to my side. “There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. I just think, under the circumstances, Reid might’ve been right. It’d be better if you returned to the tavern and waited—”

He pulled away, eyes flashing with hurt. “It’s almost midnight, and you haven’t found Célie. I can help.”

“Actually, I might’ve found her—”

“Where is she?” He glanced at the skulls and caskets, anxiety creasing his brow. “Is she alive?”

“I think so, but I’m having a little trouble—”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“No, I think it’s better if you—”

“What’s the problem?” His voice rose. “Do you not think I can do it?”

“You know that’s not what I—”

“Then what is it? I can help. I want to help.”

“I know you do, but—”

“I’m not a child, Lou, and I’m sick and tired of everyone treating me like one! I’m almost seventeen! That’s a year older than you were when you saved the kingdom—”

“When I fled,” I said sharply, losing my patience. “Ansel, I fled, and now I’m asking you to do the same—”

“Why?” he exploded, throwing his hands in the air. Color bloomed on his cheeks, and his eyes burned overbright. “You once told me I’m not worthless, but I still don’t believe you. I can’t fight. I can’t cast enchantments. Let me prove I can do something—”

I swore loudly. “How many times do I have to tell you, Ansel? You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“Then let me prove it to myself.” Voice breaking on the word, he cringed and dropped his gaze. Stared dejectedly at his fists. “Please.”

My heart broke at the sight of him. He thought he was worthless. No, he believed it, deep down in his bones, and I—I could do nothing about it. Not now. Not with his life at stake. Perhaps he wasn’t worth much to the world, to himself, but to me . . . to me, he was precious beyond value. If there was even a chance . . .

A man close to your heart will die.

I loathed myself for what I was about to do.

“You’re right, Ansel.” My voice hardened. If I told him the truth, he would balk. He’d refuse to leave. I needed to hurt him badly enough that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—stay. I nodded and crossed my arms. “You want me to say it? You’re right. You wreck everything you touch. You can’t even walk without stumbling, let alone wield a sword. You can’t talk to a woman without blushing, so how could you save one? Honestly, it’s—it’s tragic how helpless you are.”

With each word, he crumbled more, tears sparkling in his eyes, but I wasn’t finished.

“You say you’re not a child, Ansel, but you are. You are. It’s like—you’re a little boy playing pretend, dressing up with our coats and boots. We’ve let you tag along for laughs, but now the time for games is done. A woman’s life is in danger—my life is in danger. We can’t afford for you to mess this up. I’m sorry.”

Face ashen, he said nothing.

“Now,” I said, forcing myself to continue, to breathe, “you’re going to turn around and march back up the tunnel. You’re going to return to the tavern, and you’re going to hide in your room until it’s safe. Do you understand?”

He stared at me, pressing his lips together to stop their trembling. “No.”

“No, you don’t understand?”

“No.” He stood a little taller, wiping an errant tear from his cheek. “I will not.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no, I will—”

My eyes narrowed. “I heard what you said. I’m giving you a chance to reconsider.”