“Coco! What a stupid risk—”
“I’ve been trying to find a way to speak with you all day, but the priests are relentless. I’ve been in training.” She pursed her lips at the word before drawing a wrinkled piece of parchment from her robes. I didn’t recognize the spiked handwriting, but I did recognize the dark stain of blood. The sharp scent of blood magic. “I sent a letter to my aunt, and she’s agreed to protect you. You can come back with me. The coven is camped near the city, but they won’t remain there long. They’re heading north within the fortnight. We can sneak out of here before anyone knows you’re gone.”
My stomach sank. “Coco, I . . .” Sighing, I looked around the austere room for an explanation. I couldn’t tell her I didn’t trust her aunt—or anyone except for her, for that matter. Not really. “I think this might be the safest place for me right now. A Chasseur literally just took an oath to protect me.”
“I don’t like it.” She shook her head fervently and rose to her feet. “You’re playing with fire here, Lou. Sooner or later, you will get burnt.”
I grinned halfheartedly. “Let’s hope for later, then.”
She glared at me. “This isn’t funny. You’re leaving your safety—your life—up to men who’ll burn you if they discover what you are.”
My grin faded. “No, I’m not.” When she looked likely to argue, I spoke over her. “I’m not. I swear I’m not. It’s why I came up here today—why I’ll keep coming up here every day until she comes for me. Because she will come for me, Coco. I won’t be able to hide forever.”
I paused, taking a deep breath.
“And when she does, I’m going to be ready. No more depending on tricks and costumes. Or Babette’s reconnaissance or Bas’s lineage. Or you.” I gave her an apologetic smile and twisted Angelica’s Ring on my finger. “It’s time I start being proactive. If this ring hadn’t been in Tremblay’s vault, I would’ve been in serious shit. I’ve let myself grow weak. The risk of discovery outside this corridor is too great, but here . . . here I can practice, and no one will ever know.”
She smiled, slow and broad, and looped her arm through mine. “That’s more like it. Except you’re wrong about one thing. You’ll absolutely keep depending on me, because I’m not going anywhere. We’ll practice together.”
I frowned, torn between begging her to stay and forcing her to go. But it wasn’t my decision, and I already knew what she’d tell me if I tried to force her to do anything. I’d learned my favorite swear words from her, after all. “It’ll be dangerous. Even with the smell disguising the magic, the Chasseurs could still discover us.”
“In which case you’ll need me here,” she pointed out, “so I can drain all the blood from their bodies.”
I stared at her. “Can you do that?”
“I’m not sure.” She winked and bade goodbye to Monsieur Bernard. “Perhaps we should find out.”
The Escape
Lou
Lavender-scented bubbles and warm water were lapping around my ribs when my husband returned later that afternoon. His voice echoed through the walls. “Is she in there?”
“Yes, but—”
The tête carrée didn’t pause to listen or to question why Ansel stood in the corridor instead of in the bedroom. I grinned in anticipation. Though he was going to ruin my bath, the look on his face would make up for it.
Sure enough, he burst into the bedroom a second later. I watched as his eyes swept the room, searching for me.
Ansel had removed the washroom door in an attempt to patch the hole my husband had punched through it earlier, but I hadn’t waited for him to finish. The frame now stood gloriously empty, a perfect showcase for my soapy, naked skin. And his humiliation. It didn’t take long for him to find me. That same, wonderful choking noise burst from his throat, and his eyes widened.
I gave a cheery wave. “Hello there.”
“I—what are you—Ansel!” He nearly collided with the doorframe in his effort to flee. “I asked you to fix the door!”
Ansel’s voice rose hysterically. “There wasn’t time—”
With a growl of impatience, my husband slammed the bedroom door shut.
I imagined a bubble as his face and flicked it. Then another. And another. “You’re very rude to him, you know.”
He didn’t speak. Probably trying to control the blood rushing to his face. I could still see it, though. It crept up his neck and blended into his coppery hair. Leaning forward, I folded my arms over the edge of the tub. “Where have you been?”
His back stiffened, but he didn’t turn. “We didn’t catch them.”
“Andre and Grue?”
He nodded.
“So what happens now?”
“We have Chasseurs monitoring East End. With any luck, we’ll apprehend them soon, and they’ll each spend several years in prison for assault.”
“After they give you information on my friend.”
“After they give me information on the witch.”
I rolled my eyes, flinging water at the back of his head. It soaked his copper hair and cascaded down the collar of his shirt. He whirled indignantly, fists clenched—then stopped short, slamming his eyes shut.
“Can you put something on?” He waved a hand in my direction, the other firmly pressed against his eyes. “I can’t talk to you when you’re sitting there—sitting there—”
“Naked?”
His teeth clamped together with an audible snap. “Yes.”
“Sorry, but no. I haven’t finished washing my hair yet.” I slid back beneath the bubbles with an irritated sigh. Water lapped against my collarbone. “But you can look now. All my fun bits are covered.”
He cracked an eye open. Upon seeing me safely beneath the foam, he relaxed—or relaxed as much as someone like him was capable. He had a permanent stick up his ass, this husband of mine.
He moved closer cautiously and leaned against the empty doorframe. I ignored him, dumping more of the lavender soap in my palm. We were both silent as he watched me lather my hair.
“Where did you get those scars?” he asked.
I didn’t pause. Though mine were nothing compared to Coco’s and Babette’s, I still had quite a few. A hazard of a life on the streets. “Which ones?”
“All of them.”
I risked a glance at him then, and my heart plummeted when I realized he was staring at my throat. I directed him to my shoulder instead, pointing at the long, jagged line there. “Ran into the wrong end of a knife.” I held up my elbow to show him another speckling of scars. “Tangled with a barbed-wire fence.” Tapped beneath my collarbone. “Another knife. That one hurt like a bitch too.”
He ignored my language, eyes inscrutable as he stared at me. “Who did it?”
“Andre.” I dipped my hair back into the water, smiling when he averted his eyes. Hair clean, I wrapped my arms around my shins and rested my chin on my knees. “He got the jump on me when I first arrived in the city.”
He sighed heavily, as if he were suddenly weary. “I’m sorry we didn’t find them.”
“You will.”
“Oh?”
“They aren’t the brightest. They’ll probably show up here by morning, demanding to know why you’re searching for them.”
He chuckled and rubbed his neck, emphasizing the curve of his bicep. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves since the interrogation, and I couldn’t help but trace the long line of his forearm to his hand. To his callused fingers. To the fine, copper hair dusting his skin.
He cleared his throat and dropped his arm hastily. “I should go. We’re interrogating Madame Labelle soon. Then the other one—the thief at Tremblay’s. Bastien St. Pierre.”
My heart stopped, and I pitched forward, sloshing bubbles and water in every direction. “Not Bas?” He nodded, eyes narrowing. “But—but he escaped!”
“We found him skulking outside a back entrance to Soleil et Lune.” Disapproval radiated from him. “It’s just as well. The constabulary would’ve arrested him sooner or later. He killed one of Tremblay’s guards.”
Holy hell. I sat back, chest tightening as panic clawed up my throat, and fought to control my breathing. “What will happen to him?”
His eyebrows drew together in surprise. “He’ll hang.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Of course Bas had been arrested. Of course he’d murdered a guard instead of knocking him unconscious. Why had the idiot been at Soleil et Lune in the first place? He’d known they were looking for him. He’d known. Why hadn’t he fled? Why hadn’t he been halfway across the sea? Why hadn’t he been, well, Bas?
Despite the warm bathwater, gooseflesh rose on my skin. Could he . . . could he have come back for me? Hope and despair warred in my chest, equally hideous, but panic soon conquered them both.
“You have to let me see him.”
“That’s out of the question.”
“Please.” I loathed the word, but if he refused—if pleading didn’t work—I’d have only one option. Magic outside the infirmary was a huge risk, but it was one I’d have to take.