She grimaced and held the door open for me. “We’ll see about that. Shall we?”

It was a blustery day. Icy. Unforgiving. Bits of the last snowfall clung to the edge of the streets, where footsteps had turned it slushy and brown. I stuffed my hands into my trouser pockets. Blinked irritably into the brilliant afternoon sunshine. “It’s freezing out here.”

Lou turned her face into the wind with a grin. Closed her eyes and extended her arms, the tip of her nose already red. “The cold stifles the reek of fish. It’s wonderful.”

“That’s easy for you to stay. You have a cloak.”

She turned to me, grin widening. Pieces of her hair tore free of her hood and danced around her face. “I can swipe you one, if you’d like. There’s a clothier next door to the patisserie—”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Fine.” She burrowed deeper into the folds of her cloak. Charcoal. Stained. Fraying at the hem. “Suit yourself.”

Scowling, I trudged down the street after her. Every muscle in my body seized with cold, but I didn’t allow myself to shiver. To give Lou the satisfaction of—

“Oh, good lord,” she said, laughing. “This is painful to watch. Here.”

She threw one side of her cloak around me. It barely covered my shoulders, but I didn’t complain—especially when she nestled beneath my arm, drawing it tighter around us. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders in surprise. She laughed harder. “We look ridiculous.”

I glanced down at us, lips quirking. It was true. I was simply too big for the fabric, and we were forced to shuffle awkwardly in order to stay covered. We tried to synchronize our steps, but I soon stepped wrong—and we ended up in a tangled heap in the snow. A spectacle. Passersby eyed us in disapproval, but for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn’t care.

I laughed too.

By the time we burst into the patisserie, our cheeks and noses were red. Our throats ached from laughter. I stared at her as she swept the cloak from my shoulders. She smiled with her whole face. I’d never seen such a transformation. It was . . . infectious.

“Pan!” Lou flung her arms open. I followed her gaze to the familiar man behind the counter. Short. Heavyset. Bright, beady eyes that lit with excitement upon seeing Lou.

“Lucida! My darling child, where have you been?” He waddled around the counter as fast as his legs would carry him. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten your friend Pan! And”—his eyes widened comically, and his voice dropped to a whisper—“what have you done to your hair?”

Lou’s smile slipped, and her hand shot to her hair. Oblivious, Pan swept her into his arms, holding her a second longer than appropriate. Lou gave a reluctant chuckle. “I—I needed a change. Something darker for winter. Do you like it?”

“Of course, of course. But you’re much too thin, child, much too thin. Here, let us fatten you up with a bun.” He turned back toward the counter, but halted when he finally noticed me. He raised his brows. “And who is this?”

Lou grinned, devious. I braced myself for whatever scheme she’d concocted—praying it wasn’t something illegal. Knowing it probably was.

“Pan.” She took my arm and tugged me forward. “I’d like you to meet . . . Bas.”

Bas? I looked down at her in surprise.

“The Bas?” Pan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

She winked at me. “The one and only.”

Pan scowled. Then—incredibly—he rose to his toes and poked a finger in my chest. I frowned, bewildered, and made to step back, but the man followed. Poking me all the way.

“Now you listen to me, young man—yes, I’ve heard all about you! You don’t know how lucky you are to have this cherie on your arm. She is a pearl, and you will treat her as such from this point on, do you understand? If I hear differently, you will answer to me, and you do not want Pan as an enemy, oh no!”

I glared at Lou, indignant, but she only shook with silent laughter. Useless. I took a quick step backward. Too quick for the man to follow. “I— Yes, sir.”

“Very good.” He still eyed me shrewdly as he fetched two sticky buns from behind the counter. After handing one to Lou, he promptly threw the other in my face. I hastened to stop it from sliding down my shirt. “Here you are, my dear. You have to pay,” he added, glaring at me.

I wiped icing from my nose incredulously. The man was a lunatic. As was my wife.

When Pan retreated back behind the counter, I rounded on her. “Who is Lucida? And why did you tell him my name is—is—that?”

It took her several seconds to answer—to chew through the enormous glob of sticky bun in her mouth. Her cheeks bulged with it. To her credit, she managed to keep her mouth closed. To my credit, I did too.

She finally swallowed. Licked her fingers with a reverence that belonged in Mass. No—with a reverence that most definitely did not belong in Mass. I looked anywhere but at her tongue. “Mmm . . . so territorial, Chass.”

“Well?” I asked, unable to conceal my jealousy. “Why would you tell him I’m the thief?”

She grinned at me and continued licking her thumb. “If you must know, I use him to guilt Pan into giving me sweets. Just last month, the wicked, wicked Bas tricked me into elopement, only to leave me at the dock. Pan gave me free buns for a week.”

I forced myself to meet her eyes. “You’re deplorable.”

Her eyes glittered. She knew exactly what she was doing. “Yes, I am. Are you going to eat that?” She motioned to my plate. I shoved it toward her, and she bit into my bun with a soft sigh. “Like manna from Heaven.”

Surprise jolted through me. “I didn’t realize you were familiar with the Bible.”

“You probably don’t realize a lot of things about me, Chass.” She shrugged, stuffing half the bun into her mouth. “Besides, it’s the only book in the entire Tower except La Vie éphémère, Shepherd, and Twelve Treatises of Occult Extermination—which is rubbish, by the way. I don’t recommend.”

I hardly heard a word she said. “Don’t call me that. My name is Reid.”

She arched a brow. “I thought they were the same person?”

I leaned back, studying her as she finished my bun. A bit of icing covered her lip. Her nose was still red from the cold, her hair wild and windblown. My little heathen. “You dislike the Chasseurs.”

She fixed me with a pointed stare. “And I tried so hard to hide it.”

I ignored her. “Why?”

“I don’t think you’re ready to hear that answer, Chass.”

“Fine. Why did you want to come out today?”

“Because it was time.”

I suppressed a sigh of frustration. “Meaning . . . ?”

“Meaning there’s a time for mourning, and there’s a time for moving on.”

It was always the same with her. She always hedged. As if sensing my thoughts, she crossed her arms, leaning onto the table. Expression inscrutable. “All right, then. Maybe you are ready to hear some answers. Let’s make a game of it, shall we? A game of questions to get to know each other.”

I leaned forward too. Returning the challenge. “Let’s.”

“Fine. What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Boring. Mine’s gold—or turquoise. Or emerald.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Because you aren’t as stupid as you look.” I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. She didn’t give me time to decide. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”

“I—” Blood crept up my throat at the memory. I coughed and stared at her empty plate. “The Archbishop once caught me in a—er, compromising position. With a girl.”

“Oh my god!” She smacked her palms against the table, eyes widening. “You got caught having sex with Célie?”

The people at the next table swiveled to stare at us. I ducked my head, thankful—for the first time ever—I wasn’t wearing my uniform. I glared at her. “Shhh! Of course not. She kissed me, okay? It was just kissing!”

Lou frowned. “Just kissing? That’s no fun at all. Hardly something to be embarrassed about.”

But it had been something to be embarrassed about. The look on the Archbishop’s face—I forced the memory away quickly. “What’s yours, then? Did you strip naked and dance the bourrée?”

She snorted. “You wish. No—I sang at a festival when I was a child. Missed every note. Everyone laughed. I’m a shit singer.”

Our neighbors tsked in disapproval. I grimaced. “Yes, I know.”

“Right. Biggest pet peeve?”

“Swearing.”

“Killjoys.” She grinned. “Favorite food?”

“Venison.”

She pointed to her empty plate. “Sticky buns. Best friend?”

“Jean Luc. You?”

“Really?” Her grin faded, and she stared at me with what looked like—like pity. But that couldn’t be right. “That’s . . . unfortunate. Mine is Brie.”

Ignoring the jab—the look—I interrupted before she could ask another question. “Fatal flaw?”

She hesitated, dropping her gaze to the tabletop. Tracing a knot in the wood with her finger. “Selfishness.”

“Wrath. Greatest fear?”

This time she didn’t hesitate. “Death.”