There had never been a choice. Not for me. From the first moment I’d seen her at the parade—dressed in that ridiculous suit and mustache—my fate had been sealed.

I loved her. Despite everything. Despite the lies, the betrayal, the hurt. Despite the Archbishop and Morgane le Blanc. Despite my own brothers. I didn’t know if she returned that love, and I didn’t care.

If she was destined to burn in Hell, I would burn with her.

“No.” Deadly purpose pounded through my veins as I pushed from the wall. “Lou isn’t going to die, Ansel. We’re going to find her.”

Hell Hath No Fury

Reid

A few initiates lingered outside my destroyed room when Ansel and I returned. They ducked their heads and scattered upon seeing me. Glowering at them, I stepped inside to think. To plan.

Lou had spent the last two years as a thief, so she was better than most at disappearing. She could’ve been anywhere. I wasn’t foolish enough to think I knew all her haunts, but I did have a better chance of finding her than Jean Luc. Still, the Chasseurs swarming the city complicated things.

Closing my eyes, I forced myself to breathe deeply and think. Where would she go? Where could she hide? But the magic in the air scorched my throat, distracting me. It lingered on the bedsheets, the splintered desk. The bloody pages of my Bible. On my skin, my hair. My eyes snapped open, and I resisted the urge to roar in frustration. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to find her. Quickly. Each passing moment could be her last.

She’ll die, Reid. If you do nothing, she’ll die.

No. That couldn’t happen. Think.

The theater seemed her most likely hiding place. But would she return there after she’d shared it with me? Probably not. Perhaps we could stake out Pan’s instead. It would be only a matter of time before she visited the patisserie—unless she’d left Cesarine altogether. My heart sank.

Ansel moved to the window and peered out to watch my brethren march past. He knew better than to suggest we join them. Though we shared a common purpose in finding Lou, the Archbishop had lied to me—had broken trust, broken faith. More important, I didn’t know what they planned for Lou when they found her. Though the Archbishop might try to protect her, Jean Luc knew she was a witch. How long would it take before he told the others? How long before someone suggested killing her?

I had to find her first. Before them. Before the witches.

Ansel cleared his throat.

“What?” I snapped.

“I—I think we should visit Mademoiselle Perrot. The two are . . . close. She might know something.”

Mademoiselle Perrot. Of course.

Before we could move, however, what was left of my door crashed open. Standing in the threshold—panting and glaring—stood Mademoiselle Perrot in the flesh.

“Where is she?” She advanced on me with threat of violence in her eyes. She’d abandoned her white healer’s robes for leather trousers and a blood-speckled shirt. “Where’s Lou?”

I frowned at the lattice of scars on her exposed collarbone and forearms.

Startled, Ansel stumbled forward to explain, but I shook my head curtly, stepping in front of him. Forcing the words out before I could swallow them back. “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean gone? You have thirty seconds to tell me what happened before I spill blood, Chasseur.” She hurled the last word at me—like she meant it as an insult. I scowled. Forced a deep breath. Then another.

Wait—spill blood?

“Tick tock,” she snarled.

Though I loathed the thought of telling her what had transpired between me and Lou, it was no good lying. Not if I wanted her help. If she didn’t know where Lou was, I had little else to go on. Little chance of ever finding her. That couldn’t happen.

“The witches attacked the castle as a diversion and came here—”

“I know.” She swiped an impatient hand. “I was at the castle with Beau when they vanished. I meant what happened with Lou.”

“She ran off,” I repeated through clenched teeth. “A witch—she followed us up here and attacked. Lou saved my life.” I broke off, chest tight, and considered how to break the news. She needed to know. “Mademoiselle Perrot . . . Lou is a witch.”

To my surprise, she didn’t even blink. A slight tightening of her mouth was the only indication she’d heard me at all. “Of course she is.”

“What?” Disbelief colored my voice. “You—you knew?”

She gave me a scathing look. “You’d have to be a total idiot not to see it.”

Like you. Her unspoken words echoed around the room. I ignored them, the sharp sting of yet another betrayal rendering me momentarily speechless. “Did . . . did she tell you?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “There’s no need to look so wounded. No, she didn’t tell me. She didn’t tell Ansel here either, yet he knew too.”

Ansel’s eyes flicked between the two of us rapidly. He swallowed hard. “I—I didn’t know anything—”

“Oh, please.” She scowled at him. “You’re insulting everyone by lying.”

His shoulders slumped, and he stared at the floor. Refusing to look at me. “Yes. I knew.”

All the air left me in a whoosh. Three words. Three perfect punches.

Bitter anger returned with my breath. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

If Ansel had told me—if Ansel had been a real Chasseur—none of this would’ve happened. I wouldn’t have been blindsided. I could have dealt with this before—before I—

“I told you.” Ansel still stared at his boots, nudging a piece of fallen mortar with his toe. “Lou is my friend.”

“When?” I deadpanned. “When did you know?”

“During the witch burning. When—when Lou had her fit. She was crying, and the witch was screaming—then they switched. Everyone thought Lou was seizing, but I saw her. I smelled the magic.” He looked up, throat bobbing. Eyes shining. “She was burning, Reid. I don’t know how, but she took away that witch’s pain. She gave it to herself.” He exhaled heavily. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. Because even though I knew Lou was a witch, I knew she wasn’t evil. She burned at the stake once. She doesn’t deserve to do it twice.”

Silence met his pronouncement. I stared between the two of them, eyes stinging. “I never would’ve hurt her.”

As the words left my mouth, I realized their truth. Even if Ansel had told me, it wouldn’t have changed anything. I wouldn’t have been able to tie her to a stake. I dropped my face in my hands. Defeated.

“Enough,” Mademoiselle Perrot said sharply. “How long has she been gone?”

“About an hour.”

Ansel shifted in obvious discomfort before murmuring, “The witch mentioned Morgane.”

My hands fell as genuine fear twisted Mademoiselle Perrot’s face. Her eyes—once hateful, once accusing—met mine with sudden, unsettling urgency. “We need to leave.” Throwing the door open, she rushed into the corridor. “We can’t talk about this here.”

Trepidation knotted my stomach. “Where can we go?”

“To the Bellerose.” She didn’t bother looking back. Seeing no other choice, Ansel and I hurried after her. “I told Beau I’d meet him—and there’s someone there who might know where Lou is.”

The inside of the Bellerose was dimly lit. I’d never been inside a brothel, but I assumed the marble floors and the gold leaf on the walls marked this a more glamorous whorehouse than others. A harpist sat in one corner. She strummed her instrument and crooned a mournful ballad. Women clad in sheer white clothes danced slowly. A handful of drunken men watched them with hungry eyes. A fountain bubbled in the center of the room.

It was the most ostentatious thing I’d ever seen. It suited Madame Labelle perfectly.

“We’re wasting time. We should be out there searching for Lou—” I started angrily, but Mademoiselle Perrot shot me a withering glare over her shoulder before striding toward a partially concealed table in the back.

Beauregard Lyon rose as we approached, eyes narrowing. “What the hell are they doing here?”

She threw herself into a chair with a heavy sigh, waving a hand between the three of us. “Look, Beau, I have more pressing matters to handle this evening than you and your pissing contest.”

He dropped into another chair, crossing his arms and sulking. “What could possibly be more pressing than me?”

She jerked her head toward me. “This idiot lost Lou, and I need to perform a locator spell to find her.”

Locator spell?

I watched in confusion as she drew a small vial from her cloak. Uncorking it, she spilled the dark powder on the table. Beau looked on as if bored, tipping back in his chair. I glanced at Ansel—seeking confirmation the woman before us had gone mad—but he wouldn’t look at me. When she pulled out a knife and lifted her opposite hand, my stomach dropped with realization.

Tremblay’s townhouse. Three poisoned dogs. Blood running from their maws. The stench of magic piercing the air—black and biting, more acrid than the magic in the infirmary. Different.