“You’ve been so kind.” I extended my hands to them in supplication. They watched me greedily. “I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do.”

I closed my eyes, concentrating, and gold exploded behind my eyelids in an infinite, intricate web. I caught one strand and followed it to a memory of Bas’s face—to his scar, to the passionate evening we’d spent together. A trade. I clenched my hands into fists, and the memory vanished as the world tilted behind my eyelids. The guards fell to the ground, unconscious.

Disoriented, I opened my eyes slowly. The web dissipated. My stomach rolled, and I vomited into the hedge of roses.

I probably would’ve stayed there all night—sweating and puking at the onslaught of my repressed magic—had I not heard the soft whine of Tremblay’s dogs. Coco must’ve found them. Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I mentally shook myself and crept toward the front door. Tonight was not the night for squeamishness.

Silence cloaked the inside of the townhouse. Wherever Bas and Coco had gone, I couldn’t hear them. Creeping farther into the foyer, I took stock of my surroundings: the dark walls, the fine furniture, the countless trinkets. Large rugs in tawdry patterns covered mahogany floors, and crystal bowls, tasseled pillows, and velvet poufs littered every surface. All very boring, in my opinion. Cluttered. I longed to rip the heavy curtains from their rods and let in the silver light of the moon.

“Lou.” Bas’s hiss emanated from the stairwell, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Coco’s warning reared to life with terrifying clarity. There’s something waiting for you at Tremblay’s. “Quit daydreaming, and get up here.”

“I’m technically night dreaming.” Ignoring the chill down my spine, I half sprinted to join him.

To my surprise—and delight—Bas had found a lever on the frame of a large portrait in Tremblay’s study: a young woman with piercing green eyes and pitch-black hair. I touched her face apologetically. “Filippa. How predictable.”

“Yes.” Bas flicked the lever, and the portrait swung outward, revealing the vault behind. “Idiocy is oft mistaken for sentimentality. This is the first place I looked.” He gestured to the lock. “Can you pick it?”

I sighed, glancing down at my broken finger. “Can’t you pick it instead?”

“Just do it,” he said impatiently, “and quickly. The guards could wake up any moment.”

Right. I shot the golden cord spreading between myself and the lock a nasty look before going to work. It appeared quicker this time, as if waiting for me. Though I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, a small groan still escaped as I snapped a second finger. The lock clicked, and Bas swung the vault open.

Inside, Tremblay had stacked a slew of tedious items. Pushing aside his seal, legal documents, letters, and stock, Bas eyed the pile of jewelry beyond them hungrily. Rubies and garnets, mostly, though I spied a particularly attractive diamond necklace. The entire box glittered with the golden couronnes lining its walls.

I swept it all aside impatiently, heedless of Bas’s protests. If Tremblay had been lying, if he didn’t have the ring—

At the back of the vault lay a small leather album. I tore it open—vaguely recognizing sketches of girls who had to be Filippa and her sister—before a gold ring tumbled out from between the pages. It landed on the carpet without a sound, unremarkable in every way except the flickering, nearly indiscernible pulse that tugged at my chest.

Breath catching in my throat, I crouched to pick it up. It was warm in my palm. Real. Tears pricked at my eyes, threatening to spill over. Now she’d never find me. I was . . . safe. Or as safe as I’d ever be.On my finger, the ring would dispel enchantments. In my mouth, it would render me invisible. I didn’t know why—a quirk of the magic, perhaps, or of Angelica herself—but I also didn’t care. I’d break my teeth on the metal if it kept me hidden.

“Did you find it?” Bas stuffed the last of the jewelry and couronnes into his bag and looked at the ring expectantly. “Not much to look at, is it?”

Three sharp raps echoed from downstairs. A warning. Bas’s eyes narrowed, and he crept to the window to peer out at the lawn. I slipped the ring onto my finger while his back was turned. It seemed to emit a soft sigh at the contact.

“Shit!” Bas turned, eyes wild, and all thoughts of the ring fled my mind. “We have company.”

I ran to the window. The constabulary swarmed across the lawn toward the manor, but that wasn’t what made genuine fear stab at my stomach. No, it was the blue coats that accompanied them.

Chasseurs.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Why were they here?

Tremblay, his wife, and his daughter huddled next to the guards I’d left unconscious. I cursed myself for not hiding them somewhere. A clumsy mistake, but I’d been disoriented from the magic. Out of practice.

To my horror, one of the guards had already begun to stir. I had little doubt what he would tell the Chasseurs when he regained full consciousness.

Bas was already moving, slamming the safe shut and hauling the portrait back into place. “Can you get us out?” His eyes were still wide with panic—desperate. We could both hear the constables and Chasseurs surrounding the manor. All the exits would soon be blocked.

I glanced down at my hands. They were shaking, and not just because of the broken fingers. I was weak, too weak, from the exertion of the evening. How had I let myself become so inept? The risk of discovery, I reminded myself. The risk had been too great—

“Lou!” Bas grabbed my shoulders and shook me slightly. “Can you get us out?”

Tears welled in my eyes. “No,” I breathed. “I can’t.”

He blinked, chest rising and falling rapidly. The Chasseurs shouted something below, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the decision made in Bas’s eyes as we stared at one another. “Right.” He squeezed my shoulders once. “Good luck.”

Then he turned and dashed from the room.

A Man’s Name

Reid

Tremblay’s townhouse reeked of magic. It coated the lawn, clung to the prone guards Tremblay attempted to revive. A tall, middle-aged woman knelt beside him. Redheaded. Striking. Though I didn’t recognize her, my brethren’s whispers confirmed my suspicions.

Madame Labelle. Notorious courtesan, and mistress of the Bellerose.

Surely she had no business here.

“Captain Diggory.”

I turned toward the strained voice behind me. A reedy blonde stood with her hands tightly clasped, an expensive wedding band glinting on her ring finger. Frown lines marred the corners of her eyes—eyes that currently burned holes in the back of Madame Labelle’s head.

Tremblay’s wife.

“Hello, Captain Diggory.” Célie’s soft voice preceded her as she stepped around her mother. I swallowed hard. She was still clothed in mourning black, her green eyes stark in the torchlight. Swollen. Red. Tears sparkled on her cheeks. I longed to close the distance between us and wipe them away. To wipe this whole nightmarish scene—so like the night we’d found Filippa—away.

“Mademoiselle Tremblay.” I inclined my head instead, keenly aware of my brethren’s eyes. Of Jean Luc’s. “You look . . . well.”

A lie. She looked miserable. Afraid. She’d lost weight since I last saw her. Her face was drawn, pinched, as if she hadn’t slept in months. I hadn’t either.

“Thank you.” A small smile at the lie. “You do too.”

“I apologize for these circumstances, mademoiselle, but I assure you, if a witch is responsible, it will burn.”

I glanced back at Tremblay. He and Madame Labelle were bent close together, and they appeared to be in harried conversation with the guards. Frowning, I stepped closer. Madame Tremblay cleared her throat and turned her indignant eyes on me.

“I assure you, sir, you and your esteemed order are not necessary here. My husband and I are God-fearing citizens, and we do not abide witchcraft—”

Beside me, Jean Luc bowed his head. “Of course not, Madame Tremblay. We are here only as a precaution.”

“Though your guards were unconscious, madame,” I pointed out. “And your home reeks of magic.”

Jean Luc sighed and shot me an irritated look.

“It always smells like this here.” Madame Tremblay’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. Displeased. “It’s that beastly park. It poisons the entire street. If it weren’t for the view of the Doleur, we would move tomorrow.”

“My apologies, madame. All the same—”