“Shhh!” I stole to the door and pressed my ear against the wood, listening for signs of movement outside. “Do you want them to catch us? Speaking of which . . .” I turned back to face her when I was sure no one hovered outside. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to rescue you, of course.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course.”

“One of the healers resigned her post to get married last week. The Fathers needed a replacement.”

I gave her a hard look. “And you know this how?”

“Easy.” She sank onto the end of the bed. Monsieur Bernard kept clinking away, though thankfully turned his disturbing stare to her now instead. “I waited for her replacement to show up early yesterday morning and convinced her I would be the better candidate.”

“What? How?”

“I asked her nicely, of course.” She fixed me with a pointed stare before rolling her eyes. “How do you think? I stole her letter of recommendation and bewitched her into forgetting her own name. The real Brie Perrot is currently vacationing in Amaris, and no one will ever know the difference.”

“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.