A range of emotions flitted across his face at my words—at my touch.

Confusion. Panic. Desire.

I trailed a finger down his cheek. He didn’t lean away from the contact. “I see the greatness in you, Ansel. You will kill many witches.”

His eyelashes fluttered softly, and then—nothing. He was mine. I wrapped my arms around his narrow waist, glowing all the brighter. “Will you help me?” He nodded, eyes wide as he stared down at me. I kissed his palm and closed my eyes, breathing deeply. “Thank you, Ansel.”

The rest was easy.

I allowed him to lead me to the dungeon. Instead of proceeding down the narrow stairwell to the council room, however, we veered right, to the cells where they held Bas. The Chasseurs—my husband included—still questioned Madame Labelle, and only two guards stood outside the cells. They wore pale blue coats like Ansel.

They turned to us in bewilderment as we approached, their hands immediately reaching for weapons—but not Balisardas. I smiled as shimmering, golden patterns materialized between us. They thought they were safe inside their Tower. So foolish. So careless.

Catching at a web of patterns, I clenched my fists and sighed as my affectionate memories of Bas—the love I’d once felt, the warmth he’d once brought me—slipped into oblivion. The guards crumpled to the floor, and the cords disappeared in a burst of shimmering dust. Memory for memory, the voice in my head crooned. A worthy price. It is better this way.

Bas’s eyes shone triumphant as he beheld me. I drifted closer to the cell, tilting my head to the side as I examined him. They’d shaved his head and stubble in prison to prevent lice. It didn’t suit him.

“Lou!” He clenched the bars and pressed his face between them. Panic flared in his eyes. “Thank god you’re here. My cousin tried to bond me out, but they wouldn’t listen. They’re going to hang me, Lou, if I don’t tell them about Coco—” He broke off, true fear distorting his features at the distant, otherworldly look on my face. My skin glowed brighter. Ansel dropped to his knees behind me.

“What are you doing?” Bas ground his palms against his eyes in an attempt to fight off the charm emanating from me. “Don’t do this. I—I’m sorry I left you at Tremblay’s. You know I’m not as brave, or as—as clever as you and Coco. It was wrong of me. I should’ve stayed—I should’ve h-helped . . .”

A shudder wracked his body as I drew closer, and I smiled, small and cold. “Lou, please!” he begged. Another shudder—stronger this time. “I wouldn’t have told them anything about you. You know that! No—please, don’t!”

His shoulders drooped, and when his hands fell to his sides once more, his face was blissfully blank.

“So clever, Bas. So cunning. You always had such pretty words.” I cupped his face through the cell door. “I am going to give you something, Bas, and in return, you are going to give something to me. How does that sound?” He nodded and smiled. I leaned closer and kissed his lips. Tasted his breath. He sighed in contentment. “I am going to free you. All I ask for in return are your memories.”

I tightened my fingers on his cheek—on the gold swirling around his handsome face. He didn’t struggle as my fingernails bit into his skin, pricked the tiny silver scar on his jaw. I wondered briefly how he’d gotten it.

When I finished—when the golden mist had stolen every memory of my face and Coco’s from his mind—Bas fell to the floor. His face bled due to my nails, but otherwise, he would recover. I bent to retrieve the keys from the guard’s belt and dropped them beside him. Then I turned to Ansel.

“Your turn, precious.” I knelt next to him and wrapped my hands around his shoulders, brushing my lips against his cheek. “This might hurt a little.”

Concentrating on the scene before us, I stole the memory from Ansel’s mind. It took only a few seconds before he too fell to the floor.

I struggled to remain conscious, but black seeped into the edges of my vision as I repeated the process on the guards. I had to pay the price. I had taken, and now I must give. Nature demanded balance.

Swaying slightly, I toppled over Ansel and surrendered to the darkness.

I blinked awake a short time later. My head throbbed, but I ignored it, climbing hastily to my feet. The cell door was open, and Bas was gone. Ansel, however, showed no signs of stirring.

I bit my lip, deliberating. He’d be punished if found outside a prisoner’s empty cell, especially with two guards unconscious at his feet. Worse, he’d have no memory of how he’d gotten there and no way to defend himself.

Scowling, I massaged my temples and tried to formulate a plan. I needed to hurry—needed to somehow wash the smell of magic from my skin before the Chasseurs caught up to me—but I couldn’t just leave him. Seeing no other alternative, I hoisted him up beneath his armpits and dragged him away. We’d only made it a few paces when my knees began to buckle. He was heavier than he looked.

Angry voices reached me when I neared the staircase. Though Ansel was finally beginning to stir, I wasn’t strong enough to haul him up each step. The voices grew louder. Cursing silently, I pushed him through the first door I saw and edged it shut behind us.

My breath left me in a relieved whoosh when I straightened and looked around. A library. We were in a library. Small and unadorned—like everything else in this wretched place—but still a library.

Footsteps stormed up and down the corridor, and more voices added to the cacophony.

“He’s gone!”

“Search the Tower!”

But the library door remained—miraculously—closed. Praying it would remain that way, I heaved Ansel into one of the reading chairs. He blinked at me, his eyes struggling to focus, before slurring, “Where are we?”

“The library.” I threw myself into the chair next to him and pulled a book at random from the shelf. Twelve Treatises of Occult Extermination. Of course. My hands shook with the effort not to rip the hideous pages from their binding. “We were just in the infirmary with Father Orville and Co— er, Mademoiselle Perrot. You brought me down here to—to—” I tossed Twelve Treatises on the nearest table and reached for the leather-bound Bible beside it. “To educate me. That’s it.”

“W-What?”

I groaned as the door burst open, and my husband and Jean Luc pounded in.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Jean Luc advanced toward me with murder in his eyes.

My husband stepped forward, but Ansel was already there. He swayed slightly on his feet, but his eyes sharpened at Jean Luc’s approach. “What are you talking about? What’s happened?”

“The prisoner escaped,” Jean Luc snarled. Beside him, my husband stilled, his nostrils flaring. Shit. The smell. It still clung to Ansel and me like a second skin, trailing from the empty cell straight to us. “His cell is empty. The guards were knocked unconscious.”

I was doomed. Good and truly doomed this time. Gripping the Bible tighter to keep my hands from trembling, I met each of their gazes with forced calm. At least the Chasseurs would burn me. Not a drop of my blood would be spilled. I savored that small victory.

My husband watched me through narrowed eyes. “What . . . is that smell?”