I took a deep breath. Then another. Perhaps Abe hadn’t wanted me to follow him into his inner chambers. Perhaps he’d locked the door to prevent me from sneaking in and pocketing something valuable. I’d done it before. Perhaps he was just being cautious.

Still, a shiver swept down my spine as I turned to try the main door. Though I couldn’t see through the soot and grime of the window, I knew few revelers ventured this far down the street. I twisted the knob.

Locked.

Backing away, I tried to assess my options. The window. I could break it, climb out before—

The side door clicked open, and for a single, glorious second, I fooled myself into believing it was Abe’s hulking form in the door.

“Hello, Lou Lou.” Grue stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “You’re a tricky little bitch to catch.”

Panic spiked through me as Andre appeared behind him, pulling a knife from his cloak. Abe’s dark eyes appeared over their shoulders. “You were right, Lou.” His lip curled. “We all do what we have to.” Then he turned and disappeared into the neighboring room, slamming the door behind him.

“Hello again, Grue. Andre, your eye healed nicely.” Forcing nonchalance despite my rising hysteria, I searched my peripheral vision for something I could use as a weapon: the barrel of water, the bag of sand, the rusted tongs by the forge. Or—or I could—

Gold flickered wildly in my periphery. My gaze flicked to the water, the bellows attached to the forge. We were in an enclosed space. No one would see me do it. No one would know I was here. I’d be gone long before Abe returned, and the chances of him alerting the constabulary or Chasseurs of my involvement were slim. He’d have to risk incriminating himself. He’d have to explain how two men were murdered in his smithy.

Because I would kill them if they touched me. One way or the other.

“You betrayed us,” Andre snarled. I inched toward the forge, turning my attention back to his knife. “We can’t hide anywhere. Those bastards know every one of our haunts. They almost killed us yesterday. Now we’re gonna kill you.”

A crazed gleam lit his eyes, and I knew better than to speak. Sweat coated my palms. One wrong move—one misstep, one mistake—and I’d be dead. The gold flared brighter, more urgent, snaking toward the hot coals in the forge.

Flame for flame. You know this pain. You know it fades. Burn him, the voice whispered.

I cringed away from it instinctively, remembering the agony of Estelle’s flames, and groped at another pattern. This one glittered innocently in the sand, hovered near Andre’s eyes—and my own. Blinding me.

An eye for an eye.

But I couldn’t surrender my vision for Andre’s. Not when there were two of them.

Think. Think, think, think.

I continued inching backward, patterns appearing and disappearing quicker than I could follow. Angelica’s Ring burned hot as I neared the forge. Of course. Cursing myself for not remembering it sooner, I slowly inched the band down my finger. Andre caught the movement, and his eyes narrowed when he saw the money pouch still clutched in my hand. Greedy bastard.

With a careful push of my thumb, I eased Angelica’s Ring over my knuckle—but it slid too quickly over the damp skin and clattered to the floor.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I watched in horror as Grue’s foot came down on it. Eyes gleaming, he bent to retrieve it, a nasty smile splitting his face. My mouth went dry.

“So this is your magic ring. All this trouble for a speck of gold.” He pocketed the ring with a sneer, stalking closer. Andre shadowed his movements. “I never liked you, Lou. You’ve always thought you’re better than us, smarter than us, but you’re not. And you’ve crossed us too many times.”

He lunged, but I moved quicker. Seizing the tongs—ignoring the blistering heat on my palms—I smashed them across his face. The sickening smell of cooked flesh filled the room, and Grue staggered back. Andre charged forward, but I thrust the tongs at him next. He lurched to a halt just in time, rage contorting his features.

“Stay back!” I jabbed the tongs at him again for good measure. “Don’t come any closer!”

“I’m going to cut you into fucking pieces.” Grue dove at me again, but I dodged, swinging the tongs wildly. Andre’s knife slashed past my face. I jerked backward, but Grue was already there. His hand caught the end of the tongs, and he ripped them from my grasp with brutal force.

I flung my hand toward the sand bag, desperately guiding the pattern to his eyes—and away from mine.

Andre screamed as the sand rose in a wave and pelted toward him. He stumbled back, hands flying to his face, tearing at his skin, attempting to scrub away the tiny knives in his eyes. I watched in wild fascination—my own eyes perfectly intact—until Grue moved beside me. A blur. I spun, lifting my hands in self-defense, but my mind turned sluggish and slow. He lifted his fist. I stared at it. Unable to comprehend what he meant to do with it. Unable to anticipate his next move. Then he struck.

Your vision for his.

Pain burst from my nose, and I staggered backward. He grinned, wrapping his hand around my throat and lifting me off my feet. I gasped and clawed at his hand, drawing blood, but his grip didn’t loosen.

“I’ve never killed a witch before. I should’ve known. You’ve always been a freak.” He leaned closer, his breath hot and foul against my cheek. “After I cut you up, I’m going to send you back to your blue pig, piece by fucking piece.”

I struggled harder, lights popping in my vision.

“Don’t kill her too quickly.” Tears and blood streamed from Andre’s ruined eyes. The sand had fallen now, mingling with the golden dust at his feet. The gold winked once more before vanishing. He bent to retrieve his knife. “I want to enjoy this.”

Grue’s grip loosened. I coughed and spluttered as his hand fisted in my hair instead, yanking my head back and exposing my throat.

Andre’s knife found the scar there. “Looks like somebody beat us to it.”

White dotted my vision, and I thrashed against them.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Grue jerked my hair, and pain radiated across my scalp. “Not again, Lou Lou.” He jerked his head toward the knife at my throat. “Not there. Too quick. Start on her face. Cut off an ear—no, wait.” He grinned down at me, eyes burning with true hatred. “Let’s carve out her heart instead. That’ll be the first piece we send to the pig.”

Andre dragged the knife down my throat to my chest. I focused on his revolting face, willing another pattern to emerge. Any pattern.

And there it came, glowing brighter than before. Taunting me.

I didn’t hesitate. Clenching my fingers, I jerked the cord sharply, and the coals in the forge careened toward us. I braced for the pain, elbowing Grue in the stomach and twisting away. When the coals struck their faces, my own skin burned. But I knew this pain. I could endure it. I had endured it.

Gritting my teeth, I seized Andre’s knife and plunged it into his throat, slashing through skin and tendon and bone. His scream ended in a gurgle. Grue lunged toward me blindly, bellowing with fury, but I used his momentum to drive the blade into his chest—and his stomach, and his shoulder, and his throat. His blood sprayed across my cheek.