The rest of the evening had proved just as memorable. At my request, he’d agreed to stay with me in the attic, and I’d made the most of my last night there. I wouldn’t be returning to Soleil et Lune again.
I’d found a new home.
And the way he was currently licking the icing off his fingers . . . My stomach contracted deliciously.
His eyes cut to mine, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Crooking an eyebrow, I brought his pointer finger to my mouth and licked the rest of the icing off with slow, deliberate strokes. I’d expected his eyes to boggle and dart around us, his cheeks to flush and his jaw to clench, but again, he remained unfazed. This time he actually had the gall to chuckle.
“You are insatiable, Madame Diggory.”
Delighted, I stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to his nose—then flicked it for good measure. “You don’t know the half of it. I still have lots to teach you, Chass.”
He grinned at the endearment, pressing my fingers to his lips before tucking my arm firmly beneath his. “You really are a heathen.”
“A what?”
His cheeks flamed, and he looked away sheepishly. “I used to call you that. In my head.”
I laughed out loud, oblivious to passersby. “Why does that not surprise me? Of course you wouldn’t have called me by, you know, my name—”
“You didn’t call me by my name!”
“That’s because you’re a prig!” The breeze kicked up a muddy Ye Olde Sisters flyer before sending it spiraling back to the snow. I stomped it beneath my boot, still laughing. “Come on. We need to hurry if we want to catch the Archbishop’s special performan—” His eyes sharpened on something behind me, and the word died in my throat. Turning, I followed his gaze and saw Madame Labelle striding purposefully toward us.
“Shit.”
He shot me an aggrieved look. “Don’t.”
“I sincerely doubt curse words will offend her. She’s a madam. Believe me, she’s seen and heard much worse.”
She wore another gown that set off the magnificent blue of her eyes, and her fiery red hair had been swept back with a pearl comb. A small, nagging sensation buzzed at the back of my skull at the sight of her. Like an itch I couldn’t scratch.
“Louise, darling! How marvelous it is to see you again.” She clasped my free hand in both of her own. “I had hoped we might run into one another—”
She stopped short, eyes falling on the mother-of-pearl ring on my finger. I tightened my grip on Reid’s arm. The movement didn’t go unnoticed.
She stared at the ring—then between the two of us—her eyes widening and mouth parting as she took in Reid’s face. He shifted under her scrutiny, clearly uncomfortable. “May we help you, madame?”
“Captain Reid Diggory.” She said the words slowly, as if tasting them for the first time. Her blue eyes were still alight with astonishment. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. My name is Madame Helene Labelle.”
He scowled at her. “I remember you, madame. You attempted to purchase my wife for your brothel.”
She stared at him raptly, not seeming to notice his hostility. “Your surname means ‘lost one,’ yes?”
I glanced between them, the buzzing at the back of my head growing louder. More insistent. It was an odd, unexpected question. Reid didn’t seem sure how to answer it.
“I believe so,” he finally muttered.
“What do you want, madame?” I asked suspiciously. Everything I knew about this woman warned me she wasn’t here for polite conversation.
Her eyes grew almost desperate as they bored into mine—and held a startlingly familiar intensity. “Is he a good man, Lou? A kind one?”
Reid stiffened at the offensively personal question, but the buzzing in my head began to take shape. I looked between the two of them again, noting the identical shade of their blue eyes.
Holy hell.
My heart sank to somewhere below my ankles. I’d stared into Reid’s eyes long enough now to recognize them in another’s face.
Madame Labelle was Reid’s mother.
“He is.” My whisper was barely audible over the chatter of the market—over my own thumping heart.
She expelled a breath, and her telltale blue eyes fluttered shut in relief. Then they snapped open again, suddenly and alarmingly sharp. “But does he know you, Lou? Truly know you?”
My blood turned to ice. If Madame Labelle wasn’t careful, the two of us would soon be having a very different conversation. I carefully maintained her gaze, articulating an unspoken warning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I see.”
Unable to help it, I glanced at Reid. His face had quickly transformed from puzzled to irritated. Based on the taut line of his jaw, he didn’t appreciate us talking about him as if he wasn’t there. He opened his mouth—probably to ask what the hell was going on—but I cut him off.
“Let’s go, Reid.” I shot Madame Labelle one last, disparaging look before turning away, but her hand snaked out and grabbed my own—the one bearing Angelica’s Ring.
“Wear it always, Lou, but don’t let her see.” I moved to pull away, alarmed, but the woman’s grip was like iron. “She’s here, in the city.”
Reid stepped forward, fists clenched. “Let go, madame.”
She only clutched me tighter. Faster than she could react, Reid pried away her fingers forcibly. She flinched in pain, but continued on, undeterred, as Reid pulled me down the street. “Don’t take it off!” The panic in her eyes shone clear even from afar, even as her voice began to fade. “Whatever you do, don’t let her see!”
“What,” Reid snarled, his grip on my arm tighter than strictly necessary, “the hell was that about?”
I didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. My mind still reeled from Madame Labelle’s onslaught, but a sudden burst of clarity sliced through the haze of my thoughts. Madame Labelle was a witch. She had to be. Her interest in Angelica’s Ring, her knowledge of its powers, of my mother, of me—there was no other explanation.
But the revelation brought more questions than answers. I couldn’t focus on them—couldn’t focus on anything but the raw, debilitating fear that clawed up my throat, the clammy sweat that seeped across my skin. My gaze darted around us, and an involuntary shiver swept through me. Reid was saying something, but I didn’t hear him. A dull roar had started in my ears.
My mother was in the city.
The Saint Nicolas Festival lost its charm on our return to Chasseur Tower. The evergreens stood less beautiful. The bonfire burned less bright. Even the food lost its allure, the overpowering smell of fish returning to choke me.
Reid assaulted me with questions the whole way. When he realized I had no answers to give, he fell silent. I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. It was all I could do to hide my trembling fingers, but I knew he saw them anyway.
She hasn’t found you.
She won’t find you.
I repeated the mantra over and over, but it did little to convince me.
Saint-Cécile soon rose up before us, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The sigh instantly turned to a shriek when something moved unexpectedly in the alley beside us.