“You look quite pale,” Elodie said.

“Who is Louise?” Beau asked, shooting me a sharp look.

Elinor’s nose wrinkled as she looked at him. “Louise le Blanc. Daughter and heir of La Dame des Sorcières. Are you daft?”

“Apparently.” Beau looked on with a bemused expression. “So, mademoiselles—what does our fair Lady have planned for us this evening? Food? Dancing? Will we get to meet the lovely Louise?”

“You won’t,” Elinor said. “You’re not coming.”

I stopped walking abruptly. “He goes where I go.”

Elaina pouted up at me. “But none of us want him.”

“If you want me, he goes.” I pulled away from her, and her lips puckered slightly. I mentally chastised myself. “Please.” I tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and attempted a smile. “He’s my brother.”

She leaned into my touch, frown melting into a sigh. “Well, if you insist.”

We resumed walking. Ansel cleared his throat. “So—er, what can we expect tonight?”

Elinor grinned coyly. “You needn’t be nervous, Antoine. I’ll take good care of you.”

Ansel’s face burned crimson. “No, that’s not— I meant—”

Elinor laughed and nestled closer to him. “There’ll be the usual gifts and minor sacrifices. Our mother passed a few years ago, so we’ll honor our Lady in her stead.”

“And the Goddess, of course,” Elodie added.

“And then,” Elaina said, eager, “after the feasting and dancing, Morgane will make her sacrifice to the Goddess at midnight.”

Midnight. Numbness crept over my limbs. “Her sacrifice?”

Elaina leaned in conspiratorially. “Her daughter. Terribly wicked, but there you are. We’ll be witnessing history tonight, you and I.”

Elodie and Elinor both huffed protests at being excluded, but I didn’t hear them. A ringing started in my ears, and my hands curled into fists. Beau clipped my heel in an innocent gesture. I tripped, breaking out of the witches’ grip, before rounding on him.

“Sorry, Raoul.” He shrugged and smiled easily, but his eyes held a warning. “You’d think I could control my own feet, eh?”

I took a steadying breath. Then another. Forced myself to unclench my fists.

One.

Two.

Three—

“Oh, look!” Elinor pointed to our left. A small group of people emerged between the trees. “It’s Ivette and Sabine! Oooh, we haven’t seen them since we were witchlings!”

Elaina and Elodie squealed in delight and dragged me and Ansel toward the newcomers. Beau trailed behind.

Upon closer inspection, I recognized Coco on the arm of one of the newcomers. Which left only Madame Labelle unaccounted for. When Coco cast me a furtive, troubled glance, I nodded in understanding.

“Keep your mouths shut and your eyes open,” Madame Labelle had warned. “I’ll find you inside.”

Vague, unsatisfactory instructions. No further explanations. No contingencies. We were a Chasseur, initiate, Lyon prince, and blood witch walking into Chateau le Blanc blind. Lou wasn’t the only one who would die if things went badly tonight.

Elaina introduced me to her friends before curling her fingers around mine and resting her head on my arm. I bared my teeth in a smile, imagining she was Lou instead.

Lou, vibrant and alive. Flicking my nose and swearing at me affectionately. I pictured her face. Held on to it.

It was the only way I could continue without throttling someone.

Elodie eyed one of the women beside Coco with obvious interest before patting my cheek. “Sorry, pet. If you’d had a sister . . .”

She strode away without a backward glance, and Ansel fell into step beside me. Under cover of the girls’ prattling, he nudged my arm, nodding in front of us to where the trees thinned out. “Look.”

A bridge stretched out before us. Impossibly long. Wooden. Fabled. Above it, towering over the peak of the mountain, sat Chateau le Blanc.

We had arrived.

Modraniht

Reid

There were witches everywhere.

My breath caught as they swept me into the snowy courtyard. It was almost too crowded to walk. Everywhere I turned, I bumped into someone. There were hags and babies and women of every age, shape, and color—all bright-eyed with excitement. All flushed. All laughing. All praising the pagan goddess.

A dark-haired woman ran up to me through the crowd, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to my cheek. “Merry meet!” She giggled before disappearing into the crowd once more.

A decrepit old witch with a basket of evergreens came next. I eyed her suspiciously, remembering the hag from the market, but she only placed a juniper crown on my head and croaked a blessing from the goddess. Little girls ran shrieking past my legs in a wild game of tag. Feet bare and faces dirty. Ribbons in their hair.

It was madness.

Elaina and Elinor—who had abandoned Ansel after realizing Elodie had traded up—pulled me in opposite directions, each determined to introduce me to every person they’d ever known. I didn’t bother remembering their names. A month ago, I would’ve wanted them all dead. Now, a hollow sort of pit opened up in my stomach as I greeted them. These women—with their pretty smiles and shining faces—wanted Lou dead. They were here to celebrate Lou’s death.

The revelry soon became intolerable. As did the undiluted stench of magic, stronger here than anywhere I’d ever encountered it.

I tugged away from Elaina with a strained smile. “I need the washroom.”

Though my eyes roamed for Madame Labelle, I had no idea what face she’d taken—or if she’d even gotten inside.

“You can’t!” Elaina clutched me tighter. The sun had sunk below the castle, lengthening the shadows in the courtyard. “The feast is about to start!”

Sure enough, the witches began moving toward the doors as if answering a silent call. Perhaps they were. If I concentrated hard enough, I could almost feel the faint whispering of it across my skin. I shuddered.

“Of course,” I ground out as she tugged me forward. “I can wait.”

Ansel and Beau stuck close to me. Coco had been dragged away as soon as we crossed the bridge, and I hadn’t seen her since. Her absence made me uneasy.

Beau elbowed a plump witch aside to keep up. “Will our Lady be attending the feast?”

“Excuse you.” She nearly leveled him in retaliation, and he skidded into me before righting himself.

“Good Lord.” He eyed the witch’s broad back as she shoved through a set of stone doors. Above them, an elaborate depiction of the waxing, full, and waning moons had been carved.

“I think you have the wrong deity,” I muttered.

“Are you coming or not?” Elinor yanked me past the carving, and I had little choice but to follow.

The hall was vast and ancient—larger than even the sanctuary in Saint-Cécile—with vaulted ceilings and giant beams covered in snow and foliage, as if the courtyard had somehow spilled inside. Vines crept in from the arched windows. Ice glittered on the walls. Long wooden tables ran the length of the floor, overflowing with moss and flickering candles. Thousands of them. They cast a soft glow on the witches who lingered nearby. No one had yet seated themselves. All watched the far side of the room with rapt attention. I followed their gazes. The very air around us seemed to still.