The ground gave way beneath me. Shouts and footsteps thundered in the distance, but I couldn’t truly hear them. Couldn’t even see. There was only darkness—the bitter void in the world where Lou should’ve been and now was not. I stared into it, willing it to consume me.

It did. I spiraled down, down, down into that darkness with her, and yet—she wasn’t there at all. She was gone. Only a broken shell and sea of blood remained.

And I . . . I was alone.

Out of the darkness, a single golden cord shimmered into existence. It drifted out of Lou’s chest and toward the Archbishop—pulsed as if in echo of a heart. With each beat, its light grew dimmer. I stared at it for the span of a single second. Knew what it was in the same way I knew the sound of my own voice, my reflection in the mirror. Familiar, yet foreign. Expected, yet startling. Something that had always been part of me, but I had never quite known.

In that darkness, something awoke inside me.

I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t think. Moving quickly, I swept a second knife from my bandolier and charged past Morgane. She lifted her hands—fire lashing from her fingertips—but I didn’t feel the flames. The gold light wrapped around my skin, protecting me. But my thoughts scattered. Whatever strength my body had claimed, my mind now forfeited. I stumbled, but the gold cord marked my path. I vaulted over the altar after it.

The Archbishop’s eyes flew open as he realized my intent. A small, pleading noise escaped him, but he could do little else before I fell upon him.

Before I drove my knife home in his heart.

A life for a life. A love for a love.

The Archbishop’s eyes were still wide—confused—as he slumped forward in my arms.

The gold light dispersed, and the world came rushing back into focus. The shouts grew louder now. I stared down at the Archbishop’s lifeless body, numb, but Morgane’s scream of rage made me turn. Made me hope. Tears of relief welled in my eyes at what I saw.

Though Lou was still pale, still unmoving, the gash at her throat was closing. Her chest rose and fell.

She was alive.

With a brutal cry, Morgane jerked her knife up to reopen the wound, but an arrow sliced through the air and lodged in her chest. She screamed anew, whirling furiously, but I recognized the blue-tipped shaft immediately.

Chasseurs.

Led by Jean Luc, scores of them surged into the clearing. The witches shrieked in panic—scattering in every direction—but more of my brethren waited in the trees. They showed no mercy, cutting through woman and child alike without hesitation. Bodies everywhere fell into the mist and disappeared. An unearthly wail rose up from the very ground in response, and soon Chasseurs began disappearing as well.

Fury contorted Jean Luc’s features as he notched another arrow and raced toward the temple. His eyes were no longer fixed on Morgane, however—they were fixed on me. Too late, I realized my hand still clenched the knife protruding from the Archbishop’s chest. I dropped it hastily—the Archbishop’s body falling with it—but the damage had been done.

Jean Luc took aim and fired.

La Forêt des Yeux

Reid

I grabbed Lou and ducked behind the altar. Ansel and Beau scrambled after me, holding a barely conscious Coco between them. Arrows rained down on our heads. Morgane blasted most of them into ash with a wave of her hand, but one sank deep into her leg. She screamed in fury.

“Through there.” Voice faint, Coco pointed into the depths of the temple. “There’s . . . another exit.”

I hesitated for only a second. Another volley of arrows distracted Morgane—it was now or never.

“Get them out.” I slid Lou into Beau’s arms. “I’ll catch up.”

Before he could protest, I dove out from behind the altar toward Madame Labelle’s body. No arrows had yet pierced her, but our luck wouldn’t hold. As the Chasseurs closed in, their range turned deadly. An arrow whizzed by my ear. Grabbing Madame Labelle’s wrist, I hauled her into my arms. Tried to shield as much of her body as possible with my own.

Fire and arrow pursued me as I sprinted back into the temple. Sharp pain lanced through my shoulder, but I didn’t dare stop.

The sound of the battle died as I entered the uncanny quiet of the inner temple. Ahead of me, Ansel, Coco, and Beau raced toward the exit. I sprinted after them, trying to ignore the warm, wet substance spreading across my arm. The small moans of pain escaping Madame Labelle’s throat.

She’s alive. Alive.

I didn’t look behind to see if Morgane or Jean Luc followed. I focused only on the small rectangle of moonlight at the end of the temple, on Coco’s hair bobbing as she cleared it.

Coco.

Coco could heal her.

I caught up to them as they entered the shadows of the forest. They didn’t slow. Lurching forward, I grabbed Coco’s arm. Her eyes were dim, glazed, as she turned back to me. I extended Madame Labelle’s broken body to her. “Help her. Please.” My voice shook—my eyes burned—but I didn’t care. I pressed my mother into her arms. “Please.”

Ansel glanced behind us, breathing heavily. “Reid, there’s no time—”

“Please.” My eyes never wavered from her face. “She’s dying.”

Coco blinked slowly. “I’ll try.”

“Coco, you’re too weak!” Beau shifted Lou in his arms, red-faced and panting. “You can barely stand!”

She answered by lifting her wrist to her mouth and tearing the thin skin there. The same acrid scent singed the air as she drew back. Blood coated her lips. “This will only buy us time until we reach camp.” She lifted her wrist to Madame Labelle’s chest. We watched, transfixed, as her blood dripped down, sizzling when it touched Madame Labelle’s skin.

Beau watched incredulously as the wound knit itself back together. “How—?”

“Not now.” Coco flexed her wrist and shook her head, eyes sharpening, as a man’s scream sounded beyond the temple. The witches must’ve marshaled their forces, recovering from their initial panic. Though I could no longer see the clearing, I could imagine them using the only weapons they had at their disposal: their consorts. Human shields against my brethren’s Balisardas.

Coco glanced back at Madame Labelle’s pale body. “We need to find our camp quickly, or she’ll die.”

She didn’t need to tell us twice. Ducking our heads, we raced through the forest and into the night.

Shadows still cloaked the pines when we found our abandoned camp. Though Madame Labelle had grown steadily paler, her chest still rose and fell. Her heart still beat.

Coco rifled through her pack and pulled out a jar of thick, amber liquid. “Honey,” she explained at my anxious look. “Blood and honey.”

Lowering Madame Labelle to the forest floor, I watched in morbid fascination as Coco reopened her wrist and mixed her blood with the honey. She applied it carefully to the puckered welt on Madame Labelle’s chest. Almost instantly, Madame Labelle’s breathing deepened. Color returned to her cheeks. I sank to my knees, unwilling to look away. Not even for a second. “How?”

Coco sat back, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. “I told you. My magic comes from within. Not—not like Lou’s.”