When Anouk didn’t answer, Viggo moved toward the bars, tipping his head forward conspiratorially. “You and I have always had an understanding, haven’t we, Anouk? She was like a mother to you too. You and I both loved her. We were the only ones who did.”
Anouk eyed him warily. “So do you believe that I didn’t kill her?”
Viggo snorted messily and wiped his nose with his sleeve. Not broken after all, but definitely bruised. “You? You turn white when you have to pluck chicken for dinner. You’d never hurt her.” His face darkened. “Was it Beau?”
“No,” Anouk snapped, but her heart was thumping so hard she was surprised Viggo couldn’t hear it. Hunter Black made a slight growl as though maybe he heard it. “We don’t know who did. But it wasn’t either of us.”
Viggo grunted noncommittally. “You shouldn’t have come here. Mada Zola can’t be trusted. You’d be safer with me. Come back to the townhouse. I might not be a witch, but I’m influential among the Pretties. Whatever promises Zola made you, they’re lies.”
“We need her.”
“Ha.”
“We need her. In twenty-four hours, our enchantment will end. If that happens, we’ll turn back to animals, all of us. Even you, Hunter Black. The only way to stay as we are is if we get the beastie spell, which Mada Zola has promised to use on us to keep us human. But there’s a problem. It’s kept at Castle Ides.” She held the candle closer to him, meeting his gaze. “We could never get past their security, but you have an invitation.”
“He isn’t helping you,” Hunter Black snarled.
But Viggo held up a hand, silencing him, and eyed Anouk. He’d guzzled a considerable amount of wine in a very short time, but he could hold his alcohol, she had to give him that. “The invitation alone won’t get you in. Not without me to present it.”
Anouk tightened her jaw. “Then you’ll have to come too.”
Viggo laughed at the prospect. Hunter Black cursed and went off to the corner to sulk. Viggo leaned against the door, his hair falling in his face. “You need me. That’s rich.” He took another sip of wine.
“Don’t you want Hunter Black to stay human?” Anouk asked. “And Cricket?”
His only answer was to drink more, though Anouk knew he was toying with her. He lusted after Cricket; perhaps perversely, he’d do anything to keep her safe. His china teacup reflected back the candlelight, and Anouk narrowed her eyes.
“That cup. Show it to me.”
Raising an eyebrow, Viggo complied, holding it up to the grate. It was an odd design, not like the Pretties’ usual floral patterns. This one had sea-monster tentacles amid delicate little ocean bubbles.
A Goblin design.
Her stomach turned as alarm bells chimed in her head. She thought of those rumors of Goblins invited to the château for tea parties and ending up as potting soil. She glanced again at the wine cellar’s heavy door, so like a cell’s. Who else had been imprisoned here?
Viggo scratched his chin, his eyes dangerously sober. “I’ll help you, but I want something.”
“What?”
He leaned closer. “You put me to sleep with a whisper. Bravo, little beastie. And you lit that candle just now with a whisper. I admit, I’m impressed. I never thought beasties capable of magic, especially not you, my little dust mop. If you want my help, I’ll give it to you.” He paused. “Provided that you make Cricket fall in love with me.”
Anouk recoiled from the door. Hunter Black stalked out of the dark corner, a scowl on his face. “Viggo. This is unwise. That girl . . . your obsession—”
“I didn’t ask you,” Viggo snapped, and for a second the scowling mask Hunter Black wore slipped and beneath it Anouk saw real hurt.
Viggo turned back to Anouk, eyes gleaming. “Do we have a deal?”
She didn’t answer. It sickened her to think of Cricket gazing at Viggo with adoring eyes, and all because of Anouk. Could she technically even do it? She’d never cast a love spell before, and they were difficult. But she’d heard Mada Vittora cast one; she knew the words to say and the ingredients to use, and Mada Zola could help her. Part of her almost longed to try.
“Forget it.” A voice came from the cellar stairs. “She won’t do it.”
Beau joined them. His fists were clenched and his face looked grim.
“How long have you been there?” Anouk asked.
“Long enough. Go to hell, Viggo. We wouldn’t do that to Cricket. Right, Anouk?”
Anouk didn’t answer.
Beau spun to her. “Right?”
She turned away from his hard gaze and those too-blue eyes that showed his clear conscience, so sure that it was his job to shelter her from the big scary world. Ever since Luc had disappeared, Beau had been trying to fill his shoes, but this was what Beau would never get: Luc understood that doing what was right and doing what was necessary were two different things.
Her heart was pounding. She gripped the metal grate before she could change her mind. “Get us into Castle Ides and have Hunter Black help us if anything goes wrong, and I’ll do it.”
Beau’s jaw dropped. “Anouk, you can’t do this.”
Oh, Beau. He couldn’t protect her from everything.
“Do we have a deal?” she asked Viggo.
“Oui.” Viggo reached his index finger through the narrow grate.
Anouk hesitated, then wrapped her own finger around his. A handshake—or the closest they could manage—between prisoner and captor.
Partners now.
“I need to gather some supplies,” she said. “We’ll have to work fast. We’re running out of time and it’s a long way back to Paris.”
* * *
“Before you say anything,” Anouk said at the top of the cellar stairs, holding up a hand to silence Beau, “I’m not really going to do it.”
The tense set to his jaw eased, but his fists were still clenched. “You said—”
“I said what he wanted to hear. He’ll get a spell, just not the one he wants.”
Beau didn’t look convinced, kept eyeing her as though she were a different person than the girl in a ruffled apron who’d baked him muffins with crumbled sugar on top, and Anouk rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I would never do that to Cricket. You know that, Beau. But we need Viggo to get into Castle Ides. And we need Hunter Black too. We can’t rely on Cricket to be the only one with real fighting skills if things go wrong.”
Beau folded his arms across his chest. “So, what, you’re going to get Cricket to pretend to love him?”
“Mon Dieu, no. She’s a terrible actress. I have a better idea, though I’ll need a wineglass and some of Petra’s blood. Where is everyone?”
“Outside. Zola wanted to close up the tunnel that Viggo dug before anything else could crawl through. Cricket’s in the garden. She convinced Zola to lend her a book of spells so she could practice destruction tricks on some poor sapling. She really enjoyed knocking Viggo out.”
“Good. She’ll be distracted for a few hours. Best she doesn’t know about this yet. And I need for you to take down all the paintings in the sitting room that show the interior of Castle Ides. We need views of every room, every entrance. Without blueprints, it’s the closest thing we have to a map.”
“You’re serious about this, then? Breaking into Castle Ides?”
“I’m serious about staying human.”
Beau looked at the murky line of moonlight that slashed across the floor. “We have twenty-four hours left. If this plan doesn’t work, and we’re trapped in the city when our time runs out . . .”
“It’ll work,” Anouk said. “But we have to hurry. It takes seven hours to drive back to Paris and the same to return here so the Mada can perform the spell. That gives us ten hours to figure out the plan and actually go through with it.”
Beau let out a sigh to the heavens.
Anouk headed for the foyer. She’d often sat with Luc in his attic rooms as he’d prepared the various potions that Mada Vittora’s more complicated spells
required. And while a love spell wasn’t particularly challenging, it took just the right life-essence ingredients in a particular balance or the nature of love would be thrown off. Too much vervain, the lover would be aggressive. Too little sage would result in a short-lived crush. She needed the real thing. Obsessive love. Consuming love.
She picked up the hedge clippers that Petra had left on the entry table and an old basket and went outside. How many mornings in the townhouse had she yearned to do this one simple act? Step over the threshold without needing anyone’s permission? Such a small act, one that everyone else in the world took for granted.
A gust of wind blew her hair back. She worked the franc coin in her pocket between her fingers. If tomorrow night came and they hadn’t renewed their enchantment, would Luc, wherever he was, turn back into an animal too?
She found Petra and Mada Zola by the hedge. Fresh soil had been churned up, presumably to fill Viggo’s tunnel, and the hedge entrance was closed. She took another step and a branch snapped beneath her foot.
“Has your quarry awoken?” The witch motioned to the fallen branches. “They did a lot of damage getting in here.”
There was a hard note to her voice, and with a sick feeling, Anouk looked back at the branches underfoot. Thorns and small green leaves like shaggy fur. She quickly stepped back. It was Toblerone—or what was left of him since Hunter Black had chopped him into firewood.
“Toblerone—”
“You enchanted him. I know. But you attempted a spell beyond your ability and now he’s gone.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“Let this be a lesson, then. Spells are complex things. Magic isn’t something to be trifled with. Members of the Haute spend decades, even centuries, studying the craft of casting. And you’ve been alive for, what, one year? It’s impressive you can even manage a sleeping spell at this point in your young life, but don’t get ahead of yourself. You have lifetimes’ worth of knowledge still to learn.”
Mada Zola gave one final whisper as grass knit itself back over the churned soil, erasing every vestige of the tunnel. Anouk picked up a small branch lined with thorns. A wooden jawbone, or what was left of one.
“I need your help.” She let the branch fall. “And yours too, Petra. I have a spell in mind, but I’ll need your blood.”
Anouk couldn’t read Petra’s face, but Petra glanced at Mada Zola, and some imperceptible understanding passed between them.
Petra nodded. “I’ll be in my bloodletting room.” She left Anouk and Mada Zola alone in the moonlight.
Anouk fished a scrap of paper out of her pocket. “It’s a love spell. I’ve heard Mada Vittora whisper it before, but I don’t know how to do it myself. I wrote it down the best I could remember it.”
Mada Zola took the paper, lips moving silently as she read, and then smiled. “You’ll need snapdragons.”
They spent the next hour gathering flowers and herbs from the garden—seeking out asters, cutting sprigs of bay laurel, gathering everything carefully to keep the buds intact, and then they took their supplies to the potting shed. Prince Rennar watched Anouk from a portrait hung up by a nail. She let her gaze trail over his slightly crooked nose, the deep-set eyes. It was infinitely easier to look him in the eye, she decided, when she knew he wasn’t looking back.
A knock came at the door. Petra handed her a wineglass full of still-warm blood.
“Thanks, Petra.”
She shrugged. “More where that came from.” But she looked pale.
Anouk frowned in concern. “Those cookies I made this morning—you should eat one. Sugar helps after losing blood.”
This brought a half smile to Petra’s face. “Not going to argue with cookies.” She gave Anouk a nod. “I’m keeping watch over your captives. They’re getting very drunk. Viggo is, at least.” She motioned to the far gardens. “And Cricket’s making sawdust out of our willow saplings.”
Anouk poured the blood into a bottle. “That I want to see.”
They made their way to the water gardens, where willows lined an artificial stream. It might once have been a bucolic spot, but now shredded limbs and leaves littered the ground; it looked as though a construction crew had passed through. Cricket was attacking two remaining saplings at once. She was using her regular knifework on the tree at the left, slashing and slicing as fast as a crow took wing, while consuming eucalyptus leaves from a pouch at her waist and using their life-essence to cast whispers toward the tree on the right. Mirrored slash marks cut across its trunk, though she hadn’t touched it. Leaves rained down, though she was ten feet away. By the time she was finished, both trees had been destroyed with alarming intensity. She hadn’t even spared the stumps.
“Exactly which Royal is she planning on using that spell against?” Petra asked.
“Um . . . all of them? She’s not a fan of the Haute.”
“Yeah. I gathered that,” Petra answered.
In the glen, Cricket lifted her knives and started in on another sapling.
Inside, Anouk and Petra found Beau guarding the cellar door, sitting on a stool with the plate of cookies on his lap. Beau still looked grumpy about Anouk’s plan, but at least he was licking crumbs off his fingers while sulking.
“Have they caused any problems?” Anouk said.
“Viggo’s toasted,” he said. “He was singing Céline Dion.”
“Who’s that?”
“You don’t want me to try to sing her stuff. You’ll go deaf.”
They took lanterns and the cookies and went downstairs. Viggo’s singing abruptly stopped. Hunter Black appeared at the window. If he’d had any of the wine, he held it better than Viggo. His eyes found Anouk’s. He was all glares and a charcoal smear of hair. “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.”
Viggo pushed Hunter Black aside and smooshed his own face against the bars. “Anouksh. Good, you’re back—hey, are those cookies?”
Petra grudgingly shoved a cookie between the bars.
He wolfed it down and dusted crumbs off his shirt. “Thanks. Anouk, you know, when I knew this charming girl years ago, she went by a very different name. You’re looking good these days, my friend. New haircut? I can’t quite put my finger on it . . .”
Petra smiled tightly. “Don’t be an ass.”
“Can I have another cookie, Petra?”
“Enough cookies,” Anouk interrupted. She held up the bottle of elixir and a single short hair from her pocket. She dropped the hair into the elixir and swirled it gently. “Drink this.”
The smirk disappeared off Viggo’s face. “Is that one of Cricket’s hairs? Is that how this works?” He’d sobered up fast.
“You have to drink every last drop,” Anouk said.
Viggo’s hungry eyes devoured the bottle. Anouk almost felt sorry for him until she remembered his unwanted hands all over Cricket, and then she didn’t feel bad at all.
“You’ll have to unlock the door,” Hunter Black murmured darkly. “That bottle won’t fit through the bars.”
“Not a chance.” With a flourish, Beau produced a curly blue drinking straw. When the others threw him odd looks, he shrugged. “I found it in the kitchen drawer next to birthday candles.”
He stuck the straw in the bottle and Anouk held it close enough for Viggo to reach it.
Viggo grimaced at the taste but kept slurping until he reached the ssss-ssss of an empty glass. He wiped his mouth. “Doesn’t Cricket need to be here?”
“I’m sure she’s falling passionately in love with you as we speak,” Anouk said. “In fact, Beau, will you go get her? She’s in the garden. Careful. Don’t sneak up on her.”
Hunter Black continued to scowl from the shadows’ edge. If he was the wolf, as Cricket suspected, would he be so devoted to one person? Weren’t wolves lone hunters? Or else loyal to a whole pack?
“How long does it take?” Petra’s fingernails drummed on the cookie tray. “Is this an instant thing or should I make tea?”
Foots
teps came from the stairs. The glow of another lamp. Anouk heard Beau’s voice explaining something to Cricket, telling her to wait, that everything would be fine.
At the bottom of the stairs, Cricket wiped sweat off her brow from her fighting practice and threw Viggo a glare. “You’re still alive? That’s a shame.”
Viggo didn’t answer, his eyes glassy but not from the wine.
“Well?” Hunter Black’s arms were folded stiffly. “Go ahead, Cricket. Tell him that you love him. That you’d do anything for him.”
“Ha!” Cricket clapped her hands together. “Exactly how much wine have you had?”
The temperature grew colder, as though the cellar stones were sucking up all the heat. Beau looked uneasily between Cricket and Viggo. But Anouk only waited. She felt Viggo’s eyes shift from Cricket and slide across the room past Petra, past Beau, to stop on her. She shivered. She’d seen that particular glassiness in a person’s eyes. Once, a Goblin girl tasked with delivering charmed necklaces to a jewelry shop had misplaced the package. To punish her, Mada Vittora had enchanted the girl to fall desperately in love with the small yellow postal van that delivered their mail. The Goblin girl was still probably walking up and down the streets of Paris following a hunk of wheeled metal that could never love her back.
“You’re supposed to be in love with him,” Hunter Black said.
“Him?” Cricket sneered.
Anouk could feel Viggo’s hot gaze like sunlight—warm at first, but the longer she was exposed, the closer she was to burning.
“Open the door,” Viggo said in a hoarse voice.
Beau clenched his fists. “Not happening.”
“No, it’s okay. Do it.” Anouk’s stomach twisted in hitches. Beau grumbled his disapproval, but he unlocked the door.
Viggo staggered out. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair streaked and in disarray, but his eyes were alight. He took a step past Beau. One past Petra. And then straight past Cricket, as though this girl whose love he’d craved above all else had ceased to exist.
He collapsed to his knees at Anouk’s feet.
“Viggo,” Hunter Black growled. “What are you doing? Get up.”
Grim Lovelies Page 15