Then he seemed to notice the tension between Beau and Anouk. His eyes dropped to the empty bag, then went back to Beau.
“You didn’t tell them?” Luc said.
Anouk whipped her head to Beau. “Tell us what?” And then Beau’s silence suddenly made sense to her. It was about far more than a kiss. She shoved herself to her feet. “Beau, did you know Luc was in there?”
Beau flinched as though he’d been struck. “No!” She stared at him hard, and he winced. “Well, not the whole time. I only learned that he was in the oubliette the night we fled. And then I didn’t believe it was possible to get him out without another witch. Besides, once the Royals were searching for Vittora’s killer, I thought it would be best for him to stay in there, hidden, until it was safe to come out.”
Anouk gaped at him. “What does Vittora’s killer have to do with anything?”
Both Luc and Beau went very quiet.
At last, Luc rested a hand on Anouk’s shoulder. “You loved her so deeply, Anouk. I’m sorry.”
Anouk still stared at Luc and Beau, uncertain, and then it all came crashing down on her. She leaned against the tomb, suddenly not trusting her own legs to keep her standing.
“You killed her,” she whispered to Luc.
Luc sank wearily onto the tomb, dusting the grime from his short hair. He took a deep breath. “It started with the rabbits . . .”
He explained in a rusty voice how he had overheard Mada Vittora’s plan to kill and replace all of them but Anouk and that he knew he had to stop her. He prevented it the best he could, having Anouk cook the rabbits before the witch could perform the spell. He even tried to contact Mada Zola for help, not knowing that Mada Zola would turn on him. After he returned from the Château des Mille Fleurs, Mada Vittora was waiting for him. She cursed him into the oubliette.
“It was dark in there, like the world was cast in shadows. I searched for a way out, but there was nothing. No doors. No windows. I had no idea how much time was passing. For all I knew, she was going to leave me there for centuries. But the rest of you were in danger—I had to come up with a way out. And then I found this.” He took a vial out of his pocket.
Cricket squinted. “Parsley?”
“Jimsonbane,” he said. “It’s rare. Most of the world has forgotten about it. I came across a reference to it years ago in an ancient botany encyclopedia. I’m not even certain Mada Vittora remembered she had a vial left in the oubliette.”
The distant dance party still raged, but in the quiet of the crypt, Anouk felt like she was caught in that same never-ending timelessness that Luc must have felt in the oubliette.
“Jimsonbane,” he continued, “is the only herb known to have ethereal-projection properties. If handled correctly, it can cast an herbalist’s spirit outside of the body.”
“And out of the oubliette to escape,” Cricket guessed.
“Well, that was the idea.” Luc frowned as though remembering something unpleasant. “It didn’t quite work like that. I did cast my spirit out, intending to escape, but I cast it right into Mada Vittora’s bedroom. She was there. It looked late outside—maybe close to midnight. She’d been drinking. When she saw my spirit, she went pale. I saw myself in the mirror. I looked translucent, like a ghost.”
“A ghoul, you mean,” Tenpenny clarified. “Ghosts don’t exist.”
Luc gave him a suspicious look. “Um, who are you again?”
“Long story.” Tenpenny petted his new rat.
“Right . . .” Luc eyed the rat blood on the Goblin’s cravat. “Anyway, I could feel the jimsonbane fading. I could see my spirit flickering, and Vittora saw it too. She thought she’d won. But she didn’t know that spirits on jimsonbane have the ability to hold physical objects—one of the reasons why it’s so valuable. I took the knife from her dresser and stabbed her. I had to. She was going to kill us.”
Anouk looked down at her hands, remembering her mistress’s blood on them. She wanted to feel that hot buzz of anger again. She wanted to feel something. But could she condemn Luc for killing their mistress after everything she’d done to them—and was going to do to them? Still, she felt a small part of herself slip away. She’d loved Mada Vittora once. A twisted, misunderstood love, but even the cruelest forms of love were never lost without heartache.
“I didn’t have much time after that,” Luc said. “The jimsonbane was used up. My spirit returned to my body in the oubliette. Beau came upstairs just as it was happening.”
Anouk turned hotly on Beau. “There was no reason not to tell us.”
Beau rubbed his scalp awkwardly, wincing at her tone. “Telling you wouldn’t have freed him. Besides, what was I supposed to say, that your best friend had murdered the witch you considered a mother? I was afraid it would break your heart. I was trying to protect you.”
Anouk stared at him, uncertain what to think. What did it mean that he thought lies could protect someone? Was that how he saw her—as an artless, sheltered girl incapable of facing reality?
She stepped back. Looked at the scattered magical objects at her feet—anything to avoid looking at Beau. Jars of herbs. Scraps of paper with long-forgotten spells. Gold coins. Priceless objects that now belonged to them.
Luc touched her shoulder. “Can you forgive me, Anouk?”
She drew in a breath. “I understand why you did what you did.” She paused and then blurted out, “At least you’re here now. You can fix this entire mess.”
She waited for Luc’s confident grin. That knowing wink.
He held out his hands, shaking his head. “I can barely stand, dust bunny. I’ve been gone. I can’t fix anything.”
“But you always know what to do,” Anouk insisted.
Then she saw that Cricket and Beau and Tenpenny were now looking at her the same way she had once looked at Luc. When had she become the one everyone turned to for guidance?
A flicker of hope started to return. She swallowed. “There’s nothing wrong with a little dust,” she said, blowing a streak of it off Luc’s thumb.
Outside the crypt, the dance party had dwindled to a core group of revelers; the rest of the Goblin horde were asleep on the catacomb floor using skulls for pillows. It felt cold—too cold.
Where was Viggo? Ever since she’d cast the love spell, he had been practically glued to her side.
The smile fell off her lips.
“Where are Viggo and Hunter Black?” she asked sharply.
“Um, about that.” Beau looked even more uncomfortable. “I was so sick of that love spell that I had December break it. I didn’t think we needed Viggo’s help anymore.”
“Love spell?” Luc asked, bewildered, and then he raised his eyebrows doubtfully. “Viggo?”
“I have so much gossip to tell you,” Cricket said.
“If the spell is broken, then Viggo isn’t loyal to us anymore,” Anouk said. “He’ll go straight to the Royals and tell them that we’re here in the catacombs.”
“I’ll find the prick,” Cricket offered, producing a blade.
“We don’t have time. They could be anywhere in Paris by now. We have to change our plan.”
“To what? We were short on options to start with.”
A paper fluttered to the floor and landed amid the detritus. The beastie spell. Anouk knelt down, smoothed it out, and then flipped it over and sniffed. Once more she smelled that familiar odor of onion and lemon, only now, with Luc back, she remembered where she knew it from: the secret messages she and Luc used to write to each other in invisible ink and slide beneath each other’s doors.
She met his eyes and smiled.
She dug a match out of her pocket, whispered a flame to life, and held it a careful distance below the spell. Luc might not be able to solve their problems for them anymore, but he had given her an idea.
“There’s always another way,” she said, “if you’re desperate enough.”
Chapter 33
Twenty-Two Hours of (New) Enchantment Remain
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She blew out the candle flame.
“Look at this.” She showed them the back of the beastie spell. “Rennar didn’t only write a spell to turn animals into humans. There’s a second spell here, written in an invisible solution of cepa de apa, lemon, and diluted blood. I knew I recognized that smell.” She shared a knowing look with Luc. “The words are revealed when exposed to fire. It’s a contra-beastie spell that can turn humans to animals.”
Tenpenny peered over her shoulder at spell. “It’s surprisingly elegant. Rennar does have a way with words, doesn’t he? That handsome devil . . .”
“So you can cast it?”
“Goodness, no.”
Anouk’s lips parted, ready to insist that he at least try.
“But you can,” he added.
She wrinkled her nose in surprise.
“This spell is, above all, exceptional in its simplicity. You see, it’s much easier to turn a human into a toad than the other way around. Even someone with only a basic mastery of magic, such as yourself, could manage the pronunciation. But the ingredients—ah, there’s the catch.” He pointed to a notation on the spell. “The beastie spell requires no more than a thimbleful of blood, but the contra-beastie spell calls for six pints. That’s far more than any Goblin or even Royal could consume. The vitae echo would ravage us. But you, dearie, could guzzle that much and more.”
This took all of them by surprise. Finally Cricket broke the silence and said, “I hope you’re proposing to turn Viggo into a toad.”
“Not Viggo. Mada Zola.” Anouk swept aside the bones from the sarcophagus and traced a map in the grime on top. “The Royals haven’t yet lifted Mada Zola’s banishment. She’s still trapped in her estate. If the Goblins will help us lay siege to Château des Mille Fleurs and capture Mada Zola, we can force her to perform the beastie spell on us before midnight tomorrow under threat of casting the contra-spell on her.”
“You want to return to Montélimar?” Beau sounded uncertain.
“It’s our strongest chance, and besides, Viggo doesn’t know about it so he won’t be able to warn her of our plan. Tenpenny, can we still count on the Goblins to fight for us?”
“A deal is a deal, dearie.”
Cricket leaned in the doorway, looking out over the sleeping masses with a frown. “They don’t look like much of an army.”
Tenpenny scoffed, affronted. “I’ll have you know that Goblins have incredible stamina.” But then he too evaluated the drunken sprawl of sleeping revelers, and his confidence waned. “Er, cappuccino is a wonder for shaking off fatigue. They’ll be fine.”
“Once again, we’re screwed,” Cricket muttered.
“You keep saying that,” Beau countered. “But we’ve gotten out of every narrow scrape. Breaking into Castle Ides. Stealing the spell. Avoiding the crows. Fighting off the Royals. And we’re still alive.”
“True, except for the fact that, currently, we’re actually dead.” She kicked at the empty vial of Tenpenny’s heart-stopping elixir.
Luc rubbed the sides of his head like he was still caught in some freakish other reality. “Wait, the four of us and some Goblins are going to attack Château des Mille Fleurs?” He let out a long puff of air. “Merde. Is it too late to banish me to the oubliette again?”
Anouk smacked him on the arm. “Mada Zola’s witch’s girl, Petra, went behind her mistress’s back to help us. She might help us again. That could make all the difference.”
Luc turned to Tenpenny. “If we’re doing this crazy thing, let’s at least be smart about it. Where’s your scryboard? We can listen in on anything Zola and Rennar might be scheming.”
Tenpenny cleared his throat. “Scryboard? Never heard of it. Sounds like something illegal.” When Anouk gave the Goblin a hard look, he conceded with an eyeroll. He went to the hallway and called for December, who returned with the parrot on her shoulder.
“December, show them the scryboard.”
December led them through another graffiti-lined tunnel to a low wooden door. Anouk ducked inside. No bones here, but the smell of something rotting was thick, and she held a hand against her nose. She didn’t recognize the scryboard until she heard its whispers. Or, rather, its hissing. There were no glistening black feathers here. No ropy, vein-like wires. Instead of being made from organic materials taken from crows, this scryboard was made from insect components. A hard carapace covered the whole contraption. She eyed it uncertainly only to realize it was eyeing her back with a fractured, eight-sided insect eye emerging from one side. Luc sat on the stool, cupping a scaly set of headphones over his ears. She took a step backward and bumped into Beau.
He motioned her into the corner, where they had some privacy. He looked nearly sick with guilt. “You’re angry about December.”
Her mind went back to the dark Métro tunnel and pink lipstick on two sets of lips. “I hope you don’t need magic to tell you that.”
“I was jealous about Viggo and Rennar, and she said I had nice hands and you know I’m vain about my hands and . . . and it was stupid. So stupid.”
A sigh escaped Anouk’s lips. “It doesn’t matter right now. We don’t have time to argue over smeared lipstick when our lives are running out.” She started to turn away, but he stopped her.
“I should have told you about Luc.”
Yes. That was the real problem, wasn’t it? She looked away before he could see the still-fresh sting in her eyes.
“I’d do anything to keep you from being hurt,” he insisted. “You loved Luc and Mada Vittora more than you loved anyone else. How could I tell you that one had killed the other?”
“I’m not a bird with broken wings, Beau. I don’t need to be sheltered.”
“I was wrong. You weren’t naive then, and you certainly aren’t now. Through all this darkness, you’ve held on to love and hope, and that’s true strength.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to this. The boy who’d spent every day of her human life with her was now seeing her—the real her—for the first time. “I should have seen that there was no love in Mada Vittora’s heart,” she admitted. “Luc did the right thing. It’s better that she’s dead.”
Beau didn’t answer, but his face showed that he didn’t think she believed that. Love was love, even if it had been cruel, and it was like Beau to see that she was still mourning Mada Vittora even if she refused to admit it to herself.
“I won’t keep anything from you again, cabbage—”
She pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. She was reminded of the first time they had kissed in Montélimar. She’d held her finger to his lips like this and then replaced it with her own lips. What would Rennar, with his proposal of marriage, think of his beasties in each other’s arms?
“You mesmerized him,” Beau murmured, reading her mind. “The prince. I could see it in his eyes.”
She dropped her finger from his lips. “He wanted to use us.”
“It’s more than that. He’s fascinated by you. You have something he lost long ago—youth. Wonder. He was enchanted by your hopefulness. He has everything under the sun, power and time and riches most people only dream of, but he doesn’t have what you have, not anymore.” He traced a thumb gently along the red heart on her left cheek. “And he has what you want too. Knowledge. Answers. The confidence that comes from experience. I could feel the pull between the two of you. You’re fascinated by him too.”
His words felt dangerously close to painting a picture of her and Rennar, and it wasn’t a picture she felt comfortable with at all. “What are you saying?”
“Just that I’m damn glad you didn’t step into that cage.”
Slowly, his arm circled her back, holding her not like a broken bird, but like a slice of cake he wanted to devour whole and then lick up every last drop of icing—but Luc interrupted them.
“Anouk. Get in here and listen to this. See if you can make it out.” He took off the carapace headphones and cranked up the external speaker. Anouk and Beau jo
ined him and Cricket at the scryboard. The hisses were very quiet, but she was used to quiet. It was a sound she had heard before.
Dragonflies.
“They’re saying that Castle Ides is empty,” she said in surprise.
“Empty?” Beau said. “Where’d all the Royals go? Oh, merde. It’s here, isn’t it? Viggo told them we’re in the catacombs and every Royal in Paris is on the way down here—”
“No.” Anouk cut him off. “They aren’t coming here.” She clicked off the speaker tensely. “The dragonflies say they’re going to Montélimar.”
Cricket swore. “How did they know that was our plan? Great, now we’re supposed to capture Mada Zola and fight off the Royals? There’s no way. We’re screwed. And before you say anything, Beau, I mean it this time. Royally screwed.”
“You’re underestimating the effects of cappuccino on Goblins, my dear,” Tenpenny said, coming in from the grand hall. “Not to mention the fact that we have the numbers. Even if the Royals bring the lesser court, how many of them are there—nine or ten? Plus one witch. And there are hundreds of us.”
He took a calm sip of tea.
Beau massaged the bridge of his nose as though his head ached. “I still don’t understand why Rennar and the Royals would bother to go to Montélimar if Viggo told them that we’re here. We’re literally right under their noses. Seriously. Those pipes are marked Boulevard Saint-Michel, which is a block from Castle Ides.”
They all tipped their heads toward the dripping municipal water pipes that fed into the upper city. Anouk felt something cold at her back, a breeze that wasn’t there. Why hadn’t Rennar simply raided the catacombs? Now, with most of the Goblins still yawning and stretching and hunting up clothes, they wouldn’t have put up much of a resistance.
“Because I didn’t tell him where you were,” a voice said.
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