I still didn’t have an answer.
It didn’t matter, however, as Nicholina’s shock had worn off. She whooped with crazed hysteria, reeling backward in glee. “Oh, the baby mouse. The little pinkie, little pup.” Her expression hardened. “The boy who doesn’t know when it’s time to give up.”
He met her glare with an equally hostile one, his fingers still bracing mine. “No one is giving up here.”
She charged without warning, stabbing her knife at him, and he vanished with a wink in my direction. My heart seized at his absence. When she whirled to find him—slashing her knife through the smoke and spewing a torrent of curses—he reappeared behind her without a sound and tapped her shoulder. She nearly leapt out of her skin.
A snort burst from me unexpectedly.
Ansel grinned again.
Recovering quickly, Nicholina struck out once more, harder and faster this time. Ansel didn’t move, but allowed her blade to pierce him—except it didn’t pierce him at all. It simply stuck an inch from his chest, jammed midair as if she’d plunged it into an invisible brick wall. His grin widened. “You can’t kill me. I’m already dead.”
“I do not fear the dead,” she snarled.
He leaned closer. “You’re probably the only one who should. I’ve recently met some of your enemies, Nicholina—splintered souls and vengeful witches and even a few of the king’s children. They’re all waiting for you.”
I stepped closer, looping my elbow through his and ignoring the chill down my spine at his words. The certainty in them. I focused instead on the euphoric tingle in my chest, the warmth spreading through my limbs. His arm felt solid in mine. Real. I couldn’t have stopped my grin if I’d tried. Which I didn’t. “I bet they have all sorts of fun things planned for you.”
He inclined his head. “Fun is one word.”
“You’re lying.” Nicholina lunged again, and he stepped in front of me, blocking her knife. The movement held a sort of grace, or perhaps confidence, he’d never achieved in life. Fascinated, morbidly curious—and something else, something that weighed heavy in my chest—I plucked the knife from midair, paced backward twice, and threw it at him.
He caught it without hesitation—without even looking, the cheeky bastard—and I laughed again, unable to help myself. That heavy sensation in my chest lessened slightly when he blushed. “This is an interesting development,” I said.
“Lots of those going around.” He lifted a brow before pressing the knife back into my hand. Though Nicholina sprang for it, she couldn’t seem to move past him to reach me. The wall he’d erected held firm. He didn’t acknowledge her efforts, so I didn’t either. “The Lou I knew wouldn’t have given up,” he continued softly. My grin vanished. “She would’ve fought, and she would’ve won.”
My own words were barely audible. I spoke through numb lips. “Not without you, she wouldn’t have.”
“You’ve never needed me, Lou. Not like I needed you.”
“Look where that got you.” I closed my eyes, a fat tear rolling down my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Ansel. I—I should’ve protected you. I never should’ve let you come with me.”
“Lou.”
My chin quivered.
“Lou,” he repeated, voice soft. “Look at me. Please.” When I still didn’t, he turned his back on Nicholina completely, drawing me into a hug. My arms wrapped around his slender torso of their own volition, and though they shook, they held on tight. Too tight. Like they’d never let him go again. “I didn’t want to be protected. I wanted to help you—”
“You did—”
“I know I did,” he said firmly, squeezing me once before drawing back. My arms remained locked around him. Removing them one at a time, he disentangled himself gently, stronger now than before. Strong and graceful and confident. Another tear spilled over. “And I’m going to help you again.” He nodded toward Nicholina, who thrashed against the invisible barrier. “You’ll have to kill her.”
“I’ve tried.”
“Try harder.” He squeezed my fingers around the knife’s hilt. “A wound to the arm won’t do it. The waters have healed you both of superficial injuries. You won’t be able to drown her, either.” He glanced over his shoulder to where she raged, all but invisible, and a flash of pity crossed his warm brown eyes. “She’s lived too long with her emotions. She’s numb to them now.”
“She isn’t numb to her son.”
He turned back around to look at me. “You’d rather kill her slowly? Make her suffer?”
“No.” The word rose to my lips unbidden. I frowned, realizing its truth. Despite the heinous things she’d done—to me, to Etienne, to God knew who else—I couldn’t forget the sense of longing she’d felt in that lavender field with Mathieu, the despair and hopelessness and shame. The fear. We cannot do this, she’d said to La Voisin. Not the children. Loathing burned up from my stomach to my throat. She’d still done it. She’d still killed them. And perhaps that was punishment in itself.
Will I become a wraith too, maman?
Never.
“I think . . .” I said the words quietly, my thoughts tangling out loud. “I think she’s suffered enough.” My knuckles clenched around the knife. “But this won’t kill her permanently, will it? She said her body is at the Chateau.”
“Only one way to find out.”
With a sweep of his arm, the barrier collapsed, but Nicholina didn’t assail us right away. Eyes narrowed, suddenly wary, she skittered backward as I approached. She felt my resolve. It frightened her. Undeterred, I continued forward with purpose, shifting to block the tunnel, her easiest means of escape. Though she dodged with incredible speed—feinted even faster—we still shared our consciousness, and I matched her every step. Ansel watched our dance in silence, black smoke undulating around his lean frame.
It didn’t take long. Not now. Not with him behind me.
Not with Nicholina so incredibly alone.
I anticipated her third bluff, catching her wrist and trapping her against the wall of rock. Flames licked up its face, but neither of us could feel their heat. I pinned my forearm across her throat. She tore at my face, but Ansel appeared, catching her hands and subduing them with ease. She arched off the wall in response, hissing, spitting—eyes bright and rolling with fear—but stilled unexpectedly when I raised the knife. Those eyes found mine and held, and one name radiated through our consciousness.
Mathieu.
I took a deep breath and brought the knife down.
It slid through her ribs in a sickening, viscous movement, and I left it there, protruding straight from her heart. She stared at me, unblinking, as her body collapsed in our arms. “I’m sorry,” I said. I didn’t know if it was true.
With one last, ragged breath, she clutched me and whispered, “The dead should not remember, but I do.” Those eyes found mine again as the light finally left them. “I remember everything.”
She slipped from our hold, fading into black mist, and was gone.
We both stared at the spot where she’d disappeared.
In those seconds, a mournful sort of blanket settled over us, deadening the crackling of flames and rumbling of stone. The entire amphitheater would collapse soon. I couldn’t bring myself to care. A knot solidified in my throat as I glanced at Ansel, as he looked back with a sad little smile.
“Good riddance.” Swallowing hard, I forced a laugh. “She was a huge pain in the ass.”
And that was a huge understatement.
“Thank you,” I continued, rambling now. “We should really look into procuring you armor for next time. Just imagine—you riding in on a white steed, undoing your helmet in slow motion and tossing all that glorious hair in the wind.” I swallowed again, unable to dislodge the lump, and—also unable to look at him—glanced down. “Coco would love it. Hell, Beau probably would too.” The fire had completely consumed his body now. Bile rose in my throat, and I tore my gaze away, fresh tears filling my eyes. Surely, this was Hell, yet I couldn’t bring m
yself to leave. My feet had grown roots. An inexplicable tug unfurled deep in my stomach the longer we stood there, like an itch I needed to scratch, yet I resisted its pull. It would take me away from here. Away from him. I knew it as fundamentally as I knew that, one way or another, this moment would have to end.
But not yet.
He missed nothing, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “I’ll ask again, Lou . . . what are you doing here?”
I bumped his shoulder with mine. “You should know. It seems you’ve been following us since—since—” The words withered on my tongue, and I tried again. “Since—” Fuck. I dropped my gaze once more before quickly regretting the decision. His body still smoldered at our feet. Double fuck.
“Since I died?” he supplied helpfully.
My eyes snapped to his, and my expression flattened. “You’re an ass.”
He bumped me this time, grinning anew. “You can say the words, you know. They won’t make me any less dead.”
I swatted him away. “Stop saying it—”
“Saying what? The truth?” He splayed his hands wide. “Why are you so afraid of it?”
“I’m not afraid.”
He leveled me with a frank stare. “Don’t lie to me. You can lie to everyone else, but I know better. You’re my best friend. Even if I hadn’t been following you for the past few weeks, I’d know you’re one of the most frightened people I’ve ever met.”
“Everyone is frightened of death,” I muttered petulantly. “Those who say differently are drunk.” Unable to help it, my eyes drifted back to his body. Fresh gorge rose. I had a finite amount of time left with Ansel, yet here I stood, arguing with him atop his makeshift pyre. Perhaps these waters hadn’t healed me, after all. Perhaps whatever was broken inside me couldn’t be fixed.
Despite his harsh words, his insistence at our new reality, he lifted my chin with a gentle finger. His brows furrowed with concern. Still Ansel. “I’m sorry. Don’t look if it upsets you.” He continued in a milder tone. “No one wants to die, but death comes for us all.”
I scoffed. It was an angry, ugly sound. “Don’t feed me that shit. I don’t want platitudes.”
“They aren’t platitudes.” Dropping his hand, he stepped backward, and I couldn’t help it. I looked down again.
“Of course they are.” Hot tears brimmed over my eyes, burning tracks down my cheeks. I wiped them away furiously. “Death isn’t a happy ending, Ansel. It’s sickness and rot and betrayal. It’s fire and pain and”—my voice cracked—“and never getting to say goodbye.”
“Death isn’t an ending at all, Lou. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s the beginning.” Quieter still, he added, “You’ve lived in fear too long.”
“Fear has helped me survive,” I snapped.
“Fear has kept you from living.”
I backed away from his corpse, from the flames, from the knowing gleam in his gaze. “You don’t—”
He didn’t allow me to finish, however, waving his hand. The scene before us dissipated—as simple as brushing aside the smoke—and another formed instead: a crackling hearth, a smooth stone floor, and a gleaming wooden table. Copper pans hung above it, and flowerpots of eucalyptus cluttered the far windowsill. Snowflakes fell beyond its panes, illuminated by starlight.
At the oven, Reid pulled forth a baking stone, and the sticky buns atop it sizzled and smoked. He’d burned them slightly, their tops a shade too brown, but still he turned to me—exorbitantly pleased with himself—grinning and flushed from the heat. Coco and Beau sat around the table, mixing what looked like cream. Vanilla and spice perfumed the air.
I sank into the chair next to them, limbs trembling. Ansel took the last free seat.
Rapt, I watched as Beau plucked a bun from the stone, dipped it straight into the cream, and shoved the entire thing in his mouth without a word.
“’eez a’ burnt,” he protested, face convoluting in distaste. Or perhaps pain. Steam still rolled from the buns, and as such, from his open mouth. Coco waved his breath from her face, eyes rolling skyward.
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you”—he swallowed hard and gripped the back of her chair, yanking her closer and leaning low with a smirk—“are beautiful.” She scoffed and pushed him away, plating two buns for herself.
Ansel watched with a surprisingly contented smile.
“Where are we?” I breathed, glancing around the room at large. A black cat curled by the hearth, and in the distance—perhaps in the next room, perhaps in the next house—a woman and her daughter sang a familiar ditty. A game of ninepin bowling echoed upward from the street below, as did the children’s shouts and laughter. “I’ve never been here before.”
Still, this place felt . . . familiar. Like a dream I could almost remember.
Reid drizzled cream over two more buns with expert precision, his focus intent, before handing them to me. He didn’t wear his Chasseur coat, nor a bandolier around his chest. His boots sat neatly by the front door, and there—on the third finger of his left hand—a simple gold band gleamed in the firelight. When I glanced down at the mother-of-pearl ring on my own finger, my heart nearly burst from my chest. “We’re in Paradise, of course,” he said with a slow, sultry grin. He even winked.
Verily I say unto thee, today shalt thou be with me in Paradise.
I stared at him incredulously.
Coco snatched up the buns before I could touch them, dumping half the dish of cream over his masterpiece. Smirking at his sudden scowl, she pushed them toward me once more. Her eyes no longer glinted with pain. With heartache. “There. I fixed them.”
Ansel squeezed my hand under the table. “This is what you wanted, right? A home in East End, surrounded by family?”
My mouth might’ve fallen open. “How did you . . . ?”
“It’s a bit tame for you, isn’t it?” Beau narrowed his eyes at the room. “No naked men with strawberries and chocolate”—Reid shot him a murderous look—“no mountains of gold or fountains of champagne.”
“That’s your Paradise, Beau.” Coco smiled sweetly. “And a hideously clichéd one at that.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you weren’t expecting something outrageous like dancing bears and fire-eaters.” Beau frowned when he spied the cat purring at the hearth. “Is that . . . ? Tell me that isn’t supposed to be Absalon.”
Bristling at his disparaging tone, I said, “What? I miss him.”
Reid groaned. “He was a restless spirit, Lou. Not a pet. You should be glad he’s gone.”
Coco rose to extricate a pack of cards from a nearby hutch. The familiarity of the movement, the intimacy of it—as if she’d done this precise thing a hundred times before—unnerved me. We’d never had a real home, the two of us, but here in this place, surrounded by loved ones, it felt dangerously close.
In a different world, I might’ve been Louise Clément, daughter of Florin and Morgane. Perhaps they would’ve loved each other, adored each other, filling our home in East End with sticky buns and potted eucalyptus—and children. Lots and lots of children. . . . We could’ve been happy. We could’ve been a family.
Family. It’d been an errant thought in the catacombs, surrounded by dust and death. It’d been a simple, foolish dream. Now, however, my chest ached as I glanced from Coco to Reid to Beau. To Ansel. Perhaps I hadn’t found parents or brothers or sisters, but I’d found a family regardless. Sitting with them at my table—in my home—that dream didn’t feel so foolish, after all.
And I wanted it. Desperately.
“You never know.” Coco lifted a casual shoulder as she closed the drawer. “Maybe Absalon has found peace.”
Peace.
With a long-suffering sigh, Beau helped himself to another sticky bun in response.
I couldn’t shake the word, however, as Ansel’s eyes locked with mine, and the levity of the scene fell away. Even the firelight seemed to darken. And that pull in my stomach—it returned with a vengeance. This time, howev
er, I couldn’t discern exactly where it led. Part of it seemed to tow me away from this place, away from Ansel, but the other part . . . I tilted my head, studying it closer.
The other part seemed to tow me toward him.
A siren’s call.
With another sad shake of his head, he leaned forward. His voice dropped to a whisper. “No, Lou.”
Beau lifted a finger, pointing it between us accusingly. “Stop it. No secrets allowed.”
Coco returned to her seat and cut the deck. The cards snapped between her deft fingers. “I do hate when they whisper.” Her eyes flicked to Ansel, and she added, albeit playfully, “I am her best friend, thanks very much. If she’s going to whisper with anyone, it should be me.”
“It should be me.” Reid crossed his arms, eyes sharp on the deck in her hand. “And I saw that.”
She flicked the card from her sleeve, grinning without remorse.
“I’m okay, Lou,” Ansel continued softly, ignoring them. He didn’t so much as glance in their direction as the protests began anew. When my chin began to quiver—when the room blurred through my tears—he lifted a hand to stroke my back, consoling me. “I’m okay. You’re going to be okay too.”
The tears fell thick and fast now, salty on my lips, and my entire body trembled. I forced myself to look at his face, to memorize him—the color of his eyes and the shape of his smile, the sound of his voice and the scent of his clothes, like sunshine. Pure sunshine. That was Ansel. Always the warmest of us all. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I know.”
“Will I ever see you again?”
“Not for a long time, I hope.”
“Can’t I come with you?”
He looked to Reid and Coco and Beau then, who’d just started up a game of tarot. Beau cursed roundly when Coco took the first trick. “Is that really what you want?” he asked. Yes. I choked on the word, face hot and wretched, before shaking my head. He smiled again. “I didn’t think so.” Still he made no move to rise, content to remain sitting with me for as long as I needed. He wouldn’t force me to go, I realized. It would have to be my decision.
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