“You killed Julie,” she breathed, as gently as she could.
Armand released her hands, drawing away.
“And you tried to kill me, in the stables. Anaïs hit you with a shovel.”
He started to shake his head, but stopped. He pressed a hand to the top of a fencepost, squeezing the wood with whitened knuckles.
Mallory settled a hand on his wrist. “It isn’t your fault—”
“Not myfault?” He tore away from her, stumbling back so quickly that he nearly tripped over a tree root before catching himself. “Great gods, Mallory, what are you doing out here?” He whipped his arm to the side, gesturing at the dense woods that surrounded them. “If I am a monster, then why did you come back? And why…? You need to stay away from me!”
The birdsong fell quiet around them.
“I came back to help you.”
“Help me? After I tried to—”
“Yes,” she said, with as much force to the word as she could manage. Wishing he would just understand, without her needing to actuallysay it. “Even afterBastientried to kill me, I came back. It was him. His spirit can possess you. He… he can take over your body. He is the one who manipulated Julie and killed her. Who attacked me. But he controls you to do it.”
Armand’s words fizzled to nothing, his mouth left hanging.
Mallory took a cautious step closer, relieved when he didn’t back away. Though his expression was a cross between dismayed and horrified, he also seemed the tiniest bit intrigued.
“I came back because I had to know if… if you… possibly feel for me, what I…”
His lips parted father, but no sound came out. She had rendered him speechless.
She cursed inwardly, her face suddenly burning. If given a choice between facing another cheval mallet or having this conversation, she would have taken her chances with the horse. How did anyone do this? How could anyone express their feelings without wanting to throw themselves into one of those crypts?
And then Armand’s attention dropped to her mouth, and some of Mallory’s terror kindled into hope.
But, as if mortified that he was tempted to kiss her after all she’d told him, Armand pulled away again. She followed, staying an arm’s distance until his back hit the trunk of an old maple, its autumn leaves painted vivid red.
“No.” The word was strained, and somehow, Mallory did not feel the slightest sting of rejection. If anything, the word encouraged her.
“No?” she pressed.
“This is insanity,” he breathed. A terse laugh erupted from him, like he couldn’t quite believe he had to explain this. Like he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation at all.
Neither could Mallory, truth be told.
“First you tell me there is this awful darkness inside of me, and I already tried to kill the first girl I haveever—” He stopped.
Mallory’s eyebrows shot upward.
Renewed determination overtook Armand—touched with a hint of anger. Pushing away from the tree, he dared to step closer to her. Mallory held her ground. She wasn’t intimidated. If anything, she wanted to grab him and pull him closer.
“I will not be responsible for hurting you, too,” he said fiercely. “I want you to leave. Tonight. Leave, and never come back. Tomorrow I will turn myself in for the crimes I committed, and gods willing, I will be put into prison and no one will be in danger from me—or him—ever again.”
Mallory felt her knees weaken. She smiled, hesitant. “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
He glowered, like he wanted to shake some sense into her.
Or like he wanted to kiss her, and while Mallory had never been skilled at reading such signs, something told her she was getting good at readinghim.
So good, in fact, that she knew at once when the effects of the tonic finally hit him. His skin paled. His gaze lost focus. He frowned, his breaths slowing. “What is…” His voice caught.
Realization flashed across his face—followed by confusion and, lastly, betrayal.
