“Would the two of you stop talking?” said Fitcher, who had become increasingly irate with every failed attempt. He was bent over a fae spell book he’d brought from his collection in the stagecoach, trying to parse the tiny handwriting, which he claimed was in an unusual dialect that required more time than usual to decipher. “We need a colt’s foot for this one.” He looked up apologetically. “Don’t suppose there are any expendable horses in the stables?”
Anaïs gasped. “You will not!”
“I’m no expert in fae magic, like you are,” said Armand, his sarcasm evident, “but could it possibly be referring to coltsfoot, the plant?”
Fitcher bent back over the pages. “Actually, yes. I think it might.”
Armand rolled his eyes. “Leaves or flowers?”
“Er… leaves?”
“Good, because it won’t bloom again until the spring, though I have some dried petals in the kitchen. But you can find fresh leaves in the conservatory. Coltsfoot is in a glazed yellow pot in the northeast corner. Its leaves are shaped like a lily pad, softly scalloped on the edges, bright green but tinted gray on the underside. They smell a bit like sweet vinegar.”
Fitcher signaled to Constantino, who seemed more than happy—relieved, even—to take off on the mission to secure said plant.
As the door swung shut, Armand sighed in exasperation, staring up at the cobweb-cluttered beams that crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling. He had taken the whole exorcism thing in stride so far, even commenting on occasion as different pieces of his own life fit into place, and curious experiences began to make sense. He insisted that he, more than anyone, would love to eradicate his great-great-grandfather before Bastien could harm anyone else.
But Mallory got the feeling that this desperate attempt from a fae grimoire could be their last. If this failed, they would have toassume that Le Bleu was not possessing Armand at all—at least, not at the moment. In which case, they would have to exorcise the spirit from the house itself.
And as far as Mallory could tell, no one had the faintest idea how to do that.
Gnawing on her knuckle, Mallory glanced at Armand—and caught him watching her. His hooded eyes held a sadness that struck her heart as surely as one of Constantino’s arrows.
If he was a monster, then he was frighteningly adept at hiding it.
She sighed. She would never know what was true and what was false, not until this ordeal was over. Not until Le Bleu was gone for good, and she could trust that when she peered into Armand’s eyes, it was Armand looking back at her.
“This whole time,” he said slowly, “this is what you’ve thought of me.”
She self-consciously folded her arms across her chest. “Not thewholetime.”
“No? Did you begin to suspect I might want to kill you before or after I actually tried to kill you?”
She wasn’t sure how to explain to Armand that it wasn’t personal. “I generally assume most people want to kill me,” she admitted. “You’ll recall that I did think you were attacking me when you arrived for the tour.”
“Of course. So, literally, from the first moment of our acquaintance, then. I’ve been trying to court you, like an absolute fool, while you feared for your life.”
At this, Mallory guffawed, which she quickly realized was not the best knee-jerk reaction she could have had to this confession.Fitcher and Anaïs, no doubt embarrassed on her behalf, awkwardly busied themselves with trivial tasks.
“I only feared for my life occasionally.” She scratched at the itchy fabric of her collar, not daring to admit that his romantic interest in her was one of the most suspicious things about him.
“Only occasionally,” Armand repeated, discouraged. “How illuminating. Because unlike you, I’ve spent every moment since we met searching for ways to see you, to talk to you. Wondering what might make you want to stay after the job was finished. Trying to convey how much I enjoy your company, how much I—” He let out an unruly laugh—a little flustered, a little angry. “There were times I thought maybe it was mutual, but in actuality… you were… what? Being nice, so I wouldn’tmurderyou?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “We both know I’m not that nice.”
“No, wedon’tboth know that. Mallory—”
“Also,” she interrupted, “don’t act as if you weren’t lying to me this whole time.”
He started to shout, his arms straining against the ropes. “I didn’t know I was being possessed!”
She stood over him, hands fisted on her hips. “But you knew you were bankrupt!”
Surprise flashed across his features, and he jolted back against the seat again, anger evaporating.
“Three thousand lourdes, that’s what you promised me.” Mallory jabbed a finger at him. “Three thousand lourdes to finish this job. Money that you don’t have. And oh! Take this precious medallion as proof of my good intentions, Mallory. It’s priceless! Use it as collateral! Clearly, you have no reason to doubtme. I’m afancy count.” She dug the medallion out from her collar and yanked it off over her head. She threw it into Armand’s lap, pleased at how he flinched. She bent forward, snarling. “What was your plan, exactly? Let me and Anaïs deal with your ghost problems, then call in the investigators and have us shipped off to jail?”
“Of course not.”
