Armand released his breath in one disgruntled huff. “I didn’t expect courting a girl to be easy, but I didn’t think I would besobad at it.”
“You aren’t,” she said. “It’s just thathewas so very good at it.”
“Actually,” said Fitcher, daring to intrude on a conversation he’d respectfully avoided thus far, “given that Savoy blood was already spilled in service to the spell, Monsieur Le Bleu does not require another marriage vow—not so long as his final sacrifice is either you or your sister.”
“I know that,” Mallory growled.
“I’m pointing out that he has no reason to try to seduce you. He only has to kill you.”
Bristling, Mallory said, “Maybe he enjoys toying with his prey.”
Fitcher grinned sardonically. “Or maybe it was Armand after all.”
“What a novel concept,” Armand said. “Maybe I’m not possessed. Maybe I justlikeyou.”
“You—he—tried to strangle me.”
“Well, clearly I was possessedthen.”
“So you see the confusion!” Throwing her arms into the air, Mallory stomped away and slumped down on one of the benches.
She was grateful when Constantino returned carrying a bundle of leaves. “Is this the right one?” he asked, holding it up.
They looked at Armand, who nodded.
Fitcher set aside the grimoire, his expression clouded.
“Great. What do we need to do? Grind it up? Burn it? Weave the strands into his hair?” Constantino studied Armand’s head. “I think it’s long enough…”
“Nothing,” said Fitcher with a drawn-out sigh. “There is no point.”
“Excuse me?”
“I am sorry for the effort you went through to obtain this ingredient, but I believe this is a waste of our time. Bastien is not here.”
Armand swiveled his head toward Fitcher. “How do you know?”
“Because I know thatisthe right plant,” he said, “as I’ve found a detailed illustration of it in the grimoire. If you were being controlled by Bastien, you never would have admitted as much, as I have to imagine that Bastien does notwishto be expelled from the vessel he has chosen.”
Armand wrinkled his nose, mystified. “That’s it, then? I have spilled my heart out for this past hour. I have”—he tried to raise hisarm, but settled with gesturing with his fingers—“confessed, not only to Mallory but to a room full of strangers, that I am utterly smitten with her. And yet,thisis when you choose to believe that I might actually be me, and not some hundred-year-old murderer? Because I correctly identified some leaves?”
“Sometimes the simplest tests are the most accurate,” said Fitcher. “I believe he has been telling you the truth.”
Armand let out an annoyed snort, and Mallory wondered if he would still have any warm feeling toward her when this was over.
“But what does that mean?” said Anaïs. “ThatArmandtried to strangle Mallory, by his own will?”
“No,” said Fitcher. “It would seem that Bastien can choose when to inhabit his vessel—”
“Please stop calling me that.”
“And when to be separate from him.”
“But if he isn’t here now,” said Constantino, “then where is he?”
Gabrielle let out a racket of excited tweets, then stopped suddenly and shook out her wings. A moment later, she emerged from the bird’s form, a woman once more—naked and perched on the altar with wide, darting eyes. “But this is a good thing!”
Armand yelped and shoved at the floor so hard that the chair toppled over backward. He landed with a pained grunt. “Who is she?” he yelled.
