“That’s Gabrielle Savoy,” said Mallory. “It’s a long story. What do you mean, this is a good thing?”
Constantino gamely helped Armand upright again as Gabrielle shunned the robe that Fitcher offered her and excitedly explained, “We feared we would have to disentangle Bastien’s spirit from Armand’s, but as that is not the case, we can proceedwith the dissolution of the spell. His dark magic, left unfinished, is what has kept me tied to this world. It is what has tethered the spirits of his other wives to the rings that were used in his ritual. But if we finish the ritual ourselves, we can loosen the binds of this magic upon the house and not only free his victims, but also cast the monster himself back to Verloren.”
“Finish the ritual?” said Mallory. “You mean, the one in which one of us gets sacrificed?” She gestured between herself and Anaïs.
“One-two-three, not it,” said her sister.
“As our goal is not immortality,” said Gabrielle, “no further sacrifice is required. We need only to untie the threads of magic that are holding him here, holding all of us—and summon Velos to claim what is rightfully theirs.”
“Oh, right, we’ll just summon the god of death,” said Constantino. “So simple.”
Gabrielle’s head twitched to one side, then the other. “It is not difficult magic to open a gateway into the land of the lost. I have done it many times.” She peered at Mallory. “Youhave done it, too.”
Mallory shivered. “That turned out to be a mistake.”
“This time, I will help you.” Gabrielle gave her head a shake. “If this is to work, we are going to need those rings.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Armand seemed both frustrated and resigned when it was decided that he would not be untied while they went to obtain the wedding rings, and he only got a little flustered when Mallory had to undo his belt to take the house keys.
Gabrielle refused to return to the house while Bastien might be inside, so she and Anaïs stayed behind to watch over Armand, while Mallory, Fitcher, and Constantino carried out the mission. A light rain had started to fall, shrouding the house in a gloomy mist. The sky was dark violet. Somewhere above the cloud cover, the sun sank toward the horizon.
The house was eerily still as they slipped in through the terrace doors. Mallory led them through the battery of parlors on whispering feet, through the library, up the grand staircase.
As expected, the door to Armand’s suite was locked, and it took her a few tries to find the right key on the ring. Inside, the air felt cold and silent. No fire had been lit, and the curtains were pulledshut. Nevertheless, being here again conjured a host of memories that Mallory preferred not to think about as she crossed to the vanity and crouched down, feeling around for the hidden hook.
She stilled.
The hook was there, but it was empty.
She got down on the floor and searched the underside of the vanity.
The rings were gone.
She sat up. “They aren’t here.”
Watching her skeptically, Constantino asked, “How did you ever find them undertherein the first place?”
Ignoring the question, Mallory started rummaging through the vanity drawers, the armoire, the writing desk, every nook and cranny of the room. She discovered a dented pocket watch, a handful of galets, a wax seal, and inkpots and quill pens and tallow candles and buttons and linen shirts that smelled like peppermint and growing things—but she did not find the four wedding rings.
She cursed, continuing to dig through the last drawer of the writing desk even after she was positive the rings weren’t there, when suddenly the drawer slammed shut of its own accord, pinching the tip of her finger.
With a cry, Mallory reeled back, clutching her hand to her chest. The fingertip throbbed as she looked up. Malevolent blue eyes were reflected in the darkness of the window.
She spun around, pressing back against the desk. The villain was in the doorway, barring their exit.
Fitcher and Constantino swiveled at her sudden movement. “What is it?” Fitcher asked. “Is he here?”
Bastien Saphir rubbed one finger down the length of his beard. “Are you searching for something?” His mouth curled tauntingly around the words.
“Thathurt,” Mallory spat.
“You poor darling,” he cooed back at her, sauntering closer. “Do you know, this is an important day for me, and yet… no one seems to be around to celebrate the day of my death. The house has been so peculiarly peaceful.” His attention slid toward Fitcher and Constantino. “I am beginning to wonder if you have been plotting against me.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Mallory saw Constantino shift—slowly, slowly peeling the bow from his shoulder. Though he could not see the spirit himself, he was watching Mallory closely, trying to discern Bastien’s location.
“So paranoid,” said Mallory, skimming away along the far wall, trying to drag Le Bleu’s attention away from the archer. “It isn’t always aboutyou. We had a burial this morning, as you know.”
