Two women were watching them. Though far away, Mallory could see how their silhouettes blurred into the air around them, and the dark splotches of blood smeared down the fronts of their dresses.
“The other wives,” she whispered, not sure if she was talking to her sister or Triphine. “They are watching us.”
“Oh yes, I see them.” Triphine waved eagerly, and the figures both slipped back into the darkness. Triphine harrumphed. “So far the famed château is not meeting expectations.” She coughed. “And I’m not sure the ocean air agrees with me. Do I look pale, Mallory?”
The front door opened again, and a row of servants emerged. A butler, a housekeeper, a maid. Mallory wasn’t well educated in the needs of country estates, but it seemed like a paltry staff. She wondered how many people had been employed before the spirit of Le Bleu frightened them away.
Armand trotted out after them, nervously rubbing his hands. At some point he had rolled down his sleeve to cover his bandaged arm. “Everyone, I am pleased to present Mademoiselle Mallory Fontaine and Mademoiselle Anaïs Fontaine. They will be assisting us with our… unwelcome guest. Please help them in any way you can.”
Anaïs curtsied. Mallory made a half-hearted attempt to follow her example.
“In what manner will they be assisting?” said the housekeeper, crossing her arms.
A muscle twitched in Armand’s jaw, but he addressed her with an incline of his head. “They are talented witches, renowned in the city of Morant.”
One of the housekeeper’s eyebrows ticked upward. “Petty magic, then.” She scoffed and muttered, “This will amount to nothing.”
“Manners, Yvette,” Armand said warningly, before he explained, “My housekeeper is a very devout follower of the Seven and… skeptical of other types of magic.”
“It’s all right,” said Mallory. “We know that witchcraft is not as exalted as god-gifted magic, but we make do with the gifts we are given.”
“It is more than most of us can lay claim to,” said Armand, “and I am grateful you are here, no matter where your magic comes from.”
Mallory smiled thinly, wishing she could appreciate his confidence without the slightly slimy feeling of the lies in her gut.
“Julie,” said Armand, “would you please find Gideon and have him tend to the horses and the carriage.”
Though she’d appeared nervous from the moment she stepped outside, the maid now beamed prettily and dipped into a curtsy. “Of course, my lord,” she said, before scurrying off toward the stables.
“Yvette, will you be so kind as to show our guests to their rooms while Claude brings in their things?”
“If I must,” the housekeeper muttered, studying Mallory and Anaïs with unveiled displeasure.
Before she could step forward, the door burst open again and a bedraggled man in a stained chef’s coat appeared, brandishing a wicked kitchen knife.
“Lord Armand,” the chef cried. “There’s a… another one. In the larder.”
Armand groaned. “What is it this time?”
“A lutin, I think.”
Mallory’s eyes widened. “A lutin? Here?”
The chef cut her a look before returning his attention to Armand. “I was getting down the butter, and it was… eating the napkins.”
Armand sighed heavily. “I will see to it. Thank you, Pierre.” He turned to Mallory and her sister. “Monsters have been inexhaustible pests ever since the veil fell. But don’t worry, most of them are more a nuisance than anything to be concerned about. And I made sure that the guest suites were thoroughly cleaned and inspected.”
Mallory’s nerves tingled with an unexpected thrill. She wasn’t just staying in a house with ghosts… she was staying in one withmonsters.
Ever since the veil had fallen more than seventeen years before,unleashing dark magic and curses and monsters into the mortal world, the existence of magical creatures had become commonplace in certain parts of the country. But until the voirloup encounter the night before, the most magical beast Mallory had ever seen was an obnoxious matagot that paraded as a black cat in the alley behind their apartment, doling out small bits of luck and misfortune to passersby based on its arbitrary whims.
But to seerealmonsters, with all the viciousness of childhood fairy tales?
She couldn’t wait.
“We are the witches here, Lord Saphir. It is the monsters who should be bothered by us.”
Triphine clapped giddily. “Well said, Mallory! Keep up that confidence, and he’ll never guess that you are utterly useless.”
