Anaïs punched her in the arm. “You hypocrite.”
“Oh! Hold on one moment,” said Constantino, setting down the tray and eyeing Mallory with renewed intrigue. “Precisely howtaken in by his pretty blue eyeswere you?”
Mallory glowered. “How about you tend to your own onions?” She turned to Anaïs. “You too, for that matter!”
Anaïs and Constantino exchanged knowing looks.
Mallory stood and stomped through the drawing of rings that Gabrielle had made in the dirt. She started pacing through the dewy grass, wishing Armand was there so she could throttle him. Then kiss him. Then throttle him again because how was she ever supposed to know if she was kissinghimor his evil, manipulative ancestor?
She thought of all the times Armand had seemed so thoughtful, so genuine. His eagerness to show off his plants. The way he instinctively caught her when they fell down the tower steps. The hurt that had flashed across his face when she’d pushed him away after that kiss…
That kiss.
Gods help her, but she still wanted him. She wanted to know, intimately, the texture of his lips and the crush of his arms. She wanted to witness his sleepiest grins. She wanted to know if hesnored at night or talked in his sleep and what he dreamed of, and when she awoke from her own nightmares, she wanted him there, beside her, so they could dissect the dreams until they were nothing more than bits of nonsense and stories to tell around a summer fire. She wanted to spend afternoons by his side, foraging in the trees and grinding mysterious herbs into oblivion so he could transform them into tinctures or ointments or whatever he did all day. She wanted to spend evenings reading about unsolved murders by the fire and knowing that she could tell him all the goriest details and he wouldn’t be appalled by her fascination.
Just thinking it made her dizzy. What was wrong with her? Never in her life had Mallory believed she wanted love. Love made people weak. Love got you killed.
She didn’t dare to let down her defenses. Not for anyone. And certainly not for a Saphir. Especially now, when she knew it might have been Bastien all along. Perhaps he had seen a weakness in her that Mallory had tried so hard to smash into dust. A yearning for connection, for someone to see her and appreciate her. To chuckle at her dark humor. To listen to her talk about decaying bodies and slimy monsters and not shrink away in disgust. Maybe Bastien had known exactly what sort of boy would attract her, and it had been nothing but a manipulation. A killer pulling her into his trap…
She stopped pacing. If they didn’t put an end to it, he would find another victim. One last bride. One last sacrifice.
She squeezed her eyes shut. To return would be to put both her sister and herself in enormous danger. And besides…
She faced Gabrielle. “I’m not like you. I’m not a witch. I have no petty magic. Not anymore.”
“You are not helpless,” said Fitcher. “You are touched by Velos.”
“I can speak to ghosts, but I don’t see how that will help us. Most ghosts are only helpful when they want to be, and that’s almost never.”
Gabrielle stomped up to Mallory and wrapped her bony fingers around Mallory’s arms, squeezing tight. Her expression unflinching.
Then she shoved her backward. Hard.
Mallory stumbled, barely catching herself before she fell. “What was that—”
Gabrielle shoved her again. “Foolish girl! Do you think that I do not know what you did? What became of your magic?”
Mallory stilled.
“I was there!” she shrieked. “I was there that night. I watched it all, and could donothing!”
Mallory shook her head. “No. No… I called to you, but you didn’t answer. You didn’t come. It was only… it was only that monster. Bastien. Le Bleu—”
“You were trying to summon the dead. Of course I did not come to you as aspirit.I am not dead! But I was there, trying to get in, trying to stop you.”
Anaïs gasped. “In the chimney. We thought it was a bat.”
“When you opened that door to Verloren, I could not answer, because I was not in Verloren. But Bastien saw the opening and took advantage of it.”
“I know,” Mallory whispered. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just… I wanted to help my sister. I thought, if I could talk to you, you could tell us how… how to get rid of it.”
“Get rid of what?” asked Fitcher.
It was not her secret to tell. She glanced at Anaïs, who had her arms tightly crossed. But then, resigned, Anaïs straightened and brushed her hair to one side, revealing the hourglass mark on the back of her neck. Smaller than Mallory’s and perfect, shimmering gold.
“They arebothmarked by Velos?” said Constantino, gaping. “What are the odds of that?”
“No,” said Mallory. “Only Anaïs was marked by Velos. And she hates it, always has.”
