“It is not a gift,” Anaïs said, her voice wavering, “but a terrible, vulgar curse. Mallory and our mother, they could do such beautiful things. Things that helped people. Things that had value. So Mallory thought we could bring Gabrielle back and ask her to help us… make the trade. My god-gift, for the same magic that was supposed to run in my blood. I wanted that so badly. But instead…”
“It was supposed to be easy,” Mallory said. “Our mother had conducted dozens of séances over the years, helping those who were grieving their lost loved ones, who needed closure. I memorized the words from one of her spell books, and we waited until the Mourning Moon, sneaked into the Saphir mansion in Morant, and then… tried to summon Gabrielle. But instead, we let Bastien out of the underworld. And he did grant our wish. He made us the same. He corrupted my witchcraft with death magic, and… I’ve seen ghosts ever since.”
“You were children,” Fitcher said. “You were attempting to summon a spirit who was not dead. It is not surprising that Bastien slipped through the opening you gave him. And as Gabrielle said, he was a skilled sorcerer.”
“He was more than that,” said Gabrielle. “I believe he also hadthe blessing of Velos. But this gift had been corrupted by his use of dark magic, limiting his abilities. It was this corrupted death magic that he forced upon you that night, and it has been at war with your natural witchcraft ever since.” Her expression turned fervent. “But while he may have transferred that mark to you, witchcraft is still in your blood. He cannot have taken that away.” She grabbed Mallory’s shoulders. “Your mother was powerful. I know that you are as well.”
“Maybe I could have been, but not anymore. It’s gone. I’ve tried everything I could think of to get my magic back. For seven years I’ve been trying, but…” Mallory threw up her hands, breaking her contact with Gabrielle. “It’s no use, unless you’re going to wave that feather around and grant me another wish.”
“Do I look like a fairy godmother?”
Mallory examined her. The bottomless eyes, the shaggy hair, the unabashed nakedness, the feather wand. “A little bit, actually.”
Gabrielle wrinkled her nose in offense. “Bastien may have locked your magic away, but believe me, child, he did not destroy it completely.”
“Destroyed, locked away, what difference does it make?” said Mallory. “I can’t use it. I can’t do anything to fix this. I can’t help Armand.”
“Butyouare a witch,” Anaïs piped up, addressing Gabrielle. “Couldyouconduct the spell? To return Bastien to the underworld?”
“Not by myself,” said Gabrielle. “It would require Armand to be still for a period of time. Unconscious or… otherwise incapacitated. And it would require a candle. And all five rings, including mine, so it’s a good thing the two of you never sold it off. And… I’m sure I’m forgetting something. It’s been a very long time.”
“That sounds rather achievable,” said Fitcher. “I think perhaps we can help each other. That is why you wished to summon us in the first place, isn’t it? To rid the House Saphir of this dreadful spirit?”
“Yes,” said Mallory. “But I cannot pay you. And neither, it seems, can Armand.”
“I can,” said Anaïs. “I would gladly give up my god-gift, if you can make use of it.”
“I cannottakeit from you,” said Fitcher. “You would need to come with us, to help break my own curse when the time comes.”
“Then the choice is half fig, half grape,” she said, swallowing. “But I’ve always wanted to go on an adventure.”
Fitcher drummed his fingers, studying her. Then he nodded. “Done. In return, we shall rid you of this devil.”
“Anaïs, are you sure?” Mallory whispered, grabbing her hand. “You don’t have to—”
“I do,” she said. “You and I brought this monster back. We must find a way to end this.” She gnawed on the inside of her cheek. “But if we go back so soon after Armand tried to kill you, dragging along a couple of monster hunters… won’t Le Bleu be suspicious? Surely he’ll know that we’ve returned for him, and he’ll try to… er, sacrifice one of us as soon as he can get us alone.”
“Then we shall have to act faster,” said Fitcher.
“Besides,” added Constantino, “we needn’t tell him that we’re monster hunters.”
“What else are we going to tell him?” said Anaïs. “That you’re a traveling circus?”
“No.” Mallory glanced at the stagecoach. “I have another idea.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
They returned on horseback, with the baukhauv pulling the large stagecoach in their wake and Gabrielle—a bird once more—flitting in and out of the trees that lined the road. Mallory imagined they were a sight coming down the drive. Their wagon wheels must have made enough of a racket, or perhaps Gideon, the stable hand, ran ahead to announce them, because by the time they pulled into the circular drive, the front door of the château had been thrown open. Armand stood on the steps, Yvette and Pierre crowding in behind him.
Mallory wished she could read Armand’s mind, but his expression was closed to her. Surprised—yes. But she was sure there was something else. Something that made her pulse flutter beneath her skin. He was happy to see her again, she was almost certain. It was thewhythat eluded her. Thewhythat made her wonder if she should greet him with a kiss or a knife to the jugular.
The last time she’d seen Armand, he’d had his hands wrapped around her throat, though the true Armand would have no memory of that.
Who was she speaking to now?
And which Armand had kissed her with such unfettered, unapologetic desire?
“Mallory,” he breathed, coming down the steps as they dismounted from the steeds they had stolen two nights before. “Anaïs. We weren’t sure…” He let the words hang, unfinished.
