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I pursed my lips together in an effort to restrain a grin, then I inspected the stranger in the mirror again. “It appears I owe you a bite.”

“It appears you do.” Her satisfaction could have illuminated Old Town without the fireworks. “You may settle your debt whenever I choose.”

She had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Cora turned her wand on herself, tracing the tip beneath her jaw. Magick pulled over her face and combed through her hair until the red became a glossy black. The shape of her cheeks softened, her nose shortened, and her blue eyes warmed to brown.

She looked different, but smelled the same. I leaned toward her hair and breathed in. “Bitter orange peel and sweet fig give the impression of sweetness. But with the pepper and cloves beneath them, it leaves a spiciness behind.”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she lifted a mask to her face and looked in the mirror. “We still need fake names.”

I had already carefully planned this. “We are Lucien and Corinne Varenne. Newlyweds from the northern coast here to escape the chill.”

She considered that as she tied on the black mask studded with glass beads. “Do you really think we should be a married couple? I mean, I don’t even have a ring.”

I took a signet from the case and slid it onto her finger. The ring was far too large, so I tied it onto her wrist with a length of black string as the aristocracy was known to do.

“There,” I said. “Madame Varenne.”

Her gaze remained on our joined hands. “And what is our story?”

“I am a wine merchant. You are the daughter of a prosperous importer who married me against her family’s wishes in a moment of poor judgment.”

“Well, I am well versed in moments of poor judgment.”

The carriage slowed, then stopped, which meant we had reached Les Jardins de Minuit. Cora retrieved her discarded bodice and opened the concealed seam with a word. The sweet scent of dark magick escaped as she removed a dried rose, a goose feather, and a spotted black stone.

Her relics.

She tucked them carefully into her satchel, beneath the inner flap. A touch of her wand sealed the pocket. Only then did she fold her empty bodice into the trunk.

“The Devouring wants them,” she said. “I don’t trust them here alone.”

The driver opened the door, and Cora and I joined the stream of masked guests making their way toward the entrance. Her hand resting gently on my arm.

I took in the sights and sounds as Monsieur Varenne might. Music spilled from the hedges. Vendors sold paper cones of roasted almonds and candied orange peel beneath striped awnings, while flower girls wove midnight-blue ribbons through white roses for guests who wanted to announce that they were available for a dance.

Cora slowed when the gates came into view. The gardens stood behind a wall of hedges trimmed higher than the surrounding rooftops. Thousands of lanterns burned among the branches, scattered through the green like fallen constellations.

“Oh,” Cora breathed.

I had not visited the gardens since well before Adrien was born. Some things had changed now that The Minuit Company had taken over ownership. The original musicians’ pavilion had been renovated, and narrow bridges now allowed foot traffic over channels filled with floating candles. But the promise of the old Lanterns remained the same: surrender the ordinary world at the gate, and spend a few hours believing the night existed only for pleasure.

Tonight, Cora looked through the gates with unguarded wonder, and the gardens held a different appeal.

“Try to look bored,” I murmured. “We are wealthy. This is all expected.”

She slipped her hand through my arm. “You will have to look bored enough for both of us.”

At the gate, an attendant in a silver mask collected our coins and names.

“Monsieur Lucien Varenne and Madame Corinne Varenne,” I said.

The attendant’s gaze dropped to our joined arms. “I recommend the eastern end of the lantern path. It is quieter.”

“What makes you think I’m the quiet type?” Cora asked as we passed by.

My throat tightened, and thirst burned as if I’d just thrown back a shot of cheap whiskey. It was either a curse or a blessing that I could recall exactly how she sounded when I was inside her.