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I didn’t care if Hartley died, but if anyone was going to kill him, it was going to be me.

I kicked the overturned chair into the attacker’s path. He stumbled, and Yves caught his wrist before he could recover, breaking it with a sickening snap. The knife fell from his fingers.

Hartley dove behind the table for his Devouring medallion. I raised my wand, ready, but before I could get it out, the medallion was in his fist. I fired anyway, and the spell shattered around him.

He flashed me a grin. “Still doesn’t work, Red.”

Hartley snatched his crutch and swung it at the lantern hanging above the table. Black glass burst overhead, sending burning oil all over the fireworks crate. One of the fuses caught with a hiss.

Yves seized the crate and hurled it above the hedge. It exploded over the gardens. Six smaller rockets screamed outward and twisted into silver serpents. The explosion was deafening, and it brought me to my knees.

Hartley used the distraction to bolt. Yves caught the back of his coat before he could escape, but Hartley tore a paper packet from his pocket and threw it into his face. Silver powder exploded in a flash of light, and Yves recoiled with a snarl of pain.

Anger filled every corner of my body, and I lunged for Hartley. I knew magick couldn’t touch him while he held the medallion, so I used my bare hands. I seized the side of his coat and pulled with all my might. The fabric tore from collar to pocket. Hartley wiggled free, leaving the ruined jacket clenched in my fist, and slammed his medallion against an iron plate hidden among the leaves.

The hedge split open. Hartley lurched into the narrow service lane and vanished. The branches knitted together before I reached them.

Behind us, the masked man staggered off toward the gap in the hedges Hartley had escaped through.

I raised my wand, but Yves shouted, “Cora, look out!”

The burning lantern oil had ignited on the table and had spread into the dry leaves beneath the hedge. I looked from the escaping man to the fire. There was no choice.

Together, Yves and I did what we could to control the fire from spreading. The thick smoke burned my eyes and lungs. I tried a spell. He stamped out the smoldering embers. But we could only do so much without water.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Yves said.

I pulled my Devouring medallion from my pocket and pressed it against the same iron plate Hartley had used. The hedge opened onto the service lane.

We raced through it and emerged near the kitchens, where dozens of workers in identical blue coats hurried between the gardens and the storage sheds. Hartley had needed only a minute to disappear.

Two garden watchmen spotted Yves. “There are the two Hartley told us about. They’re the ones who lit the fireworks!”

Before they reached us, a young man in a pale blue coat appeared out of nowhere and stepped directly into their path.

“It was a misfire, and you should be glad neither of them is going to press charges,” Caspien told them. “So I suggest turning around and walking the other way.”

The guards nodded and began in the direction Caspien indicated.

Rochefort’s eldest son waited until they were gone before turning to us. His gaze narrowed on his Uncle’s false face, the silver burns beneath his eyes.

“You recognized me at the gaming tables,” Yves said. “Didn’t you?”

The younger vampire shrugged and offered Yves a smirk. “You changed your face, Uncle, not your scent.” Caspien glanced at my wand. “And I assumed the woman following you into a hedgerow was Miss Ravenwood.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Caspien’s expression cooled, and he stuffed a hand inside his pocket. “Truthfully? My mother has no idea I’m here, and I don’t think she’d approve of this place. She’d likely say I wasn’t acting like an heir should act. I hope you won’t tell her you saw me.” He looked toward the main gates. “If you don’t want to draw any more attention, I’d leave through the kitchens. You should hurry while everyone is occupied.”

Caspien stepped closer to us, lowering his voice. “I’ll make certain no one follows you.”

He disappeared before Yves could question him further. Once he was gone, Yves and I leaned against the hedge, catching our breath.

“What a piece of shit,” I said. “Not your nephew,” I clarified. “He is actually quite delightful. I meant Hartley.”

Yves grimaced, touching the raw spot on his cheek, and a pang of guilt landed in my stomach. I couldn’t help but feel like this was my fault.

“Next time,” he said, “I’ll break his other leg before you ask him anything. But it wasn’t a total waste,” he said, holding up a long, narrow key. “This fell out of Hartley’s pocket when you ripped his jacket.”