Coco nodded. “They usually camp in this area at this time of year.”

Suspicion unfurled in my stomach as Lou nodded, whispering something to Absalon. “You said she wouldn’t host an ex-Chasseur,” I said.

Coco arched a brow pointedly. A smirk pulled at her lips. “She won’t.”

“Then what . . . ?”

Slowly, Lou rose to her feet, dusting mud from her knees as the cat vanished in a cloud of black smoke. “We’re going to have to split up, Reid.”

..................................................................

Painted Hair

Lou

“White wine and honey, followed by a mixture of celandine roots, olive-madder, oil of cumin seed, box shavings, and a sprinkle of saffron.” Madame Labelle carefully arranged the bottles on the rock we’d fashioned into a table. “If applied and left to alchemize for a full sun cycle, it will transform your locks to gold.”

I stared at the many bottles, aghast. “We don’t have a full sun cycle.”

Her eyes cut to mine. “Yes, obviously, but with the raw ingredients, perhaps we could . . . speed the process.” As one, we glanced across camp to Reid, who sulked by himself, sharpening his Balisarda and refusing to speak to anyone.

“No.” I shook my head, pushing the bottles aside. The entire purpose of this futile exercise was to disguise myself without magic. After what had happened with Reid at the pool . . . well, we needn’t poke the bear without reason. “Were there no wigs?”

Madame Labelle scoffed, reaching into her bag once more. “As inconceivable as it sounds, Louise, there were no costume shops in the small farming village of Saint-Loire.” She slammed another jar on the rock. Inside it, things wriggled. “Might I interest you instead in a jar of pickled leeches? If allowed to bake into your hair on a sunny day, I’m told they yield a rich raven color.”

Leeches? Coco and I exchanged horrified glances. “That is disgusting,” she said flatly.

“Agreed.”

“How about this as an alternative?” Madame Labelle fished two more bottles from her bag, throwing one to both Coco and me—or rather, at Coco and me. I managed to catch mine before it broke my nose. “The paste of lead oxide and slaked lime will dye your hair black as night. But be warned, the clerk informed me the side effects can be quite unpleasant.”

They couldn’t have been more unpleasant than her smile.

Beau paused in rummaging through Coco’s rucksack. “Side effects?”

“Death, mostly. Nothing to fret about.” Madame Labelle shrugged, unamused, and sarcasm dripped from her words. I didn’t quite appreciate it. “Far safer than using magic, I’m sure.”

Eyes narrowing, I knelt to inspect the contents of her rucksack myself. “It’s just a precaution, all right? I’m trying to be nice. Reid and magic aren’t exactly amicable at the moment.”

“Have they ever been?” Ansel murmured.

Fair point.

“Can you blame him?” I pulled bottles out at random, examining their labels before tossing them aside. Madame Labelle must’ve bought the entire apothecary. “He’s used magic twice, and both times, people have ended up dead. He just needs . . . time to reconcile everything. He’ll make peace with himself.”

“Will he?” Coco arched a dubious brow, casting him another long look. “I mean . . . the matagot showed for a reason.”

The matagot in question lounged within the lower bows of a fir, peering out at us with yellow eyes.

Madame Labelle snatched her rucksack from me. In a single, agitated motion, she swept the bottles inside. “We don’t know the matagot is here because of Reid. My son is hardly the only troubled one in this camp.” Her blue eyes flashed to mine, and she shoved a piece of ribbon in my hand. Thicker than what I’d once worn, but still . . . the black satin would barely cover my new scar. “Twice now your mother has attempted to murder you. For all we know, Absalon could be here because of you.”

“Me?” I snorted in disbelief, lifting my hair for Coco to tie the ribbon around my throat. “Don’t be stupid. I’m fine.”

“You’re mad if you think ribbon and hair dye will hide you from Morgane.”

“Not from Morgane. She could already be here now, watching us.” I flipped my middle finger over my head just in case. “But ribbon and hair dye might hide me from anyone who sees those wretched wanted posters—might even hide me from the Chasseurs.”

Finished with the bow, Coco tapped my arm, and I let my hair fall, thick and heavy, down my back. I could hear the smirk in her voice. “Those posters are an uncanny likeness. The care with which the artist drew your scar—”

I snorted despite myself, turning to face her. “It looked like another appendage.”

“A rather large one.”

“A rather phallic one.”

When we burst into a fit of cackles, Madame Labelle huffed impatiently. Muttering something about children, she stalked off to join Reid. Good riddance. Coco and I laughed anew. Though Ansel tried to play along with us, his smile seemed somewhat pained—a suspicion confirmed when he said, “Do you think we’ll be safe in La Voisin’s camp?”

Coco’s response came instantly. “Yes.”

“What about the others?”

Laughter fading, she glanced at Beau, who’d surreptitiously started digging through her pack once more. She knocked his hand away but said nothing.

“I don’t like it,” Ansel continued, bouncing his foot, growing more and more agitated. “If Madame Labelle’s magic couldn’t hide us here, it won’t hide them on the road.” He turned his pleading gaze to me. “You said Morgane threatened to cut out Reid’s heart. After we separate, she could take him, force you back to the Chateau.”

Reid had said as much an hour ago—or rather, shouted it.

As it turned out, he was much less keen on his gather allies to confront Morgane at the Archbishop’s funeral plan when it meant we’d have to separate. But we needed the blood witches for this insane plane to work, and La Voisin had made it clear Reid wasn’t welcome in her camp. Though small in number, their reputations were formidable. Fearsome enough that Morgane had denied their annual petitions to rejoin us in the Chateau.

I hoped it’d be enough for them to consider moving against her.

La Voisin was willing to listen, at least. Absalon had returned almost instantaneously with her consent. If we came without Reid, she’d allow us to enter her camp. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. At midnight, Coco, Ansel, and I would meet her outside Saint-Loire, and she would escort us to the blood camp. In her presence, we’d be relatively safe, but the others—

“I don’t know.” When I shrugged helplessly, Coco’s lips pressed tight. “We can only hope Helene’s magic is enough. They’ll have Coco’s blood as well. And if worse comes to worst . . . Reid has his Balisarda. He can defend himself.”

“It’s not enough,” Coco murmured.

“I know.”

There was nothing else to say. If Reid, Madame Labelle, and Beau managed to survive the Chasseurs, Dames Blanches, cutthroats, and bandits of La Rivière des Dents—the only road through the forest, named as such for the teeth of the dead it collected—the danger would increase tenfold when they reached packland.