Absolute silence descended as Coco gradually came back to herself.

Though Beau dropped his head in defeat, Reid turned me to face him with gentle hands. “Are you . . . okay? Lou?”

You will lose the one you love.

I supposed that cleared it up nicely.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” At his concerned look, I said, “Oh, I won’t be losing you anytime soon. Coco’s visions are changeable, subjective to the user’s current path. You see?”

“I—” He glanced at Coco, whose eyes sharpened as they returned to normal. Ansel held her steady. “No, I don’t.”

“It’s simple, really. If I continue on the path as planned, you’ll die, but if I change my path, you’ll live. Which means you aren’t coming with me.”

Reid fixed me with a flat, incredulous look, while Deveraux tilted his head. “I’m not sure that logic tracks, my dear. He can expire in this inn quite as easily as he can expire in the tunnels.”

“Yes, but Morgane is down there,” Beau insisted. Our eyes locked in understanding. “At least he has a chance up here.”

I stared at the door to the storeroom, unable to meet anyone’s eye.

Blaise shook his head. “We cannot afford for Reid to hide above. We need numbers in this battle. Strength.”

“You owe him a life debt,” Beau said, uncharacteristically emphatic. “How can you fulfill it if he dies?”

“She said someone would die.” Liana crossed his arms, shooting an unapologetic look in my direction. “You were right. We don’t know if it’ll be Reid.”

Beau threw his hands in the air. “Except Coco then followed with—and I quote—you will lose the one you love. How the hell are we supposed to interpret that? Morgane told her once that she’d cut out his heart. How do we know that won’t happen tonight?”

Coco clamped her jaw and exhaled hard through her nose. “We don’t know. We don’t know what’s going to happen down in those tunnels. But I do know that my visions are rarely what they seem. I had one before we robbed Tremblay too. I thought it meant something ominous, but Angelica’s Ring ended up saving Lou’s ass—”

Jean Luc looked likely to die from apoplexy then and there. “I don’t care about rings and blood visions. Célie is down there now—trapped in a crypt—and we’re wasting time.”

“You do not speak—” La Voisin hissed.

“He’s right,” Reid said curtly. “I’m going into those tunnels. The more people searching, the faster we’ll find her.” Though he gave me a cursory glance, lips pursed with genuine remorse, his voice booked no argument. Heart pounding, still numb, I felt myself nod.

Beau slumped in his chair, defeated, and cursed bitterly. “The crypts are nearly expansive as the tunnels—and they’re creepy as shit, in case you were wondering.”

Reid nodded. “We’ll split into groups to cover more ground.” With a subtle change in posture, he shifted seamlessly into captain once more. Jean Luc didn’t even gnash his teeth. “Josephine, divide your kin into groups of three. You can search the northern and eastern crypts. Blaise, you and your children can take the southern. Deveraux and his troupe can take the Skull Masquerade.”

Ansel stepped forward tentatively. “What about me? Where should I go?”

“I need you to stay here, Ansel. The patrons of La Mascarade de Crânes won’t know the danger that awaits them. If anyone enters Léviathan seeking this entrance through the tunnels, warn them away.”

It was a thinly veiled excuse, and Ansel knew it. His face fell. There would be no patrons in Léviathan tonight. Claud had assured it. Though Reid sighed, he continued, undeterred. “Coco and I will take the western crypts . . .”

His voice dimmed into background noise as Nicholina caught my eye from behind him. She looked pointedly to the storeroom door. For once, she wasn’t smiling. I stared at her. She couldn’t possibly be helping me. She couldn’t possibly care . . . .

Soon we’ll taste the noises on his tongue, oh yes, each moan and sigh and grunt.

A sharp pain spiked through my chest.

Perhaps she didn’t want Reid to die either.

I didn’t stop to consider her nefarious purposes for wanting him alive. When she glided toward him, weightless, I shifted subtly, making room for her beside him. She took full advantage, draping herself across his chest. “Do you wish to die, Monsieur Diggory?” He shot me an anxious glance, but I shrugged, adopting my best nonplussed expression. “Death comes swiftly on this night,” she sang sweetly, “cloaked not in black, but eerie white.”

I inched backward.

Coco scowled. “Get off him, Nicholina—”

“She is his bride, his maiden fair, who feasts upon flesh and despair.”

“Just ignore her,” Beau said, rolling his eyes. “I do.”

The wood of the storeroom door touched my fingertips as he tried to push her away. His hands couldn’t quite connect, however, as if her form consisted of more vapor than flesh. It clung to him like mist.

“As she eats, her bridegroom moans, come to gather skin and bones—”

I turned the handle. Reid struggled helplessly as Nicholina brought her lips toward his.

Swallowing bile, I hesitated, but La Voisin slid into place before the door, blocking me from view. She didn’t look at me. The slight dip of her chin was my only indication she’d seen me at all.

With one last, lingering look at Reid’s back—the breadth of his shoulders, the coppery waves at his neck—I slipped through the door and out of sight. This was the only way. Though they’d deliberated, Coco’s vision had been clear: you will lose the one you love. I let the words flow through me, strengthening my resolve, as I glanced around the storeroom, searching for the tunnel entrance.

A thick layer of dust coated the rotting shelves, the amber bottles, and the oaken barrels. I stepped carefully over shards of shattered glass, my boot sticking to the tacky floor around them. A single lantern bathed everything in flickering, eerie light. But—there.

I rolled a whiskey cask away from the darkest corner, revealing a trapdoor. Its hinges made not a sound as I swung it open. They were well oiled, then. Well used. Beneath the trapdoor, a narrow staircase disappeared into complete and utter darkness. I peered into it warily. The only things missing were weeping and gnashing of teeth.

After bending to retrieve the dagger from my boot, I stepped down, closed the door overhead, and shoved the blade through the handle. I pushed up once experimentally. It didn’t budge.

Good.

I turned away. He couldn’t follow me—not easily, at least. Not without magic.

When life is a choice between fighting or fleeing—every moment life or death—everything becomes a weapon. It doesn’t matter who holds them. Weapons harm.

Weapons harm.

If we lived through this, I refused to be a weapon any longer.

But until then . . . I glanced up at the trapdoor, torn with indecision.

You’re a witch. I shouldn’t have resented you using magic. Just—don’t let it take you somewhere I can’t follow.

This time, however, that was exactly what I needed to do. A simple knife wouldn’t keep Reid away. Despite Coco’s vision, he would do everything in his power to follow, to protect me from Morgane. From myself. If ever there was a moment of life and death, this was it—and it was mine.