This was a disaster.

The path widened as we crept onward, more lanterns illuminating this tunnel than the others. We’d walked for only a minute or so before voices echoed up the tunnel—many voices this time, carousing and loud. Unfamiliar. Some rose together in song, accompanied by the merry twang of mandolins, the dulcet chords of a harp, even the sharper notes of a rebec. When we rounded the corner, the first painted stalls rose to meet us. Here, masked merchants crooned to scandalously clad maidens, promising more than sweetmeat and pies, while others hawked wares such as bottled dreams and fairy dust. Bards wove through the shoppers. To the applause of passersby, a contortionist twisted his limbs into impossible shapes. Everywhere I looked, revelers danced, laughed, shouted, spilling wine on the tunnel floors. Coins spilled just as freely.

When a dirty-faced child—a cutpurse—slipped her hand into my pocket, I seized her wrist, clucking my tongue. “I think you’ll find better luck over there,” I whispered, pointing to a drunken couple who sat beside a cart of powdered bugne. The girl nodded appreciatively and crept toward them.

We couldn’t stop to enjoy the sights, however, as Célie marched onward, weaving through the revelers like a snake being charmed. We hurried to keep up.

She ignored the infinite side tunnels and their unknown delights, keeping instead to the main path. Others joined us, whispering excitedly, their faces obscured by elaborate costumes: lions and lionesses with thick fur headpieces and claws of diamond; horned dragons with painted-on scales that gleamed metallic in the torchlight; peacocks with teal, gold, and turquoise feathers, their glittering masks carved into fashionable beaks. Even the poorer attendants had spared no expense, donning their finest suits and painting their faces. The man nearest me resembled the devil with his red face and black horns.

Each glanced at our bare faces curiously, but none commented. My apprehension mounted with each step. Morgane was nearby. She had to be. I could almost feel her breath on my neck now, hear her voice calling my name.

Sensing my distress, Ansel slipped his hand into mine and squeezed. “I’m here, Lou.”

I returned the pressure with numb fingers. Perhaps I hadn’t broken our relationship beyond repair. The thought bolstered me enough to whisper, “I’m scared, Ansel.”

“So am I.”

Too soon, the tunnel opened to cavernous, empty space—like the inside of a mountain growing down into earth instead of up into sky. Crude stone benches lined the sloping walls like rows of teeth, and steep stairs led down, down, down to an earthen mouth.

And there, in the center of that primitive stage, stood my mother.

She looked resplendent in robes of black velvet. Her arms remained bare despite the underground chill, and her moonbeam hair waved loose down her back. An intricate golden circlet sat atop her head, but the corpses floating above her in a circle—peaceful, eyes closed and hands clasped—they formed her true crown. Though I couldn’t see the details of their faces, I could see their slashed throats. My stomach dropped with understanding. With dread. I shifted Ansel and Célie ever so subtly behind me.

She spread her arms wide, smiled broadly, and called, “Darling, welcome! I’m so happy you could join us!”

Around us, hundreds of people sat unnaturally still on the benches, silent and staring behind their masks. Magic coated the air, so thick and heavy my eyes watered, and I knew instinctively they couldn’t move. The eyes of those who’d entered with us emptied, and without a word, they walked promptly to their seats. Seized by sudden panic, I searched for Reid, Coco, and Beau amidst the audience, but they were nowhere to be seen. I breathed a short-lived sigh of relief.

“Hello, Maman.”

Her smile grew at my defensive stance. “You look beautiful. I must admit, I did chuckle when you melted your hair—classic mistake, darling—but I think you’ll agree the new color suits you. Do come closer, so I might see it better.”

My feet grew roots. “I’m here. Let Célie go.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. She’ll miss all the fun.” Flicking the train of her robes behind her, she stepped forward, revealing another body at her feet. My heart dropped. Even from afar, I recognized the slight build, the auburn curls.

“Gabrielle,” I whispered in horror.

Ansel stiffened beside me. “Is she . . . ?”

“Dead?” Morgane supplied helpfully, nudging Gaby’s face with her boot. Gaby moaned in response. “Not yet, but soon. With my daughter’s help, of course.” She stepped on Gabrielle’s hand as she continued across the stage. “Where is your huntsman, Louise? I had hoped he would join you. I have much to discuss with him, you see. A male witch! You cannot imagine my surprise after the little trick he pulled at Modraniht. Trading the Archbishop’s life for yours? It was inspired.”

I squared my shoulders. “Your note said you’d let her go.”

“No. My note said I’d eat her heart if you didn’t rescue her by midnight, which”—she licked her teeth salaciously—“is now. Perhaps you can offer a distraction in the meantime.”

“But I rescued her—”

“No, Louise.” Morgane’s grin darkened. “You haven’t. Now,” she said, matter-of-fact, “tell me, are there more like your huntsman? Perhaps I was foolish in sending away our sons. It has proved near impossible to track them, and those we found . . . well, they’re quite terrified of me. It seems not all sons inherit our gifts.” She looked lovingly to the corpses above her. “But I am not without reward. My labor yielded different fruit.”

“We found no one,” I lied, but she knew. She smiled.

“Come here, sweeting.” She crooked a finger at Célie, who stood so close behind me I could feel her body shake. “Such a lovely little doll. Come here, so I may shatter you.”

“Please,” Célie whispered, clutching my arm as her feet moved of their own accord. “Please, help me.”

I caught her hand and held it there. “Leave her alone, Morgane. You’ve tormented her enough.”

Morgane cocked her head as if considering. “Perhaps you’re right. It would be much less satisfying to simply kill her, wouldn’t it?” She clapped her hands together and laughed. “Oh, how delightfully cruel you are. I must say I’m impressed. With her dead sister’s flesh still fouling her skin, of course we must condemn her to live—to live and to never forget. The torment, as you say, will be delicious.”

Tasting bile, I released Célie’s hand. When her feet continued forward, however, she let out a sob. “What are you doing?” I snarled, leaping down the steps after her.

“Please, Louise,” Morgane crooned, “I desire for you to come closer. Follow the doll.” To Ansel, she added, “From the way you flit at her side, I assume you’re some kind of pet. A bird, perhaps. Remain where you are, lest I pluck your feathers for a hat.”

Ansel reached for the knife at his belt. I waved him back, hissing, “Stay here. Don’t give her more reason to notice you.”

His doe-like eyes blinked, confused. He still hadn’t connected the dots.

“I’m waiting,” she sang, her voice dripping with honey.