He paused at my shout, arching a brow over his shoulder. The gesture seemed too human on his animalistic features now. “My mother,” I continued with both anticipation and dread. “What will you do to her?”

Those yellow eyes blinked. His voice rumbled deep, like that of a bear’s roar. “She has invaded my realm. My being. I will punish her.”

Punish her.

He turned and disappeared in the trees without another word. Too late, I realized I should follow. He’d left little doubt of his intention—he was a god, and she had exploited him. Though he’d warned her—though the Triple Goddess herself had stripped her of power—she hadn’t listened. She hadn’t surrendered. My battle had become their battle. Claud would lead me straight to Morgane, and together, we could—

Reid pulled me in the opposite direction, where the crowd flowed thickest. “We need to evacuate these people.”

“What? No!” I shook my head, but without Claud to protect us, the crush resumed. “No, we need to find Morgane—”

“Look around, Lou.” He didn’t dare let go of my hand, even as those nearest us fled a Dame Rouge who’d torn the beating heart from a man’s chest. Though they hammered against shop windows—pleading for entry—the merchants barred their doors. On both ends of the street, blood witches had cut open their arms. Where their blood spilled, black vines twisted skyward, forming a thick hedge. A barricade. “These people—they have nowhere to run. They’re innocent. You heard Morgane. She won’t stop until all of them are dead.”

“But I—”

“Claud is a god. If he intends to kill Morgane, he’ll kill her. We have to mitigate the casualties.”

My magic pulsed beneath my skin, urging me to listen. To go with him. He was right. Yes. Of course, he was right.

With one last anxious glance at Claud’s back, I nodded, and we sprinted toward Father Achille and Gabrielle, Etienne’s sister, who’d been trapped in a circle of vines. A blood witch coaxed the thorns tighter around them. Behind, Célie rushed Violette and Victoire to safety in the nearest shop—a patisserie manned by none other than Johannes Pan.

At Gabrielle’s cry, he burst into the street with a rolling pin, shouting and swinging it wildly. It struck the blood witch’s head with a sickening crunch. When she crumpled, her thorns shriveled, and Father Achille and Gaby leapt free.

“Come, come!” Pan ushered Gaby toward him while Reid, Jean Luc, and Father Achille converged.

Other witches did too, their eyes intent on the three little girls.

It seemed they still planned to exterminate the Lyon line, regardless of Auguste.

Drawing a deep breath, I plucked a pattern, and it shimmered and expanded like a film over the patisserie. The same protection existed over Chateau le Blanc, over the door to the castle’s treasury. It was a piece of my magic itself—a piece of all Dames des Sorcières who’d come before me. As it left my body, the white patterns dimmed. Just a bit. My connection to them weakened. A worthy sacrifice.

None would enter the patisserie but those I permitted. I caught Gaby’s hand as she passed, squeezing fiercely. “Stay inside,” I told her. My eyes met those of Violette and Victoire. Beau’s sisters. Reid’s half sisters. “All of you.”

Though Gaby and Violette nodded fervently, I didn’t like the stubborn set of Victoire’s chin. Célie pushed all three into the shop before ushering a hysterical couple in after them.

“Cut down the barricades!” Father Achille pointed to the thorn hedges. A handful of Chasseurs fought to drive the witches back. “Anyone with a blade!”

“We have no blades,” a panicked man said, pushing forward.

Reid thrust his Balisarda at him in answer. “You do now. Go.” When more men clambered forward, hands outstretched, Reid tore another knife from his bandolier. Another and another until none remained.

“What are you doing?” I asked in alarm.

Voice grim, he lifted his hands. “I am a weapon.”

Each man turned and fled toward the vines, hacking at the thorns with all their might.

Without pause, Reid pointed at the neighboring shops. To Jean Luc, he said, “Break down the doors. Get these people inside every building. Lou and I will follow behind to enchant them locked—”

He broke off as Philippe and a score of huntsmen blasted through the witches’ line, slaughtering them with brutal efficiency. Bite wounds bled freely on his leg. Leveling his Balisarda at Reid and me, he snarled, “Kill them.”

I lifted my own knife and stepped in front of Reid. We were weapons, yes—our magic sharper than any blade—but only as last resorts. If he’d taught me anything, it was not to cut myself. He wouldn’t either. Before I could strike at Philippe, however, Jean Luc planted his feet before both of us. To my surprise, his handful of Chasseurs did too. “Don’t be stupid, Philippe. These people are not our enemies.”

Philippe’s eyes bulged. “They’re witches.”

“They’re helping us,” another Chasseur snapped. I didn’t recognize him. I didn’t care. “Open your eyes before you kill us all. Do your duty.”

“Protect the kingdom,” the one beside him added.

“Children.” Achille pushed roughly between them. “We don’t have time for this, nor the forces to stand divided. Those with Balisardas must strike against our attackers.”

“He’s right.” Reid nodded, already scanning the street beyond. Huntsmen fought witch, fought werewolf, while both sides fought each other. Pandemonium reigned. “Chasseurs, if you cannot kill, aim for their hands. Dames Blanches cannot cast accurately without dexterity—cut them off at the wrist, but do not draw blood from a Dame Rouge under any circumstance. Unless dead, their blood will maim you.”

“How do we tell the difference?” the first Chasseur asked.

“Dames Rouges are heavily scarred. Strike quickly, and strike true. Leave the werewolves, and leave the trees.”

“Leave the—?” Philippe’s face flushed puce. He jerked his head back and forth. “We will not. Chasseurs—to me. Do not listen to these heretics. I am your captain, and we will strike fast and true.” To prove his point, he stabbed his Balisarda into the heart of the nearest tree. Claud’s roar reverberated from somewhere beyond the cathedral. Face twisting in delight, Philippe thrust deeper. “Cut them down! All of them! Tree, werewolf, and witch alike!”