Now she whipped around to face me. “She what?”

I shrugged and kept walking. “At the Saint Nicolas Day celebrations, she overheard our . . . discussion. I think she took it well, all things considered. She could’ve murdered us on the spot.”

“She . . . she heard me . . . ?” Eyes widening with palpable distress, she lifted a hand to her lips. “Oh, no. Oh, no no no.”

I couldn’t resist this time. My eyes rolled to the heavens. “I’m sure she’s been called worse.”

“She’s a witch,” Célie hissed, hand dropping to clutch her chest. “She could—she could curse me, or, or—”

“Or I could.” The smile that carved my lips felt harder than usual. Like it’d been hewn from granite. Even after Lou had risked life and limb to save her in the catacombs, Célie still considered her an enemy. Of course she did. “Why did you follow us, Célie, if you disdain us so?” At her expression, I shook my head with a self-deprecating laugh. A brittle one. Hers wasn’t an unprecedented reaction. If Coco hadn’t set the tunnels ablaze, would the denizens of La Mascarade des Crânes have returned for us? Would they have brought fire of their own? Yes, they would’ve, and I couldn’t blame them. I’d have once done the same. “Forget it.”

“No, Reid, wait, I—I didn’t mean—” Though she didn’t touch me, something in her voice made me pause. Made me turn. “Jean Luc told me what happened. He told me . . . about you. I am so sorry.”

“I’m not.”

Her brows lifted, puckered. “You’re not?”

“I’m not.”

When I didn’t elaborate, her frown deepened. She blinked rapidly. “Oh. Of . . . of course. I—” Blowing air from her cheeks, she planted an abrupt hand on her hip, and her eyes sparked again with that unfamiliar temper. “Well, I’m not either. Sorry, that is. That you’re different. That I’m different. I’m not sorry at all.”

Though she’d spoken in frankness rather than spite, her words still should’ve hurt. They didn’t. Instead, the nervous energy thrumming just beneath my skin seemed to settle, replaced by peculiar warmth. Perhaps peace. Perhaps . . . closure? She had Jean Luc now, and I had Lou. Everything between us had changed. And that—that was okay. That was good.

When I smiled this time, it was genuine. “We’re friends, Célie. We’ll always be friends.”

“Well then.” She sniffed, straightening and fighting her own smile. “As your friend, it is my duty to inform you that your hair is in dire need of a cut and that your coat is missing two buttons. Also, you have a hickey on your throat.” When my hand shot upward to the tender skin near my pulse, she laughed and strode around me, pert nose in the air. “You should cover it for propriety’s sake.”

There she was.

Chuckling, I fell into step beside her. It felt nice. Familiar. After another moment of comfortable silence, she asked, “What will we do after we warn the cauchemar?”

The peace I’d felt fractured, as did my smile. “We journey to the Chateau.”

Her hand fluttered to her collar once more. A nervous habit. A telling one. “And—and then what? Just how do we plan to defeat Morgane?”

“Watch where you’re going.” I nodded to a dip in the path. Sure enough, she stumbled slightly. I didn’t reach for her this time, and she caught herself without my help. “Lou wants to burn the castle to the ground.” The dead weight returned to my chest. To my voice. “And everyone in it.”

“How will she do that?”

I shrugged. “How does a witch do anything?”

“How does it work, then? The . . . magic?” Her expression took on a shyer quality, her chin ducking quickly to her chest. She turned to face forward once more. “I’ve always been curious.”

“You have?”

“Oh, don’t play coy, Reid. I know you were curious too.” She paused delicately. “Before.”

Before. Such a simple word. I kept my gaze impassive. “It’s a give and take. For Lou to raze the Chateau, she’ll have to destroy something of equal value to herself.”

Célie’s voice held wonder. “And what might that be?”

I don’t know. The admission chafed. Lou had provided no details. No strategy. When we’d pressed her, she’d simply smiled and asked, “Are you afraid?” Beau had responded immediately with a resounding yes. I’d privately agreed. The entire plan—or lack thereof—made me uneasy.

Like God had plucked him from my thoughts, my brother’s shout rent the air. Célie and I looked up in unison to see part of the cliff give way. Rocks rained down upon us, striking first my shoulders, my arms, then my head. Sharp pain exploded, and stars burst in my vision. Reacting instinctively, I thrust Célie out of harm’s way, and Beau—he—

Horror unfurled in my gut like a deadly snake.

As if in slow motion, I watched as he lost his footing, as he flailed wildly through the air, as he tried and failed to find purchase among the falling rocks. There was nothing I could do. No way I could help. Lunging forward anyway, I gauged the distance between us, desperate to catch some part of him before he plunged to the sea—

Coco’s hand shot through the rockfall and seized his wrist.

With another shout, Beau swung in her grip like a pendulum. He thrust his free hand upward to grip the edge of the rock, and together, the two struggled to drag him back onto the path. I raced ahead to help, my heart pounding a deafening beat. Adrenaline—complete, unadulterated fear—coursed through my system, lengthening my stride and shortening my breath. By the time I reached them, however, they lay sprawled in a tangled heap. Their chests rose and fell haphazardly as they too tried to catch their breath. Above us, Lou stood at the top of the bluff. She gazed down with a hint of a smile. Just the slightest curve of her lips. The white dog growled and disappeared behind her. “You should really be more careful,” she said softly before turning away.

Beau glared at her in disbelief but didn’t respond. Sitting up, he wiped a shaky hand across his brow and glanced at his arm. His mouth twisted in an ugly slash. “Goddamn it. I tore my fucking sleeve.”

I shook my head, cursing bitterly under my breath. His sleeve. He’d nearly plunged to his death, and all he cared about was his fucking sleeve. With a convulsive, full-body shudder, I opened my mouth to tell him just what he could do with said sleeve, but an odd choking noise escaped Coco. I stared at her in alarm—then incredulity.