“Yes, but—why didn’t he sense Thierry before? Why couldn’t he have found Thierry in the tunnels? Before Morgane—” I stopped myself from asking the next question. Nicholina asked it for me.

“Before she tortured him?”

Fresh smoke erupted from Zenna’s nose. “Claud has never claimed to be the supreme deity, huntsman. Only divine. He is not omniscient, and he is not omnipotent. He did sense Thierry in the tunnels. When the Hellfire sparked, however”—she cast a baleful look in Coco’s direction—“he lost the connection. We believed the fire’s magic had cloaked Thierry’s presence. We didn’t realize it was Chateau le Blanc. When Thierry escaped its enchantment three days ago, Claud felt him once more. I flew north to find him immediately.” After blinking with secondary, vertical eyelids, her eyes flicked back to brown. “Seraphine and I have scoured these mountains for days. We couldn’t fly low enough to properly search without risking exposure, forcing us to walk.” Her lip curled at the word.

Seraphine patted her arm. “When we reached Fée Tombe this morning, Zenna finally caught Thierry’s scent. Still fresh. We followed it to the lighthouse, where we met with an angry mob.”

“They’d already chased you away,” Zenna growled, “but we followed.” A cruel smile curved her painted lips. “The crows were a tasty coincidence. You are welcome.”

“Wait a moment.” Lifting a finger, Beau frowned between them, incredulous. Perhaps indignant. “Does this mean Claud didn’t send you for us? Did he not hear our prayer?”

Zenna arched a brow. “Your arrogance astounds.”

“It’s hardly arrogant to expect the help of a friend—”

“He is not your friend. He is a god. If you speak to him, he will listen. He will not, however,” she added firmly, eyes narrowing, “always answer. You do not have a god at your beck and call, any of you. He is of the Old World, and as such, he is bound by the Old Laws. He cannot directly intervene.”

Beau’s frown deepened to a scowl. I spoke before he could argue. “Can you help us, then? Nicholina has possessed Lou. We have to exorcise her.”

“Do not insult my intelligence.” Nostrils flaring once more, Zenna leaned forward to stare into Lou’s eyes. “Yes, I recognize the blight you call Nicholina. Long ago, I knew her by a different name. Nicola.”

Nicholina jerked, snarling, “We do not speak that name. We do not speak it!”

Zenna tilted her head. “But I am only a dragon. I cannot exorcise anyone.”

“The Wistful Waters can,” I said swiftly. “We’re journeying there now. Perhaps you could . . . join us.” I held my breath as I waited, hardly daring to hope. With a dragon on our side, we would reach L’Eau Mélancolique within the day. She could fly us there. She could protect us. Nicholina—even Morgane—wouldn’t dare threaten a dragon.

Zenna didn’t answer right away. Instead she stepped backward, away from us. She straightened her shoulders. Stretched her neck. “Witches are gathering at Chateau le Blanc. We have spied them in the mountains, through the forest. More than we have ever seen. If we are to rescue Toulouse, we must act swiftly. I am sorry.”

“But we can help you! No one knows Chateau le Blanc like Lou does. After we find the pearls for Le Cœur, after we exorcise her—”

“After Toulouse dies, you mean.” Her teeth continued lengthening. Her eyes gleamed gold. “Let me be clear, huntsman—Louise le Blanc may be the center of your universe, but she is not the center of mine. I have made my decision. Every moment I spend arguing with you is a moment Toulouse could lose his life.”

“But—”

“Every moment I spend arguing with you is a moment I might eat you instead.”

“He understands,” Coco said smoothly, stepping in front of Nicholina and me. She raised a hand to motion me backward. Nicholina lunged forward to snap at it. “Go.” Coco jerked her head. “Save Toulouse and the wolves. Raze the Chateau. Just—kill Morgane while you’re at it.” She gestured to the crow carcasses all around us. “Two birds, you know.”

Zenna nodded as Thierry moved to clasp my shoulder, considered Nicholina’s teeth, and thought better of it. We shall see each other soon, mon ami.

I managed a small smile. Zenna was right, of course. Lou was my priority. Toulouse was theirs. “Good luck, frère. Be careful.”

The two of them backed toward the cliff without another word. Seraphine lingered beside us, however, as if searching for words and finding none. At last, she whispered, “I wish we could help more.”

Coco kicked aside a burning crow. “You’ve helped enough.”

“We will kill Morgane if we can,” Seraphine promised.

Zenna didn’t change as the werewolves did. Her bones didn’t crack or break. Instead, she shifted with the grace and showmanship of a performer, lifting an elegant arm in the air. The other clutched her train. With a flourish of satin, she whirled, and at the center of her turn, her entire body exploded upward. Outward. Like a flame sparked into existence.

“Beautiful,” Célie breathed as Zenna extended a jeweled claw to Thierry. He climbed atop it, and she lifted him to the smooth amethyst scales between her wings.

Seraphine smiled. “She is, isn’t she?”

Then the dragon collected her maiden, and they launched into the sky.

Litany

Lou

Reid, Coco, Beau, Ansel, Madame Labelle. Reid, Coco, Beau, Ansel, Madame Labelle.

I repeat the names like a litany in the darkness. I envision each face. The copper of Reid’s hair, the cut of Coco’s cheekbones, the arch of Beau’s brows, the color of Ansel’s eyes. Even the fabric of Madame Labelle’s gown when I first saw her: emerald silk.

A pretty color, Legion muses, remembering the gold leaf walls and marble floors of the Bellerose, the grand staircase and the naked ladies. A pretty . . . brothel?

Yes. Those are tits.

They press closer, listening to each name in fascination, examining each memory. Except Etienne. His presence lingers apart from the rest, but weaker now. Faded. He’s forgotten his own name again, so I remind him. I will keep reminding him. Reid, Coco, Beau, Ansel, Madame Labelle. It’s Etienne. You are Etienne.