“No, Célie.”

As if Coco’s reprimand had struck the ground between us like a bolt of lightning, she dropped my hands. Pink returned to her cheeks. “Very well. Lead the way.”

We made it all of two minutes before she stopped again. Anger forgotten, she peered ahead at a group of men huddled around a barrel. Eyes wide and childlike, curious, she asked, “What are they doing?”

I glanced over their shoulders as we passed. A handful of dirty bronze couronnes littered the top of the barrel. A pair of wooden dice. “Gambling.”

“Oh.” She craned her neck to see too. When one of the men winked at her, motioning her closer, I rolled my eyes. Some disguise. She tapped her satchel again, oblivious. “I should like to try gambling, I think. Please hand over my bag.”

I snorted and kept walking. “Absolutely not.”

She made an indignant noise at the back of her throat. “I beg your pardon?”

Though I’d barely met Violette and Victoire, I imagined this was how an elder brother felt. Exasperated. Impatient. Fond.

“Reid.”

I ignored her.

“Reid.” She actually stamped her foot now. When I still didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge her inane request, she seemed to snap, tearing after me and latching on to the bag with both hands. Hissing like a cat. Her nails even scored the leather. “You will release my bag this instant. This is—you—this is my bag. You cannot control it, and you cannot control me. If I wish to gamble, I shall gamble, and you shall—” Finally, I swung around, and she swung with me. My hand shot out to steady her when she stumbled backward. She swiped it away with an unladylike snarl. “Give me my bag.”

“Fine. Here.” I tossed the satchel to her, but it slipped from her fingers. Coins and jewelry alike spilled across the snow. Cursing, I knelt to block the gamblers’ view with my shoulders. “But you promised to help us. We need your couronnes to buy the pearls.”

“Oh, I am well aware you need my help.” Angry tears sparkled in her eyes as she too knelt, returning fistfuls of treasure to her bag. “Perhaps you are the one in need of a reminder.” I glared pointedly at interested passersby. My hands swiftly joined hers, and though she tried to swat me away—

I straightened abruptly, my fingers curling around familiar glass. Cylindrical glass. Cold glass. Her nails cut into my knuckles as I moved to withdraw it. “Wait!” she cried.

Too late.

I stared at the syringe in my palm. “What is this?”

But I knew what it was. We both did. She stood perfectly still now, her hands knotted together at her waist. She didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. I didn’t blame her. If she moved, her tearful facade might shatter, and the truth might spill forth. “Where did you get it?” I asked, voice hard.

“Jean gave it to me,” she whispered, hesitating briefly, “when I told him I was leaving.”

“When you told him you were coming to find us.”

She didn’t contradict me. “Yes.”

My gaze snapped to her face. “Were you going to use it?”

“What?” Her voice cracked on the word, and she clutched my forearm, oblivious to Coco’s and Beau’s heads bobbing through the crowd. They hadn’t yet spotted us. “Reid, I would never—”

“You’re still crying.”

She wiped her face hastily. “You know I cry when I’m upset—”

“Why are you upset, Célie? Did you think you’d lost it?” My fingers closed around the glass. The hemlock injection didn’t warm, however. Devil’s Flower, the priests had called it. It’d grown on the hillside of Jesus’s crucifixion. When his blood had touched the petals, they’d turned poisonous. “It shouldn’t matter if you had. You weren’t going to use it.”

“Reid.” Her hand on my arm crept downward. Even now, she ached to have it in her possession. “It was just a precaution. I never planned to use it on you or—or anyone else. You must believe me.”

“I do believe you.” And I did. I believed she’d never planned to use it. If our reunion had gone wrong, however, she wouldn’t have hesitated. The fact that she’d brought it here, that she’d hidden it, meant she’d been prepared to hurt us. I tucked the syringe in my pocket. “You know this is poison, right? Standard issue. Witch or no, it’d incapacitate you much faster than it would me. It’d take down Jean Luc. King Auguste. All of them.” She blinked in confusion, confirming my suspicions. She’d thought it a weapon unique against witches. I shook my head. “Fuck, Célie. Are you really that afraid of us? Of me?”

She flinched at the profanity, color rising high on her cheeks. But not in embarrassment. In anger. When she lifted her chin, her voice didn’t waver. “Is that even a question? Of course I fear you. A witch murdered Filippa. A witch locked me in a coffin with her remains. When I close my eyes, I can still feel her flesh on my skin, Reid. I can still smell her. My sister. Now I’m terrified of the dark, of sleep, of dreams, and even awake, I can hardly breathe. I’m trapped in a nightmare without end.”

My own anger withered to something small. Something shameful.

“So, yes,” she continued fiercely, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks, “I packed a weapon against witches. I hid it from you. How could I do otherwise? Whether or not I like it, you’re a witch now. You’re one of them. I’m trying—truly, I am—but you cannot ask me not to protect myself.” She took a deep, steadying breath then, and met my gaze. “Truthfully, you cannot ask me anything. I won’t live in another grave, Reid. You’ve moved on. It is time for me to do the same.”

Though a hundred words of comfort rose to my lips, I didn’t utter one. They weren’t enough for what she’d suffered. No words would ever be enough. I handed her the syringe instead. She seized it instantly, lifting it to her eyes with a truly terrifying expression. Not like Lou. Not like Coco. Not like Gabrielle or Violette or Victoire. Like Célie.

“When I next see Morgane, I will stab this needle in her heart,” she promised.

And I believed her.

A Simple Favor

Reid

Beau, Coco, and Nicholina found us shortly after. I drew them into the shadow of an abandoned stall, away from the whispers of the villagers. “Well?” Coco looked between the two of us expectantly. “Anything?”