Nicholina snickered while Célie stuffed the injection into her pocket. “We, ah—my apologies, but Reid and I got . . . well, distracted.”

Coco frowned. “Distracted?”

“We haven’t found them yet,” I said shortly, hoisting her satchel back over my shoulder. “We need to keep looking.”

“The waters go down, down, down,” Nicholina sang, her face hidden within the hood of her cloak. “And there you’ll drown, drown, drown.”

Coco lifted a hand to rub her temple. “This is such a shit show. No one at the dock knew anything, either. One of them threw a hook at us when we asked about black pearls. He must’ve heard rumors about L’Eau Mélancolique.” She sighed. “Fishermen. They’re superstitious on the best of days, but they fear melusines most of all. I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls the Chasseurs. They’ll be swarming these streets by morning.”

Beau held up a stack of rumpled wanted posters in his hands. “At least he didn’t recognize us.”

“And we won’t be here by morning.” I flicked a finger, and the last of my anger leapt onto the papers. Beau yelped when they caught flame, dropping them into the cart. Our faces burned to ash within seconds. “The stalls will be closing soon. Let’s turn this market upside down.”

An hour later, we regrouped at the end of the street. Bad-tempered. Empty-handed.

Nicholina swayed in the wind. A tendril of white hair swept free of her hood. “Drown, drown, drown.”

Scowling, Coco peered through the crowd again. But one could hardly call it a crowd now. Most of the villagers had retired for the night. Only a handful still danced in the street. They stumbled from wine, clutching each other and giggling. By the water, only the staunchest of fishermen remained. And the drunkest. “We should go. There’s nothing here. Tomorrow we can circle back—”

Beau slashed a curt hand. “I told you. We looked everywhere. There were no pearls in any of those villages.”

I too scoured the carts nearest us. Whitewashed coral. Driftwood chimes. Baskets of woven seaweed, cups of crystallized sea salt, jars of preserved anchovies. Jars and jars of anchovies. Beau knocked one to the ground in frustration, and the glass shattered. Célie leapt backward with a startled cry. When the oil soaked her boots, he snorted, and she retaliated by kicking an anchovy at his face.

Children. I was surrounded by children.

“Enough.” Voice sharp, I pivoted in one last circle to ensure I hadn’t missed anything. But my desperation yielded nothing new. Anchois boasted no pearls, black or otherwise.

“My apologies.” Célie sniffed in a dignified way. “It shan’t happen again.”

“You’re going to smell like fish for at least a fortnight,” Beau said.

Exhaling hard through my nose, I wheeled to face him. “Could you at least try to stop provoking everyo—”

A wooden sign behind him caught my attention. A familiar name.

LA CURIEUSE MADAME SAUVAGE

PRICES AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

I frowned and nudged him aside. Madame Sauvage. I knew that name. How did I know that name? The sign itself—half-hidden and half-rotted—stood between a stall of spindly combs and a barrel of fish oil. I pointed to it. “That wasn’t there before, was it?”

Coco’s eyes narrowed as she followed my finger. “I don’t see anything.”

“Well, look. It’s right—” I blinked, and the words died on my tongue. I was pointing at the fish oil, not the sign. Because there was no sign. Dropping my finger hastily, I shook my head. Blinked again. “I—never mind.”

“Nothing there,” Nicholina said, her voice unexpectedly harsh. She tugged on Coco’s hand. “Nothing, nothing.”

Coco huffed impatiently before drawing her cloak more tightly around her. “If you’re quite done—” But her eyes widened when she glanced back. “That—that wasn’t there before.”

Slowly, as if cornering a frightened animal, my gaze returned to the stall and barrel. Sure enough, the wooden sign had rematerialized between them. Emerald and aubergine silk fluttered from the cart behind it. As if it’d been there all along.

“Magic,” Célie whispered.

Coco and I shared a wary glance before creeping forward.

Though I clutched a knife in my bandolier, the cart itself didn’t seem dangerous. Jewelry of all shapes and colors gleamed from the cluttered shelves. Real jewelry. With gemstones and precious metals, not fish bones and octopi tentacles. An assortment of dusty bottles joined them. Dried flowers. Leather-bound books. On a ledge at the back, a crimson-and-gold snake slumbered in a glass cage. Célie approached it in fascination.

I took a deep breath, trying and failing to suppress my unease.

No, it didn’t seem dangerous, but there—displayed proudly on the middle shelf—three black pearls nestled in a bed of velvet. It couldn’t have been coincidence. When Beau moved toward them, eager, I stilled him with the shake of my head, glancing around for the owner. This mysterious Madame Sauvage. Though nowhere to be seen, she’d tacked a scrap of parchment to the sign:

WILL RETURN

Coco caught the tail of the emerald silk between two fingers. “Perfect. Makes this easy.”

“Too easy,” I said before grasping her meaning. Then— “Wait. You want to steal them?”

“I’m a thief, Reid.” Gaze suddenly alert, she glanced from the cart to the street, assessing the landscape. Tracking the couple closest us. They strolled past hand in hand, oblivious to our presence. When I stepped in front of her, blocking her view, she smirked. “Lou is a thief too, you know. And as soon as we’ve saved her, you can soak in your virtue until your fingers wrinkle with it. Until then . . .” She slipped past me, lifting a casual shoulder. “We need these pearls. It’s better if no one sees our faces.” Her eyes lit on something behind me, and she laughed, tossing them my way. “Perfect. A reward for your silence.”

I caught the leather pants against my chest. “This isn’t funny.”

“Au contraire. Lou is going to need a laugh after all of this.” Her smirk faded then. “You told me to hope, Reid, but hope means nothing without action. I will do whatever it takes to save her. Whatever it takes. Are you willing to do the same? Or shall Lou fall on the sword of your principles?”