“You did—”

“I know I did,” he said firmly, squeezing me once before drawing back. My arms remained locked around him. Removing them one at a time, he disentangled himself gently, stronger now than before. Strong and graceful and confident. Another tear spilled over. “And I’m going to help you again.” He nodded toward Nicholina, who thrashed against the invisible barrier. “You’ll have to kill her.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Try harder.” He squeezed my fingers around the knife’s hilt. “A wound to the arm won’t do it. The waters have healed you both of superficial injuries. You won’t be able to drown her, either.” He glanced over his shoulder to where she raged, all but invisible, and a flash of pity crossed his warm brown eyes. “She’s lived too long with her emotions. She’s numb to them now.”

“She isn’t numb to her son.”

He turned back around to look at me. “You’d rather kill her slowly? Make her suffer?”

“No.” The word rose to my lips unbidden. I frowned, realizing its truth. Despite the heinous things she’d done—to me, to Etienne, to God knew who else—I couldn’t forget the sense of longing she’d felt in that lavender field with Mathieu, the despair and hopelessness and shame. The fear. We cannot do this, she’d said to La Voisin. Not the children. Loathing burned up from my stomach to my throat. She’d still done it. She’d still killed them. And perhaps that was punishment in itself.

Will I become a wraith too, maman?

Never.

“I think . . .” I said the words quietly, my thoughts tangling out loud. “I think she’s suffered enough.” My knuckles clenched around the knife. “But this won’t kill her permanently, will it? She said her body is at the Chateau.”

“Only one way to find out.”

With a sweep of his arm, the barrier collapsed, but Nicholina didn’t assail us right away. Eyes narrowed, suddenly wary, she skittered backward as I approached. She felt my resolve. It frightened her. Undeterred, I continued forward with purpose, shifting to block the tunnel, her easiest means of escape. Though she dodged with incredible speed—feinted even faster—we still shared our consciousness, and I matched her every step. Ansel watched our dance in silence, black smoke undulating around his lean frame.

It didn’t take long. Not now. Not with him behind me.

Not with Nicholina so incredibly alone.

I anticipated her third bluff, catching her wrist and trapping her against the wall of rock. Flames licked up its face, but neither of us could feel their heat. I pinned my forearm across her throat. She tore at my face, but Ansel appeared, catching her hands and subduing them with ease. She arched off the wall in response, hissing, spitting—eyes bright and rolling with fear—but stilled unexpectedly when I raised the knife. Those eyes found mine and held, and one name radiated through our consciousness.

Mathieu.

I took a deep breath and brought the knife down.

It slid through her ribs in a sickening, viscous movement, and I left it there, protruding straight from her heart. She stared at me, unblinking, as her body collapsed in our arms. “I’m sorry,” I said. I didn’t know if it was true.

With one last, ragged breath, she clutched me and whispered, “The dead should not remember, but I do.” Those eyes found mine again as the light finally left them. “I remember everything.”

She slipped from our hold, fading into black mist, and was gone.

We both stared at the spot where she’d disappeared.

In those seconds, a mournful sort of blanket settled over us, deadening the crackling of flames and rumbling of stone. The entire amphitheater would collapse soon. I couldn’t bring myself to care. A knot solidified in my throat as I glanced at Ansel, as he looked back with a sad little smile.

“Good riddance.” Swallowing hard, I forced a laugh. “She was a huge pain in the ass.”

And that was a huge understatement.

“Thank you,” I continued, rambling now. “We should really look into procuring you armor for next time. Just imagine—you riding in on a white steed, undoing your helmet in slow motion and tossing all that glorious hair in the wind.” I swallowed again, unable to dislodge the lump, and—also unable to look at him—glanced down. “Coco would love it. Hell, Beau probably would too.” The fire had completely consumed his body now. Bile rose in my throat, and I tore my gaze away, fresh tears filling my eyes. Surely, this was Hell, yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave. My feet had grown roots. An inexplicable tug unfurled deep in my stomach the longer we stood there, like an itch I needed to scratch, yet I resisted its pull. It would take me away from here. Away from him. I knew it as fundamentally as I knew that, one way or another, this moment would have to end.

But not yet.

He missed nothing, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “I’ll ask again, Lou . . . what are you doing here?”

I bumped his shoulder with mine. “You should know. It seems you’ve been following us since—since—” The words withered on my tongue, and I tried again. “Since—” Fuck. I dropped my gaze once more before quickly regretting the decision. His body still smoldered at our feet. Double fuck.

“Since I died?” he supplied helpfully.

My eyes snapped to his, and my expression flattened. “You’re an ass.”

He bumped me this time, grinning anew. “You can say the words, you know. They won’t make me any less dead.”

I swatted him away. “Stop saying it—”

“Saying what? The truth?” He splayed his hands wide. “Why are you so afraid of it?”

“I’m not afraid.”

He leveled me with a frank stare. “Don’t lie to me. You can lie to everyone else, but I know better. You’re my best friend. Even if I hadn’t been following you for the past few weeks, I’d know you’re one of the most frightened people I’ve ever met.”

“Everyone is frightened of death,” I muttered petulantly. “Those who say differently are drunk.” Unable to help it, my eyes drifted back to his body. Fresh gorge rose. I had a finite amount of time left with Ansel, yet here I stood, arguing with him atop his makeshift pyre. Perhaps these waters hadn’t healed me, after all. Perhaps whatever was broken inside me couldn’t be fixed.