“My turn.” Rubbing my hands together, I turned to Reid—then hesitated. This was my first real chance to woo him outside of our usual circumstances, outside of L’Eau Mélancolique, the heist, the rooftop. Outside of danger. I needed to make it count, yet every thought fled my mind as I stared at him. That suspicious gleam in his eyes—the clench of his jaw and the flex of his arms—he might as well have been impenetrable. Like Jean Luc, he knew my game, and he didn’t want to play.

How had I wooed him in Cesarine?

I wracked my brain, trying and failing to remember. Trapped in Chasseur Tower, surrounded by my enemies, I’d been jagged and sharp and guarded most days, lashing out at the slightest provocation. I’d tried to embarrass him, demean him. I’d mostly succeeded in that endeavor, yet still he’d softened toward me. Still I’d softened toward him. How? When? Already, the whiskey slurred my thoughts if not my words, eddying them into a single memory of warmth and nostalgia. There’d been a bathtub and a shared bed in Chasseur Tower, and there’d been books and plays and gowns—

I fought a frustrated groan. Through the thin walls, Coco’s snores echoed. She hadn’t yet trained me in the subtle art of seduction—if such a thing existed. I hadn’t needed it before. He’d simply . . . loved me—despite everything—and that love had led him to this heinous choice, to forget me, to save me.

I would honor it.

It wasn’t as if I could reverse the pattern anyway. Even as La Dame des Sorcières. If he couldn’t remember our past, I would forge a new future, and I sealed the promise with another swig. “Truth or dare, Reid.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Dare.”

Shrugging, I pointed the bottle at him. “I dare you to strip naked and dance the bourrée. While we watch,” I added swiftly when he moved toward the door. I couldn’t help my grin. He’d always been unexpectedly quick. “Not out in the hallway.”

He scowled and halted mid-step. “Truth.”

“Tell me how you’re feeling in this exact moment.”

“Give me the bottle.” He seized it before I could protest, and I smothered my disappointment. Perhaps this was better. Alcohol was its own sort of truth. With a few more shots, he’d become a plethora of information.

“Well, this is going to get ugly early,” Beau mused. “I should like to go next. Louise, darling”—he flashed me a charming smile—“truth or dare? And please pick truth.”

I rolled my eyes. “Truth.”

He gave a feline grin. “Who is the most attractive person here? Be honest, mind you, or it’s two drinks.”

Winking lewdly, I extended my entire arm toward Reid, condemning him with a finger. “That man there. The copper-haired fellow. He’s the one.”

Reid scowled and interrupted immediately. “My turn. Lou, what is your deepest fear?”

“You didn’t ask truth or dare,” I pointed out.

His scowl deepened. “Truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to answer my question.”

I chuckled and sat back, crossing my feet at the ankles. Unexpectedly quick. Still, his question itself left much to be desired. Of course he’d try to weaponize a game. Of course he’d press every advantage to weaken me. Well, tough shit, buddy. “It used to be death,” I said conversationally, “but a quick chat with our dear friend Ansel changed that. He’s thriving, by the way.” All three of the men stared at me with slack jaws. Beau in particular seemed to blanch. “He spoke with me in L’Eau Mélancolique. He’d been following us the entire time, you know—”

“What?” Beau asked incredulously. “How?”

“He was a white dog.”

“Oh, good Lord.” Beau fell back against the quilt, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You mean the white dog? I thought he was an ill omen.” At my snort, he exclaimed, “He was always there when calamity struck!”

“Probably to warn you.”

“I didn’t realize that he’d—I haven’t seen him since—” He swallowed hard. “What happened to him?”

“He found peace.” The room fell silent at my gentle words, and I stared intently at my hands, knitting them together in my lap. “But he also made me realize I don’t fear death at all. Or at least, it isn’t the dying itself that I fear. It isn’t the pain. It’s the parting with my loved ones forever.” I looked up. “But I’ll see him again. We all will.”

Reid looked as though I’d struck him across the face. He remembered Ansel too, then, if only as an initiate. He remembered his death. Perhaps he just hadn’t expected I would mourn, that I’d be capable of such deep feeling for another person—me, a witch. I cleared my throat. “I believe it’s your turn, Jean Luc.”

He immediately looked to Beau. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“Did Célie mention me on your travels?”

“Yes.” He turned to Reid without expounding on the answer, despite Jean Luc’s vehement protests. “Truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

Another grin. This one harder. “I dare you to magic that copper hair blue.”

Reid’s face flushed puce. “I can’t—how dare you—”

“Compartmentalization isn’t healthy, brother. You saw your face on that wanted poster with the naughty W-word, yet I don’t think you’ve acknowledged it.” He arched a brow in challenge. “Denial is the first stage of grief.”

“Truth,” Reid said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, it is.” Beau leaned forward earnestly. “Why can’t you stop looking at our lovely Louise?”

If possible, Reid’s face flushed deeper. It looked physically uncomfortable now, the amount of blood in his cheeks. I started giggling. “Because I want to kill her—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Beau wagged a reproving finger before tapping the bottle in Reid’s hand. “A lie means two.”

When Reid furiously swallowed two shots—without hesitation, without denying his falsehood—an entirely different kind of warmth cracked open in my chest, flowing through my limbs. I sat up on my knees, bouncing with exhilaration. The room swirled with a lovely, rosy hue. “Truth or dare, Jean Luc.”