Lou pushed to her feet. “She’s your mother.”

“I said I don’t care.” With a snarl, I pivoted to return to the horses—regretting my decision to rejoin the group, to rejoin her—but Célie pointed to my bag with a frown.

“Erm . . . Reid? Your satchel is moving.”

My satchel is . . . Her words pierced my thoughts a second too late. I glanced down.

Then I threw my bag across the room.

Something within it shrieked as it hit the wall. Seeds and clothing and weapons spilled forth, along with what looked like a pastry and a—and a rat. Célie screamed and leapt atop the bed. Beau joined her. Lou, however, swooped to seize the pastry as the rat bolted through a crack in the wall. She held it up between two fingers. “Is this what I think it is?”

“How should I know?” Furious, I swept the seeds back into their pouch. Jean Luc handed me my shirt. My pants. I stuffed them away without ceremony. Then I snatched the pastry from her. “Whatever it is, it’s mine.”

“This is a sticky bun.” She didn’t let go. “Have you had this with you the entire time?”

The bun tore between our fingers. “I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember buying it?”

“No.”

“Clearly you bought it for me, then. It’s mine.”

“It isn’t yours—”

Célie cleared her throat as we continued to grapple over the admittedly stale pastry. “A rat was just eating that, correct?”

“Not all of it.” Eyes blazing, Lou tugged hard, and the bun tore in two. She moved to take a mighty bite.

Fire lit in my own chest, and I swiped at it. “Give that back—”

Coco slapped the bun from her hand before I could. “No,” she said, matter-of-fact. “We won’t be doing that.” Dropping the pouch of seeds into my bag, she turned to resume her own packing. “Get along, children.”

Lou and I glared at each other.

The Rift

Lou

The mist enveloped us later that afternoon.

We dismounted into it at the edge of the path, glancing around for signs of life. Constantin had died; did that mean the waters held no guardian? Could we simply . . . walk to shore? Should we?

“Beau, Célie, and Jean Luc, you should all stay here, just in case,” I whispered. “Isla’s magic protected you before, but we don’t know if she’ll extend the same courtesy this time. I’ll take the ring to her.” I looked to Coco. “Will you come too?”

Without a word, she looped her arm through mine in an admirable effort of normalcy. But there was nothing normal about this place. Nothing normal about how we simultaneously bent to draw knives from our boots. Despite the daylight hour, smoke still clouded the sun, and mist darkened the land to perpetual twilight. The latter clung to us as we stepped forward, dense as water, and limited our visibility—which was why we both shrieked when Reid’s hand snaked out and caught my elbow. “Don’t even think about it.”

I shook him off with an indignant cry. “Don’t do that! If you want to tag along, fine, but announce yourself next time. I could’ve chopped off your hand!”

Coco’s eyes narrowed. “He might plan worse.”

He glared at her, the fog undulating around his towering frame. “I don’t trust either of you. You aren’t leaving my sight.”

“You aren’t exactly endearing yourself to us,” Coco said, poisonously sweet.

“I have a Balisarda. There could be witches here.”

“Oh, there are witches here.”

He gritted his teeth. “Manon could’ve told them what we stole. They could be waiting.”

She pretended to consider this for a moment before shrugging. “Fine. As long as you don’t stick that Balisarda into me instead.” It was a mark of how far they’d both come that she turned her back on him, pulling me forward. He followed without comment.

We walked the path as quietly as possible, listening for any sound, but there were none. Not the rustle of leaves or the crash of waves or the cries of gulls. No, this silence was a living creature all its own, unnatural and thick and oppressive. When we stepped onto the beach, we hesitated, blinking into the abrupt sunlight and standing closer together than we normally would’ve.

“Do we just throw the ring in, or—?”

As if my whisper had broken some sort of spell, Angelica materialized from the water like a specter, silent and ethereal, water streaming from her gown of pure silver. When her eyes landed on Coco, her tranquil face broke into a breathtaking smile. “Cosette. You’ve returned.”

“I told you I would.”

Tugging the golden ring from my hand, I hastily extended it to her. “Here. It’s yours.”

“Thank you, Louise.” Her smile faded as she examined the simple band in her palm. Though it sparkled innocently in the sun, we both knew better. Its history had been forged in death and magic until the two had become one. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen this ring.” Regretfully, her eyes lifted to Coco. “Almost twenty years, in fact.”

“Does this mean Isla agrees to help us?” I asked.

She ignored me, instead moving to clasp Coco’s hands. “Daughter. Events have been set in motion. I fear this is the last opportunity we shall have to speak.”

Coco pulled away halfheartedly. “I told you I don’t want to talk.”

“You must.”

“No—”

Angelica dropped her voice to a fervent whisper, drawing closer, but in the silence, her voice still carried. We heard every word. “Please understand. I never wanted to leave you, but the thought of you trapped underwater for your entire life—like a fish in a bowl, examined and admired and wooed—I couldn’t bear it. You deserved so much more. Believe me. I have watched you always, desperate to join you on the surface.”

Now Coco did tear her hands away. “So why didn’t you?”

“You know that answer.”

“I know you’re afraid.”

“You’re right,” Angelica continued to whisper, “I abandoned you to a cruel woman in hopes that she would love you, that she would give you the tools to chart your own path—and she did. You outgrew her. You’ve outgrown us both.”