“So don’t look at her,” I snapped.

The girl blinked, startled, before shuffling away.

I turned my attention back to Morgane. She looked nothing like the drawings in Chasseur Tower. The woman was beautiful, yes, but also cold and cruel—like ice. She had none of Lou’s warmth in her. She had none of Lou in her at all. The two were night and day—winter and summer—and yet . . . there was something similar in their expression. In the set of their jaw. Something determined. Both confident in their ability to bend the world to their will.

But that was how Lou used to look. Now, she floated near Morgane as if sleeping. A witch stood by her side. Tall and ebony-skinned. Sprigs of holly braided through her black hair.

“A poor witch’s Cosette,” a voice murmured beside me. Coco. She watched Lou and the ebony witch with an unfathomable expression.

A small hand touched my arm through the window. I spun swiftly.

“Don’t turn around!”

I stopped moving abruptly, but not before glimpsing strawberry blond hair and Madame Labelle’s alarmingly familiar blue eyes.

“You look the same.” I attempted to move my lips as little as possible. Coco and I inched back until we were pressed against the windowsill. Ansel and Beau fell in on either side of us, completely blocking Madame Labelle from view. “Why aren’t you disguised? Where have you been?”

She huffed irritably. “Even my power has its limits. Between casting the protective enchantment on our camp and transforming all your faces—as well as maintaining those transformations—I’m spent. I could barely manage lightening my hair, which means I can’t come inside. I’m too recognizable.”

“What are you talking about?” Coco hissed. “Lou never had to maintain patterns in the infirmary. She just—I don’t know—did them.”

“Did you want me to alter your face permanently, then?” Madame Labelle skewered her with a glare. “By all means, it would be much easier for me to be done with it and have you all remain lecherous little cretins forever—”

Heat crept up my throat. “Lou practiced magic in the church?”

“So what’s the plan?” Ansel whispered hastily.

I forced myself to refocus on the tables. The meal was quickly coming to an end. Music drifted in from somewhere outside. Already some had risen from their chairs to retrieve their consorts. Elaina and Elinor would soon be upon me.

“The plan is to wait for my signal,” Madame Labelle said tersely. “I’ve made arrangements.”

“What?” I resisted the urge to turn around and throttle her. Now was not the time or place for vague and unhelpful instructions. Now was the time for conciseness. For action. “What arrangements? What signal?”

“There’s no time to explain, but you’ll know when you see it. They’re waiting outside—”

“Who?”

I stopped talking abruptly as Elinor bounded up to us.

“Ha!” she cried, triumphant. Her breath smelled sweet with wine. Her cheeks flushed pink. “I beat her here! That means I get first dance!”

I dug in my feet as she pulled me away, but when I glanced back over my shoulder, Madame Labelle had gone.

I spun Elinor around the clearing without seeing her. It’d taken a quarter of an hour to trek to this unnatural place, hidden deep within the shadow of the mountain. The same thick mist from La Forêt des Yeux clung to the ground here. It swirled around our legs as we danced, matching the lilting melody. I could almost see the spirits of witches long dead dancing within it.

The ruins of a temple—pale, crumbling—opened up to the night sky in the middle of the clearing. Morgane sat there with a still unconscious Lou, overseeing minor sacrifices. A stone altar rose from the ground beside them. It shone pristine in the moonlight.

My mind and body warred. The former screamed to wait for Madame Labelle. The latter itched to throw itself between Lou and Morgane. I couldn’t stand to look upon her lifeless body any longer. To watch her drift along as if she were already a spirit of the mist.

And Morgane—never before had I longed to kill a witch as I did now, to plunge a knife into her throat and sever her pale head from her body. I didn’t need my Balisarda to kill her. She would bleed without it.

Not yet. Wait for the signal.

If only Madame Labelle had told us what the signal was.

The music played endlessly, but there were no musicians in sight. Elinor grudgingly passed me to Elaina, and I lost track of time. Lost track of everything but the panicked beat of my heart, the cold night air on my skin. How much longer would Madame Labelle expect me to wait? Where was she? Who was she expecting?

Too many questions and not enough answers. And still no sign of Madame Labelle.

Panic rapidly gave way to despair as the last sheep was slain, and the witches began presenting other tokens to Morgane. Wooden carvings. Bundled herbs. Hematite jewelry.

Morgane watched them place each gift at her feet without a word. She stroked Lou’s hair absently as the ebony witch approached from within the temple. I couldn’t hear their murmured conversation, but Morgane’s face lit up at whatever the witch said. I watched the witch return to the temple with a sense of foreboding.

If it made Morgane happy, it couldn’t be good for us.

Elaina and Elinor soon left me to add their gifts to the pile. I craned my neck to search for anything amiss, anything that might be construed as a signal, but there was nothing.

Ansel and Coco sidled up beside me, their distress nearly palpable. “We can’t wait much longer,” Ansel breathed. “It’s almost midnight.”

I nodded, remembering Morgane’s wicked smile. Something was coming. We couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Whether Madame Labelle gave the signal or not, the time had come to act. I looked to Coco. “We need a distraction. Something to draw Morgane’s attention away from Lou.”

“Something like a blood witch?” she asked, grim.

Ansel opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “It’ll be dangerous.”

She slit her wrist with a flick of her thumb. Dark blood welled, and a sharp, bitter stench pierced the cloying air. “Don’t worry about me.” She turned and wove through the mist out of sight.

I checked the bandolier of knives beneath my coat as inconspicuously as possible. “Ansel . . . before we do this . . . I—I just want to say that I’m”—I broke off, swallowing hard—“I’m sorry. About before. In the Tower. I shouldn’t have touched you.”