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His reply is swift, instantaneous. His eyes dark. “I promise I won’t killyou, Célie Tremblay, and that is the only promise I’ll ever make. Do we have a deal?”

I close my eyes briefly.

In the end, however, it isn’t a choice at all. I cannot simply return to my room, to my shelf, and collect dust while a killer roams free. I cannot ever go back to that place again.I won’t.“We have a deal,” I say quietly, opening my eyes and lifting my handtoward his. It trembles only a little.

A small, dangerous smile pulls the corner of his mouth, and he shakes my hand with his blackened one, his fingers wrapping firmly around mine. No ghosts rise up to meet us this time. No. This touch, thisbinding, is ours alone.

When he pulls away, the silver cross rests in my palm, as brilliant and familiar as ever, and I frown down at the faint initials etched along one side. I’ve never noticed them before—indeed, wouldn’t have noticed them even now if not for the exact angle of the firelight—yet there they are, winking up at me.BT.

If we’re going to work together, Michal needs to know everything.

“I don’t know why the killer returned for Babette and not the others, but Babette... she was the only victim found with one of these.” Together, we gaze down at the cross. “She didn’t worship the Christian god.”

Michal’s eyes snap to mine. “You think she knew something.”

“I think she feared something.”Like a vampire.I tuck the cross into my skirt pocket, where it lies heavily against my leg. It tethers me to the floor of Michal’s study; it tethers me toMichal. But I can’t turn back now. “Serial killers typically choose victims that fit a certain profile, but the huntsmen have found no discernible pattern among the dead. Perhaps this killer chooses his victims a different way. Perhaps he has a... personal connection to them.”

Michal doesn’t need further explanation. His mind races ahead, his black eyes glinting with anticipation. “Where did Babette live? In Cesarine?”

“No.”And thank God for that.I shake my head, tears of relief welling up behind my eyelids. Thank God that Babette moved far,far away from Coco after the Battle of Cesarine. Thank God that Michal has forgotten my friend for now. I can only pray it remains that way. “She lived in Amandine. I overheard her telling—telling someone,” I say quickly, “about a place called Les Abysses, but I don’t know the address. My parents sold our summer home in Amandine when I was a child.”

“I doubt your parents would’ve approved.” Michal steps away from me with a cold smile. “The Abyss is no place for genteel, politely bred ladies.”

“You know it?”

“Oh, I know it.” He gestures to the door, which opens of its own accord, spilling deep shadows into the room. I rise quickly. “And soon, you will too. We’re going to Amandine, pet. If there is any connection between Babette and our killer, we will find it. You should know, however”—his hand snakes up my arm as I pass through the doorway—“if there is nothing to find, only one path remains. Do you understand?”

Our eyes lock in the semidarkness, her name passing between us unspoken.

Coco.

I resist the urge to burn a cross into his cheek forevermore.

“Yes,” I say bitterly.

“Good.” He releases me with a dismissive nod. “We sail to Belterra tomorrow evening, then. Seven o’clock. Wear something... green.”

Part III

L’appétit vient en mangeant.

Appetite comes with eating.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

To Go Below

I dress in scarlet as an act of rebellion. It’s a small thing, perhaps a trivial one, but just because I’m workingwithMichal doesn’t mean I’m workingforhim. It feels important to start on equal footing, to remind him that he cannot simply order me around like I’m his servant, or worse—I tug at the silk bodice irritably—hispet.

When I meet him in his study at seven o’clock sharp, he appraises my gown with a wry look, as if trying not to grin. My eyes narrow to slits. “Red is my favorite color,” I tell him haughtily.

Silhouetted in the doorway, he fastens his black traveling cloak with deft fingers. “Liar.”

“I amnotlying.” A pause. “How doyouknow when I’m lying?”

“You make too much eye contact. It’s disconcerting.” He plucks another thick black cloak from a hook by the door, holding it aloft and gesturing for me to slip my arms through the sleeves. Startled, I do just that, hesitating when he says, “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”

The burns across his face have vanished, as have the ones on his hand, leaving behind only smooth, pale skin. My stomach turns slightly at the sight.They’ll remain until I drink something stronger than absinthe.Perhaps Arielle visited him again. Perhaps someone else. The thought brings bile to my throat, and I pull away from his touch, chastising myself inwardly. I didn’t think to bring my owncloak, a beautiful creation of ivory wool and silver buttons. I’d been too determined for Michal to see the scarlet. “Not a thing.”