Page 18

The bizarre urge to laugh—or perhaps weep—strikes me as Lou lifts her hands warily. Remembering the peonies, I tense in anticipation, but when she flicks her fingers, both halves of the revenant soar into the air as intended. They dangle overhead like a macabre circus performance. I do not laugh, however. Tears sting my eyes instead as the creature snarls and swipes at the lot of us, gnashing its teeth.

“Mathildewasan extraordinarily gifted witch,” Lou says in evident relief. Now that Michal has gone, she has allowed herself to deflate slightly. To shrink. She looks exhausted. “Even my mother thought so—and Morgane loathed Mathilde. The story goes that Mathilde tried to drown her in the toilet when she was born.”

“She sounds like a charming woman,” Coco says. “Now—where is this hatbox, Odessa? Did you leave it on Requiem?”

“Don’t be daft. I never travel anywhere without it.” From her skirt, she withdraws the same velvet box I saw earlier, hardly the size of her palm. I eye it dubiously now. After watching her pull a philosophical treatise from the little box—and shove an entire parasol into it—I have little doubt a powerful witch spelled it. As if reading my thoughts, Odessa taps it with her finger, and the box seems to fold outward, expanding to twice its size, thrice, and so on until she’s forced to hold the fuchsia monstrosity with both hands. Mistaking our stunned silence for admiration, Odessa hums appreciatively and brushes the gold tasseling. “Yes, it’s quite marvelous, isn’t it? You should’ve seen thehat.”

“That,” Beau says, “is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, pot, meet kettle.” Rolling her eyes, she unclasps the lid, and I inch closer, curious despite myself. We might have more pressing matters with which to deal—and my teeth still throb, my chest still aches—but this magic reminds me of a simpler time, a simpler life. Enchantments like this once seemed so special, so surreal. If I’d peered into a bottomless hatbox even a month ago, I would’ve felt weightless, giddy at the prospect of touching something so obviously unusual.

Now, however—as I lift a too-pale hand to touch the pea-green piping—a leaden sensation fills me.

If Odessa notices, she doesn’t say, instead reaching deep into the bag and extracting several gowns before thrusting them at me. She doesn’t stop there, however; her parasol follows the gowns, as does a set of glass beakers, a mahogany jewelry box filled with diamonds, a telescope, a chessboard, three pots of rouge, four silkhandkerchiefs, a pair of bent spectacles, rusted shackles, a set of bloodstained knives, a broken pocket watch, and—incredibly—five smashed figs. “For my peacock,” she says absently, balancing the last atop the towering pile in Beau’s arms.

Without warning, she upends the hatbox completely, dumping the rest of its contents at our feet.

An avalanche of books crashes to the cobblestones, and Lou and Beau both yelp, leaping aside to avoid breaking their toes. Odessa straightens with a magnificent smile before bringing the box directly beneath the revenant’s suspended body. “Right, then. Whenever you’re ready, Louise.”

With a bemused expression, Lou tosses the telescope and handkerchiefs to the flower bed beside her.

To Odessa’s indignation, the rest of us follow suit.

“Are yousurethat box can hold him?” Concern twists Beau’s features as the revenant strains for the nearest tree branch, as its skeletal fingers catch in the dead leaves to pull itself closer.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Lou blanches as the revenant reaches for the branch in earnest now, as if it can—as if it canhearus talking, planning to trap it. My brows contract, and together, Beau and I each take a step backward as it snarls at Lou and Reid. Though it makes sense the creature would understand us—I am also dead, after all, and have retained cognitive function—its baleful eye seems to roll with madness.

No.That isn’t quite it.

Against my better instincts, I look closer, peering up at the rotted, distended face, and realize the eye doesn’t roll with madness at all.

It rolls with pain.

“We need to help it.” The words escape before I realize they’ve even formed, and everyone—everyone—turns to look at me like I’ve grown horns. And perhaps I have. Despair wells like a fount inside me at the sight of their bright, incredulous faces, at the garbled sounds of the revenant above. Because it—he—is trying to form words, and that shouldn’t matter, not as he tries to kill us, but itdoes. It does matter, somehow, and evil as the Archbishop might’ve been in life, he did not choose to become this—this mindlessbeast.

I must’ve said the last aloud because Beau bends to meet my gaze, grasping my shoulders to make sure I hear every word. “He already was a vicious beast, Célie. Do you understand me? The Archbishop was a cruel, sadistic man, and you are not like him. You never have been, and you never could be.”

“Iknowthat.”

Feeling sicker still, I break his hold and step backward, unable to look at anyone. Unable to bear the confusion on their features. Of course they’re confused—I hardly understand it myself. The Archbishop tormented each of them. He hunted witches to every corner of the kingdom, determined to eradicate them, to mutilate their bodies on the stake. I cannot ever defend what he did. I do notwantto defend him, just to—to— I fist my hands in my skirt. I don’tknow. Everything has spun so wildly out of control, and I’ve never felt so helpless to stop it.

Turning beseechingly to Lou, I say, “Please, we can’t just leave him in a box to rot. We have to—todosomething about this before it gets worse.” I gesture wildly to the pitiful creature overhead. “There are others rising too, innocent people who aren’t like the Archbishop, and it’s my fault—”

“It isn’t your fault,” Lou says at once, but I speak over her, shaking my head vehemently.

“It wasmyblood. My choice to walk into Frederic’s trap without waking you and Coco, without forming any sort of plan at all except...”Michal.

I cannot bring myself to say his name aloud, to admit how foolishly I acted. My only plan had been Michal—the two of us together, as if that meant something—and in the end, we both suffered for it.

Everyone did.

“No.” Coco frowns and steps to my other side. “Frederic used magic from my aunt’s grimoire to conceal himself, Célie.Powerfulmagic. Michal stood a better chance than anyone of detecting it, so don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have done anything to stop him.”

The assurance rings false, and we all know it. I could’ve done more. I could’ve doneanything, but I cannot convince them otherwise. Not now. The words that spilled so freely before have dried up, and I choke on them, unable to articulate the gnawing fear in my chest. Unsure if I evencanacknowledge it. Because the Archbishop, my sister,me—this cannot be the end for us. This cannot be eternity.

It cannot be my fault.

“We’ll lay him to rest, Célie.” Reid approaches cautiously, his voice low and earnest. He does not touch me, however, and relief burns behind my eyes at the small mercy. “We’ll lay all of them to rest as soon as we know how, but until then... we can’t let them hurt anyone.”