She lifted a skeletal finger to my cheek, tilting her head as if fascinated. The torchlight flickered over her scars. They disfigured her skin, twisted it into a macabre lattice of silver and blood. I refused to flinch away.

“I am Nicholina le Claire, La Voisin’s personal attendant.” Trailing a sharpened nail along my jaw, her lip curled. The girlish cadence of her voice vanished, deepening unexpectedly to a guttural snarl. “And I will not explain the secrecies of blood craft to a huntsman.” Darkness stirred in those colorless eyes as she gazed past me to Lou. Her grip on my chin hardened, and her nails bit deep. Nearly drawing blood. “Or his little mouse.”

Coco stepped between us. “Careful, Nicholina. Lou is under my aunt’s protection. Reid is under mine.”

“Mmm . . . Reid.” Nicholina licked her lips salaciously. “Your name on my tongue tastes like salt and copper and warm, wet things—”

“Stop it.” I stepped away from her, alarmed, disgusted, and glanced at Lou. She watched us from beyond the wagons, eyes narrowed. Deveraux waved his hands at her emphatically. I strode toward them—determined to remove myself from this situation—but Nicholina shadowed my footsteps. Still too close. Much, much too close. The childlike lilt returned to her voice.

“My mice whisper such naughty things about you, Reid. Such wicked, naughty things. Cosette, regret, and forget, they cry. Cosette, regret, and forget. I can’t attest, as I’ve never tasted huntsman—”

“And you won’t start with this one.” Coco hurried after us as Lou extricated herself from Deveraux. “He’s married.”

“Is he?”

“Yes.” I lurched to a stop, whirling to glare at her. “So please maintain the appropriate distance, mademoiselle.”

She grinned wickedly, arching a thin brow. “Perhaps my mice were misinformed. They do love to whisper. Whisper, whisper, whisper. Always whispering.” She leaned closer, and her lips tickled the shell of my ear. Again, I refused to react. Refused to give this insane woman the satisfaction. “They say you hate your wife. They say you hate yourself. They say you taste delicious.” Before I realized her intention, she’d dragged her tongue down my cheek in a long, wet movement.

Lou reached us at the same moment. Her eyes flashed with turquoise fire.

“What the hell are you doing?” With both hands, she moved to shove Nicholina away, but Nicholina had already floated backward. The way she moved . . . it was like she wasn’t entirely corporeal. But her nails on my chin had been real enough, as was her saliva on my cheek. I jerked up my shirt collar, wiping at the moisture, heat razing my ears. Lou’s fists clenched. She squared up to the taller woman. Vibrated with anger. “Keep your hands to yourself, Nicholina.”

“Keep them, keep them.” Her eyes roved the exposed skin of my throat, dropped lower to my chest. Hungry. I tensed instinctively. Resisted the urge to clasp shut my coat. “He can keep them for me. Keep them and sweep them and slowly creep them—”

A low, menacing sound tore from Lou, and she stepped closer. Their toes nearly touched. “If you touch him again, I’ll keep them for you. Each”—she took another step, closing the distance between them—“bloody”—she leaned closer still, body taut with anticipation—“stump.”

Nicholina grinned down at her, unaffected, despite the way the wind rose and the temperature plummeted. Coco glanced around. Alarmed. “Silly mouse,” Nicholina purred. “He hunts even now. Even now, he hunts. He knows his own mind, didn’t tell me to stop.”

“You lie.” Even I heard the defensiveness in my voice. Lou stood rooted in front of me. She didn’t turn around when I touched her shoulder. “Lou, she’s a—”

“But can he stop?” Nicholina circled us now, like a predator scenting blood. “Hunt and stop? Or stop and hunt? Soon we’ll taste the noises on his tongue, oh yes, each moan and sigh and grunt—”

“Nicholina,” Coco said sharply, seizing Lou’s arm when she lunged. “Enough.”

“The snake and her bird, the bird and his snake, they take and they break and they ache, ache, ache—”

“I said that’s enough.” Something in Coco’s voice changed, deepened, and Nicholina’s smile vanished. She stopped circling. The two stared at each other for several seconds—something unspoken passing between them, something dark—before Nicholina bared her throat. Coco watched this bizarre display of submission for a moment longer. Impassive. Cold. Finally, she nodded in satisfaction. “Wait for us at the forest’s edge. Go now.”

“As you wish, princesse.” Nicholina lifted her head. Paused. Looked not to Lou, but to me. Her grin returned. This time, it was a promise. “Your little mouse will not always be here to protect you, huntsman. Take care.”

The wind caught her words, blowing them around us with the snow. They bit at my cheeks, at Lou’s cloak, Coco’s hair. I took Lou’s hand in silent reassurance—and startled. Her fingers were colder than expected. Unnaturally cold. Colder than the wind, the snow. Colder than Nicholina’s smile.

Take care take care take care.

“Don’t let her rile you,” Coco murmured to Lou after she’d gone. “It’s what she wants.”

Nodding, Lou closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she exhaled, the tension left her shoulders, and she glanced up at me. Smiled. I crushed her against me in relief.

“She seems like a real treat,” Lou said, voice muffled by my coat.

“She is.” Coco stared down the alley where Nicholina had disappeared. “The sort of treat that rots your soul instead of your teeth.”

Deveraux approached through the snow. With a resigned sigh, he laid a hand on my arm. “The wagons are packed, mon ami. We must depart with the tempest, lest we miss our opportunity. Dame Fortune is a fickle mistress, indeed.”

Though he waited expectantly, my arms refused to move. They held Lou in a vise, and I couldn’t persuade them to let her go. I buried my nose in her shoulder instead, holding her tighter. Her cloak smelled unfamiliar. New. Like fur, damp earth, and the sweet, bitter scent of . . . something. Not magic. Perhaps wine. I frowned and pushed her hood aside, seeking her skin, the warmth I’d find there. But the unnatural cold in her hands had crept upward. It froze my lips as I brushed them against her throat. Alarmed, I met her eyes. Green tonight. So green.

“Be careful, Lou.” I kept her cocooned within my arms, blocking the others from sight. Trying and failing to warm her. “Please. Promise me.”

She kissed me instead. Gently disentangled herself. “I love you, Reid.”

“It isn’t supposed to be like this,” I said helplessly, still reaching for her. “I should come with you—”

But she’d already stepped back, turned away. Clutched Coco’s hand like she should’ve clutched mine. Her other reached for Ansel. “I’ll see you soon,” she promised, but it wasn’t the one I wanted. The one I needed.

Without another word, she turned and vanished into the storm. I stared after her with a creeping sense of dread.

Absalon had followed.