Pale hands joined mine as I searched. Célie. Darker ones. Jean Luc. They met my gaze with determined expressions and terse nods. They didn’t falter, even as my own body shook. Please, please, please—

When a board to my right shifted, untouched, I wrenched it free. She had to be here. She had to be—

Lou exploded upward in a shower of light.

The Final Battle

Lou

Power flooded my limbs and lungs, and I burned not with fire, but light. It shone through my bloody chemise, through the wounds across my body, bursting outward in blinding rays of magic. Though Coco’s rain still fell thick and heavy around us, the drops didn’t soak me as the others—no, my skin and hair absorbed each one, and they healed me, strengthened me, soothed my aching heart. They tasted of hope. Of love.

I found her tearstained face amidst the wreckage, grinning and descending gently beside her.

She’d done it. Though the city still smoked around us, undulating softly—though she would always grieve for Ansel—the black fire had gone. She’d conquered it. She’d conquered herself.

Returning my grin, she clasped Beau’s hand and nodded.

“Lou.” Still crouched with a board in his hand, Reid looked up at me, his eyes brimming with tears. With love and relief and—and recognition. Awareness. It sparked between us like a living thing, as shining and bright as a pattern. He rose slowly to his feet. We stared at each other for a long moment.

“You found me,” I whispered.

“I promised.”

We moved at the same time, each staggering toward the other, our limbs tangling until I couldn’t tell where his ended and mine began. Breathless, laughing, he swept me into the air, and we whirled round and round again. I couldn’t stop kissing his smile. His cheeks. His nose. He didn’t protest, instead laughing louder, tipping his face toward the sky. The smoke cleared as Coco watched us—the rain clouds too—until only a crystal winter night remained. For the first time in weeks, the stars glittered overhead. The waning moon reigned supreme.

The beginning of the end.

When at last Reid placed me on my feet, I punched his shoulder. “You absolute ass. How could you?” I seized his face between my hands, near feverish with laughter. “Why didn’t you give me that sticky bun?”

His own cheeks remained flushed, his smile wide. “Because it wasn’t yours.”

A fresh wave of screams sounded behind us, and we turned simultaneously, our giddiness puncturing slightly. The scene returned in degrees. Chasseurs and loup garou still battled in the street—soaked to the skin, bleeding—while pedestrians fled or fought. Some sobbed and clung to fallen loved ones in the mud. Others pounded relentlessly on shop doors, seeking shelter for the injured. For themselves.

On either side of the street, witches had risen, barring all exits.

I recognized some of them from the Chateau, others from the blood camp. More of them than I’d ever believed existed. They must’ve crawled forth from every inch of the kingdom—perhaps the world. My skin dimmed as gooseflesh rose.

Worse still—across the street, Morgane climbed to her feet.

“Here.” Célie slung her bag from her shoulder and upended it. Reid’s bandolier spilled across the ground. His knives and seeds. Her own injection. Coco and Beau swooped to retrieve their daggers, and I followed suit, my magic pulsing with eagerness. It sensed the danger here. It yearned to attack, to protect, as Morgane squared her shoulders. As she lifted her chin and met my gaze.

Though the sounds of clanging steel and snapping teeth should’ve muted her voice, I still heard it crystal clear. Like she stood right beside me. “Hello, Daughter.”

My own words rose calmly. “Hello, Mother.”

I glanced at Reid’s bare feet. His sodden chest. My own pitiful chemise. Even the others wore only woolen garments—and Célie a gown, at that—leaving them woefully vulnerable to attack. Perhaps not from magic, but steel could cut just as deep. I took a deep breath. We couldn’t fight like this. Not yet.

Waving my hand, I scanned the white web of patterns for something more suitable, something defensive, something like—something like a web. I grinned anew as the idea took hold. Nicholina had spoken of a spider deep within La Fôret des Yeux. L’Enchanteresse, a cannibalistic creature with silk among the lightest and strongest materials in the natural world.

I searched for the spiders now, spreading my awareness north, east, toward the ancient trees around the city. Their homes. The patterns didn’t follow, however, instead plunging directly into the street. I hesitated. Trees didn’t live below. Perhaps—perhaps the spiders had burrowed underground for winter. I didn’t have time to speculate, however. Not with Morgane across the street, flanked on either side by Josephine and Nicholina. Not with witches closing in.

With another deep breath, I pulled six identical cords. The patterns stretched width-wise until myriad fibers appeared—as thin as webs—and knit themselves tightly into armor.

Dark and fitted, light and flexible, it replaced our clothing in a burst of glittering dust.

Somewhere below, six spiders withered.

Morgane clapped her hands in applause. “How clever you are, darling. How prettily you wear my magic. At last, you suit the company you keep—thieves, all.”

“I’ve stolen nothing from you, maman.”

“You have stolen everything.” Her emerald eyes glittered like broken glass. Jagged and sharp. The emotion within them transcended malice into raw, unadulterated hatred. “But do not question—I am here to reclaim what is mine, and I will butcher every last man, woman, and child who attempts to keep it from me.” She jerked her chin, and the witches advanced in earnest. “Kill them all.”

A mighty roar shook the city in response, and a dark wing shadowed the moon.

Zenna landed beside me a second later. The cobblestones cracked beneath the sheer weight of her. When she snorted derisively, flame spewed forth. Witch, werewolf, and huntsman alike leapt from its path. From atop Zenna’s back—dressed in armor of her own—Seraphine drew an ancient longsword.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed in delight.

Coco had told me of Toulouse’s and Thierry’s torture. She’d told me of Zenna’s promise to eat my mother. Leaning around Zenna’s haunch now, I asked her, “What about dragons?”

Zenna punctuated the challenge with a fresh bout of flame.

Snarling with rage, Morgane scrambled backward as Chasseurs and witches charged. Balisardas flashed. Magic erupted. Zenna snorted again, launching into the air, plucking them from the street one by one and—

And eating them.

“Oh, that is disgusting,” Beau said, grimacing. “The indigestion alone—”

Before he could finish, Morgane brought her palms together one last time. The sharp scent of magic flared.

The ground trembled in answer.

All across the fray, people fought to keep their footing. Even Philippe paused, staggering slightly, with his Balisarda an inch from Terrance’s lupine throat. Reid tensed. His eyes narrowed. Then—

“Get down!” He tackled me from the platform, and we landed hard, whirling as branches shot forth from the very earth, splintering the church steps. They didn’t stop there. Dozens more surfaced rapidly, larger than life, growing trunks and roots, shattering the beautiful stained-glass windows. Growing through them. Stone rained down on our heads, forcing us to scatter into the crowd. I immediately lost sight of Coco and Beau, Célie and Jean Luc. Too short, too slight, I couldn’t navigate the tide of people. I couldn’t tell friend from foe.