I memorized those emerald eyes. “Yes.”

Then I drew Célie’s blade across my mother’s throat.

It Ends in Hope

Lou

The first time I’d slept beside Reid, I’d dreamed of him.

More specifically, I’d dreamed of his book. La Vie Éphémère. He’d gifted it to me that day. His first secret. Later that night, after Madame Labelle had issued her warning—after I’d woken in a fit of tangled sheets and icy panic—I’d crawled next to him on the hard floor. His breathing had lulled me to sleep.

She is coming.

Fear of my mother had literally driven me into his arms.

The dream had crept over me slowly, like the wash of gray before dawn. As in the story, Emilie and Alexandre had lain side by side in her family’s tomb. Their cold fingers had touched forevermore. On the final page, their parents had wept for them, mourning the loss of life so young. They’d promised to set aside their blood feud, their prejudice, in the name of their children. It was of this scene I’d dreamed, except it hadn’t been Emilie’s and Alexandre’s bodies, but mine and Reid’s.

When I’d woken the next morning, unease had plagued me. I’d blamed it on the nightmare. On the memory of my mother.

Now, as I held her in my arms, I couldn’t help but remember that peaceful image of Emilie and Alexandre.

There was nothing peaceful about this.

Nothing easy.

Yet still Reid’s voice drifted back to me as he’d clutched La Vie Éphémère in hand . . .

It doesn’t end in death. It ends in hope.

Pan’s Patisserie

Reid

Lou held her mother for a long time. I waited at the chasm’s edge, even after Coco and a handful of blood witches built a bridge of vines. Even after Célie and her newfound friends—two witches named Corinne and Barnabé—crossed on shaky legs. Jean Luc had enveloped Célie in a desperate hug, while Coco had tentatively greeted the witches. She’d remembered them from childhood. They’d remembered her.

They’d even bared their throats before leaving to find their kin. A sign of submission.

Coco had watched them go, visibly shaken.

Not all had been so courteous. One witch—a sobbing Dame Blanche—had attacked my back as I’d waited. Jean Luc had been forced to inject her. To bind her wrists. He hadn’t killed her, however, not even when Célie had stepped aside to speak with Elvire. Aurélien had fallen. Others too. As the Oracle’s Hand, Elvire had begun to collect their dead, preparing to depart for Le Présage once more.

“We cannot leave our lady waiting,” she’d murmured, bowing low. “Please say you will visit us sometime.”

Beau and Coco hurried to find Zenna and Seraphine.

Though I started to follow, Coco shook her head. Her gaze drifted to Lou, who hadn’t moved from beneath her mother. “She needs you more,” Coco murmured. Nodding, I swallowed hard, and after another moment, I took a hesitant step on the bridge.

Someone shouted behind me.

Unsheathing my stolen Balisarda, I whirled, prepared for another witch. Instead, I met two: Babette supporting Madame Labelle as they hobbled into the street. An enormous smile stretched across my mother’s face. “Reid!” She waved with her entire body, presumably healed by Babette’s blood. The lesions and bruises from the trial had vanished, replaced by vibrant skin, if a touch pale. I exhaled a sharp breath. My knees weakened in a dizzying wave of relief.

She was here.

She was alive.

Crossing the street in three great strides, I met her halfway, crushing her in my arms. She choked on a laugh. Patted my arm. “Easy, son. It takes a bit more time for the insides to heal, you know.” Though she still beamed, clapping my cheeks, her eyes tightened at the corners. Babette looked unusually grave behind.

I met her gaze over my mother’s head. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me.” She waved an errant hand. “Your mother supplied my first job in this city. I owed her one.”

“And still owe me many more,” Madame Labelle added, turning to eye the courtesan waspishly. “Do not think I’ve forgotten, Babette, the time you dyed my hair blue.”

Only then did Babette crack a sheepish grin. After another moment, she glanced around us covertly. “Pray tell, huntsman, have you seen our lovely Cosette?”

“She’s with Beau. They headed north.”

Her smile fell slightly. “Of course. If you’ll excuse me.”

She left without delay, and I wrapped a steadying arm around Madame Labelle’s waist. “Where have you been? Are you well?”

“I am as well as possible, given the circumstances.” She shrugged delicately. “We took a leaf out of your wife’s book and hid in Soleil et Lune’s attic. No one bothered us there. Perhaps none knew of its importance to Lou. If they had, I suspect Morgane would’ve razed it out of spite.” When I nodded to them across the chasm, her expression crumpled. She shook her head. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear. How sickening.” Those piercing blue eyes flitted up to mine, filled with regret. “Babette told me that Auguste perished by his own fire. Stupid, arrogant man.” As if realizing the tactlessness of her words, she patted my arm again. “But he—he was very—”

“He tortured you,” I said darkly.

She sighed, crestfallen. “Yes, he did.”

“He deserved worse than death.”

“Perhaps. We must content ourselves that wherever he is, he is in great pain. Perhaps with rats. Still . . .” She wobbled slightly, unsteady on her feet. My arm tightened around her. “He was your father. I am sorry for it, but I am never sorry for you.” She touched my cheek once more before glancing at Lou. “You must go. If you could walk me to the nearest bench, however, I’d be most grateful. I should like to watch the sun rise.”

I stared at her incredulously. “I can’t leave you on a bench.”

“Nonsense. Of course you can. No witch with any sense would attack us now, and those that do—well, I believe more than one Chasseur survived, and that Father Achille has quite a nice—”

“I’ll stop you there.” Though I shook my head, one corner of my mouth curled upward. Unbidden. “Father Achille is off-limits.”

It wasn’t true. She could have whoever she wanted. I would personally introduce them.

After situating her on a bench—beds of winter jasmine blooming on either side—I kissed her forehead. Though night still claimed the sky, dawn would come soon. With it, a new day. I knelt to catch my mother’s eyes. “I love you. I don’t think I’ve ever told you.”

Scoffing, she busied herself with her skirt. Still, I saw her eyes. They sparkled with sudden tears. “I only expect to hear it every day from this moment onward. You shall visit at least thrice a week, and you and Louise shall name your firstborn child after me. Perhaps your second too. That sounds reasonable, does it not?”

I chuckled and tugged on her hair. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Go on, then.”

As I walked back to Lou, however, I heard low voices down a side street. Familiar ones. A keening wail. Frowning, I followed the sound to Gabrielle and Violette. They stood huddled on a stoop between Beau, who’d wrapped one arm around each of them. Coco hovered behind, one hand clapped to her mouth. At their feet, Ismay and Victoire lay sprawled unnaturally, facedown, surrounded by a half-dozen witches. None stirred.