“How does it work, then? The . . . magic?” Her expression took on a shyer quality, her chin ducking quickly to her chest. She turned to face forward once more. “I’ve always been curious.”

“You have?”

“Oh, don’t play coy, Reid. I know you were curious too.” She paused delicately. “Before.”

Before. Such a simple word. I kept my gaze impassive. “It’s a give and take. For Lou to raze the Chateau, she’ll have to destroy something of equal value to herself.”

Célie’s voice held wonder. “And what might that be?”

I don’t know. The admission chafed. Lou had provided no details. No strategy. When we’d pressed her, she’d simply smiled and asked, “Are you afraid?” Beau had responded immediately with a resounding yes. I’d privately agreed. The entire plan—or lack thereof—made me uneasy.

Like God had plucked him from my thoughts, my brother’s shout rent the air. Célie and I looked up in unison to see part of the cliff give way. Rocks rained down upon us, striking first my shoulders, my arms, then my head. Sharp pain exploded, and stars burst in my vision. Reacting instinctively, I thrust Célie out of harm’s way, and Beau—he—

Horror unfurled in my gut like a deadly snake.

As if in slow motion, I watched as he lost his footing, as he flailed wildly through the air, as he tried and failed to find purchase among the falling rocks. There was nothing I could do. No way I could help. Lunging forward anyway, I gauged the distance between us, desperate to catch some part of him before he plunged to the sea—

Coco’s hand shot through the rockfall and seized his wrist.

With another shout, Beau swung in her grip like a pendulum. He thrust his free hand upward to grip the edge of the rock, and together, the two struggled to drag him back onto the path. I raced ahead to help, my heart pounding a deafening beat. Adrenaline—complete, unadulterated fear—coursed through my system, lengthening my stride and shortening my breath. By the time I reached them, however, they lay sprawled in a tangled heap. Their chests rose and fell haphazardly as they too tried to catch their breath. Above us, Lou stood at the top of the bluff. She gazed down with a hint of a smile. Just the slightest curve of her lips. The white dog growled and disappeared behind her. “You should really be more careful,” she said softly before turning away.

Beau glared at her in disbelief but didn’t respond. Sitting up, he wiped a shaky hand across his brow and glanced at his arm. His mouth twisted in an ugly slash. “Goddamn it. I tore my fucking sleeve.”

I shook my head, cursing bitterly under my breath. His sleeve. He’d nearly plunged to his death, and all he cared about was his fucking sleeve. With a convulsive, full-body shudder, I opened my mouth to tell him just what he could do with said sleeve, but an odd choking noise escaped Coco. I stared at her in alarm—then incredulity.

She wasn’t choking at all.

She was laughing.

Without a word—her shoulders still shaking—she reached out to tear the fabric of his opposite sleeve. His mouth fell open in outrage as he tried to pull away. “Excuse you. My mother bought me this shirt!”

“Now you match.” She clutched his arms and laughed harder. “Your mother will approve when she sees you. If she ever sees you again, that is. You did almost die.” She slapped his chest as if the two had shared a hilarious joke. “You almost died.”

“Yes.” Beau searched her face warily. “You mentioned that.”

“I can mend your shirt, if you’d like,” Célie offered. “I’ve a needle and thread in my bag—” But she broke off when Coco continued to laugh wildly. When that laughter deepened into something darker. Crazed. Beau pulled her into his arms without hesitation. Her shoulders shook now for an entirely different reason, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, sobbing incoherently. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, the other across her back, and he held her tightly, fiercely, murmuring soft words in her ear. Words I couldn’t hear. Words I didn’t want to hear.

I looked away.

This pain wasn’t for me. This vulnerability. I felt like an interloper. Watching them together—the way Beau rocked her gently, the way she clutched him for dear life—it brought a lump to my throat. Anyone could see where this was headed. Coco and Beau had danced around each other for months. Just as clear, however, was the inevitable heartbreak. Neither was in a position to start a relationship. They shared too much hurt between them. Too much grief. Jealousy. Spite. Even well-adjusted, the two would’ve been wrong for each other. Like water and oil.

I glanced up at Lou. We’d been wrong for each other too.

And so, so right.

With a sigh, I started up the path, my footsteps heavy. My thoughts heavier. Célie followed quietly behind. When we reached Lou, I laced her cold fingers through mine, and we turned to face the lighthouse.

Beau and Coco joined us several minutes later. Though her eyes remained swollen and red, she no longer cried. Instead she held her shoulders straight. Proud. Riddled with holes, Beau’s shirt still smoked slightly, revealing more skin than prudent in January. They didn’t speak of what had transpired, and neither did we.

We studied the lighthouse in silence.

It rose from the earth like a crooked finger beckoning to the sky. A single stone tower. Dirty. Dilapidated. Dark against the dawn. No flames flickered in the basin beneath the slanted roof. “The stable boy said no one lights the torches anymore,” Célie said, her voice low. I didn’t ask why she whispered. The hair on my neck had lifted inexplicably. The shadows here seemed to collect thicker than natural. “He said they haven’t been lit for years.”

“The stable boy talks a lot.” Beau glanced between us nervously. He kept his arm firm around Coco’s waist. “Do we . . . has anyone actually seen a cauchemar?”

“I told you,” Célie said. “It was a great hulking beast of tooth and claw, and it—”

“Darling, no.” Beau lifted his free hand with a forced smile. “I meant”—he struggled for the right words for a moment before shrugging—“has anyone else seen a cauchemar? Preferably someone who didn’t run away screaming?”

Coco flashed him a grin. Amused. It seemed out of place on her grim face. With a start, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time she’d genuinely smiled. Had she ever? Had I seen it? When she pinched his ribs, he yelped and dropped his arm. “You have a beautiful falsetto yourself,” she said. “I’d almost forgotten.”

Though she grinned wider at his outrage—his surprise—her bravado felt fragile. Delicate. I didn’t want to see it break. Buffeting Beau’s shoulder, I said, “Do you remember the witch on Modraniht?”

His mouth flattened. “We do not speak of her.”

“I remember.” Coco shot me an appreciative look. It was there and gone in the blink of an eye. So brief I might’ve imagined it. “She quite liked your little performance, didn’t she?”

“I’m an excellent singer,” Beau sniffed.

“You’re an excellent dancer.”

I laughed despite myself. “I remember Beau running away screaming that night.”