With preternatural speed, the dog careened past me, straight into the heart of the Wistful Waters.

The decision came easily then.

I dove in after it.

The Final Verse

Lou

Nicholina didn’t strike right away. Though I kept my eyes closed, the scene still burned through our shared consciousness. Leisurely, she lifted the knife through the smoke, admiring Ansel’s blood along the blade, while I remained bowed over his corpse, my hands clenched desperately around his shoulders. Through her eyes, I saw how pitiful I’d become. And she relished it. She relished this hideous pain inside me, this dark and noxious poison. It was exactly like hers.

I should’ve forced myself to my feet then—to fight, to flee, to something. And if I couldn’t have stood, I should’ve crawled. I should’ve lifted my fists and raged through the ringing in my ears, should’ve spat in her face before she drove her knife into my back.

But I couldn’t do any of it. I couldn’t even lift my head.

“It isn’t my birthday until next month,” he said sheepishly, but he clutched the bottle to his chest anyway. The fire cast flickering light on his quiet joy. “No one’s ever—” He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “I’ve never received a present before.”

He’d never received a birthday present.

“I’m sick and tired of everyone needing to protect me. I’d like to protect myself for a change, or even—” When my frown deepened, he sighed and dropped his face into his hands, grinding his palms into his eyes. “I just want to contribute to the group. I don’t want to be the bumbling idiot anymore. Is that so much to ask? I just . . . I don’t want to be a liability.”

A liability.

“She keeps looking at you.” Ansel tripped over a stray limb, nearly landing face-first in the snow. Absalon leapt sleekly from his path.

“Of course she does. I’m objectively beautiful. A masterpiece made flesh.”

Ansel snorted.

“Excuse me?” Offended, I kicked snow in his direction, and he nearly tumbled again. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. The proper response was, ‘Goddess Divine, of course thy beauty is a sacred gift from Heaven, and we mortals are blessed to even gaze upon thy face.’”

“Goddess Divine.” He laughed harder now, brushing the snow from his coat. “Right.”

Gasping now, half laughing and half sobbing, I rocked back and forth, unable to stand it for a single second longer—this great, gaping hole in my chest where Ansel had been. Where Estelle and my mother and Manon and my father and Coco and Beau and even Reid had been. I had once been there too. Happy and whole and safe and sound. What had happened? What had led us here? Surely we’d done nothing to deserve this life. If someone like Ansel had received only neglect, loneliness, and pain for his efforts, for his goodness, what hope could the rest of us have? I’d lied, killed, and cheated—I’d shredded the very fibers of my soul—yet here I was, still standing. He deserved better. He deserved more, so much more than he’d ever been given. In another time, I would’ve screamed and raged at the injustice of it all, at the senselessness, but no amount of anger would change anything now. This was life.

And Ansel was dead.

In another day, another week, another month, this would be Reid’s lifeless body I inevitably held, or Coco’s. Beau’s own father would probably kill him, as my own mother would eventually kill me. There really was only one way this story could end. I’d been so foolish to think otherwise. So stupid and naive.

“It’ll be quick,” Nicholina lied in a whisper, bending over me. Her fingers caressed the back of my head, and her hair tickled my cheek. Around us, the entire cavern succumbed to black flame. “Painless. You will see him soon, little mouse. You can tell him exactly what he meant.”

But if I died now, his death would mean nothing.

My eyes snapped open at that cruel reality, and I stared numbly at the flames in front of me. Ansel deserved better. He deserved more than my self-pity. Summoning the final dregs of my strength—the absolute last of them—I lifted my head. She lifted her knife. Our eyes met for one synchronized beat of our hearts.

Then something moved in the tunnel.

Confusion flashed through us both before we turned. Coco’s fire had driven everyone in memory into that tunnel, and none should’ve reappeared. We’d all fled straight to Léviathan after La Mascarade des Crânes. Could someone have crept back? Could they have returned for Ansel’s body? I instantly quelled the thought. Even if someone had miraculously traversed the cursed fire, this was my memory. It should’ve ended the moment I’d disappeared in pursuit of Morgane. Why hadn’t it?

Through the smoke, a white dog emerged.

Nicholina bared her teeth at it, blasting awareness through me the second before the dog transformed. If I’d been standing, my legs would’ve buckled. As it was, I rose slowly to my knees, the ringing in my ears deepening to a rushing sound. A roar of blood and hope and fear. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.

Ansel ambled toward me.

“Hello, Lou.” At my dumbstruck expression, he grinned, the same sheepish grin he’d given a thousand times and the same sheepish grin of which I wanted a thousand more. He wore a pristine powder-blue coat with golden tassels and buttons—my heart ached at the familiarity—with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants. An eternal initiate. No blood marred his person, not his hair or his skin, and his brown eyes sparkled even in the dark. “Did you miss me?”

I stared at him for a second too long, swallowing hard. And then—

“Ansel.” My voice broke on his name.

His gaze softened as he came to stand beside me, extending a slender hand to help me to my feet. Hardly daring to breathe, I accepted it tentatively and marveled at its warmth. When he glanced down at his broken body, his smile dimmed slightly, and he shook his head. “What are you doing here, Lou?”

I still didn’t have an answer.

It didn’t matter, however, as Nicholina’s shock had worn off. She whooped with crazed hysteria, reeling backward in glee. “Oh, the baby mouse. The little pinkie, little pup.” Her expression hardened. “The boy who doesn’t know when it’s time to give up.”

He met her glare with an equally hostile one, his fingers still bracing mine. “No one is giving up here.”

She charged without warning, stabbing her knife at him, and he vanished with a wink in my direction. My heart seized at his absence. When she whirled to find him—slashing her knife through the smoke and spewing a torrent of curses—he reappeared behind her without a sound and tapped her shoulder. She nearly leapt out of her skin.

A snort burst from me unexpectedly.

Ansel grinned again.

Recovering quickly, Nicholina struck out once more, harder and faster this time. Ansel didn’t move, but allowed her blade to pierce him—except it didn’t pierce him at all. It simply stuck an inch from his chest, jammed midair as if she’d plunged it into an invisible brick wall. His grin widened. “You can’t kill me. I’m already dead.”

“I do not fear the dead,” she snarled.