When I’d found her drifting beneath the surface—her body limp and cold, her white hair floating eerily around her—I’d feared the worst. I’d seized her. Shaken her. Kicked to the surface and shouted her name. Nothing had worked. In a fit of rage, I’d even dived back down to find the white dog, but it’d vanished.

As we’d risen the second time, however, something had changed: her legs had started to move. Slowly at first, then swifter. Stronger. They’d worked in synchrony with mine, and I’d watched, amazed, as her hair had grown longer with each kick, as the color had returned to each strand. To her skin.

She’d healed before my very eyes.

Crushing her to me now, I spun us in the water. It didn’t ripple with the movement. I didn’t care.

“Lou.” I said her name desperately, pushing the long locks from her face. “Lou.” I kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her throat. I kissed every inch of her I could reach. Still laughing. Hardly able to breathe. She laughed with me, and the sound sparked in my bones. Light. Bright. If I stopped swimming now, I would’ve floated. I would’ve flown. I kissed her again. I’d never stop kissing her. “Lou, are you—?”

“I’m all right. I’m me.” Her arms wove around my neck, and she tugged me closer. I buried my nose in the crook of her shoulder. “I feel—I feel better than I have in ages, honestly. Like I could fly or wield an axe or—or erect a statue in my honor.” She wrenched my head up to kiss me once more. When we broke apart, gasping for breath, she added, “It’d be made of sticky buns, of course, because I’m starving.”

My cheeks hurt from smiling. My head pounded in rhythm with my heart. I never wanted it to stop. “I have one in my—”

Coco’s shout at the shore caught us both unaware, and we turned as the world rushed back into focus. She’d sunk to her knees, staring into the waters like she’d seen a ghost. “Ansel,” Lou whispered, loosening her grip to better tread water.

I frowned. “What?”

“He wanted to say goodbye.” Smiling softer now, she kissed me again. “I love you, Reid. I don’t say it often enough.”

I blinked at her. Warmth cracked open in my chest at her words, spreading to the tips of my fingers and toes. “I love you too, Lou. I’ve always loved you.”

She scoffed playfully. “No, you haven’t.”

“I have.”

“You didn’t love me when I plowed into you at Pan’s—”

“I absolutely did,” I protested, brows shooting upward. “I loved your god-awful suit and your ugly mustache and—”

“Excuse you.” She leaned back in mock outrage. “My mustache was magnificent.”

“I agree. You should wear it more often.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

I leaned closer, brushing my nose against hers. Whispering against her lips. “Why not?”

Her eyes gleamed wickedly in response, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, nearly drowning us both. I couldn’t bring myself to care. “You’ve corrupted me terribly, Chass.” With one last maddening kiss—slow and deep—she disentangled herself and flicked my nose. “I’ll wear my mustache for you later. For now, we should—”

Then Coco screamed again.

I knew immediately this scream wasn’t like the last—knew it before a man’s body thudded to the beach, knew it before Lou released me abruptly. I reached for her again, drawing her into a protective embrace.

Because I recognized the man’s body.

And Constantin—an immortal being made of water and mist—was dead.

Coco sprinted forward with another cry. “Constantin!” Her hands fluttered over him helplessly while Lou and I treaded water in silent horror. Ice crept up my spine at his wide-open eyes. His slack mouth. The bloody hole in his chest. “Constantin!” Coco shook him fiercely now, clearly unable to process. Her shock, no, denial, mirrored my own. Constantin couldn’t have died—the melusines had cursed him eternal.

No one is safe here, Cosette.

Lou’s knuckles turned white on my arms. “How is this possible?”

My grip tightened on her waist. “I don’t know.”

When Coco continued to shake him, her hysteria rising, Lou swam forward determinedly. “Right. We can fix this. The waters restored him once, which means—”

I caught the back of her chemise. “Wait—”

A high, chilling laugh echoed over the cliffs, down to the shore, and Morgane le Blanc stepped from the path onto the beach. A dozen witches followed. They fanned out behind her in a defensive formation, eyes sharp and mouths hard. Resolute. Coco scrambled backward into the water, dragging Constantin’s body with her.

“Well, isn’t this sweet.” Hair gleaming in the moonlight, Morgane clapped her hands in applause. Her gaze flicked from Lou and me to Coco, who lifted a silver chalice to Constantin’s lips in a final attempt to revive him. Her lip curled. “You must be so proud, Josephine. Look how your darling niece frets over the guardian.” To Coco, she said, “He’s dead, mon petit chou.” She lifted her stained fingers. “Surely you know magic cannot live without a heart?”

“How—how did you—?” Coco’s voice stuttered as she stared helplessly at Constantin. “He’s the guardian. How did you kill him?”

Morgane arched a brow. “I didn’t.”

La Voisin stepped into view. A dark substance coated her hands. It matched the hole in Constantin’s chest. “I did.”

Coco rose slowly to her feet.

“Foolish man. We presented our black pearls, of course, but still he put up quite the fight.” Though Morgane tutted, the sound lacked her signature melodrama. Deep purple shadowed her eyes, like she hadn’t slept in days. Her skin was paler than usual. Burns riddled her face and chest, and her hair appeared singed in places. “Unfortunately for Constantin, we are the two most powerful witches in the world. Now, I will admit, the dragon gave us pause. It stole my broken toys, nearly razed my dollhouse to the ground, but no matter. The dragon has gone, and we shall not be caught unprepared again.” She glanced out at the waters, clearly displeased. “We are here now.”

“A dragon?” Lou whispered. “Who . . . ?”

“Zenna.”

She’d saved the others, after all. She’d flown back to Cesarine.

Coco could’ve been carved from stone. “What have you done, tante?”

La Voisin met her niece’s hard stare, impassive. Her expression revealed nothing. With the dip of her chin, however, three blood witches marched forward. Between them floated two gagged and bound figures. Eyes wide, both thrashed against the magic holding them to no avail.

Beau and Célie.

Lou cursed softly.

“What I must,” La Voisin said simply.

A beat of silence passed as they stared at each other.

“No.” Coco’s eyes burned at the word, her hands curling into fists. She took a small step forward, and the waters—they rippled beneath her foot. La Voisin’s eyes tracked the movement, narrowing infinitesimally. “That isn’t an answer, and neither is Morgane le Blanc. How many times did we ask for her aid? How many of our kin have perished from cold and disease? How many of them have starved while she stood idly by?”