Her dress and hair continued to undulate gently, even after the breeze waned.

She smiled down at me.

“Angelica,” I whispered in awe.

“Sister,” Josephine hissed.

But it was Coco’s whispered accusation that changed everything. “Mother.”

With the graceful incline of her head, Angelica nodded. She stood with impeccable posture, unearthly stillness, her shoulders back and her hands clasped at her waist in a familiar position. How many times had I seen Josephine hold herself that way? How many times had I yearned to wring that long, elegant neck?

It was uncanny how two people with the same features could look so different.

I glanced at Coco.

It was haunting when there was a third.

“Sœur.” With a voice smooth as silk, Angelica spoke with calm assurance. “Fille.” She lifted a hand as if to touch Coco’s cheek before thinking better of it. She let it fall to her side instead. Bereft. “I have missed you.”

Though Coco said nothing, her eyes spoke volumes. They glittered with unshed emotion in the moonlight.

I frowned, my own eyes narrowing, and the glow around Angelica’s face dimmed slightly.

More than slightly.

I might’ve even called her hideous now.

Then again, mothers abandoning their children to cruel relatives might’ve been a sore spot for me. Madame Labelle had left Reid, and he’d ended up with the Archbishop as a father. Morgane had tried to kill me, and somehow, I had too. Though beautiful, Angelica had left Coco in the hands of her aunt. She was no different from them, really. She was rotten inside.

In her case, rot just happened to smell like lilies.

Accepting that her daughter wouldn’t or perhaps couldn’t answer, Angelica returned her gaze to Josephine, who had inched toward Beau and Célie. Those perfect lips pursed. “Do not harm the children, Josie. Your quarrel is with me.”

Josephine glowered as she lifted Célie’s head. Her hands weren’t needlessly cruel, but careful and steady as she held Célie’s neck firm. No. Not careful. Practical. Efficient. She would kill Célie if necessary, just as she’d killed Etienne. “What will you do?” she asked her sister. “You cannot leave the waters.”

Coco and I shared a brief, confused look.

Angelica only flicked a jeweled dagger from her thigh sheath—her thigh sheath—and sighed. “Must we do this, sœur? We both know the damage I can inflict from here.” To illustrate her point, she placed the dagger against her chest and sliced down, directly between her breasts, without hesitation. The blade tore through fabric and skin as butter, leaving a thick line of blood in its wake.

Josephine hissed, and her hand flew to her own chest, where an identical wound had formed.

My confusion deepened as I stared at it. Nicholina’s memories hadn’t revealed anything like this. Not that I’d known to look for it.

“What the hell is happening?” I breathed to Coco. Josephine and Angelica still glared at each other, bleeding, in a silent standoff. “You said your mother was dead.”

“I said my aunt said she was dead.”

“And now?”

She shrugged stiffly. “Now it looks like they’re blood bound.”

“Blood bound?”

“It’s a dangerous spell between Dames Rouges. It binds their lives together. Their magic.”

I looked again at their twin wounds. “Oh shit.”

She nodded. “That about sums it up.”

On the heels of that unpleasant realization, however, came another. “Does that mean we can’t—we can’t kill your aunt without killing your mom?”

“Apparently.”

My stomach plunged as Josephine readjusted her grip on Célie, pressing the dagger to the back of her head. “Your threat is empty as always, sœur,” she said, “while you clutch at others’ skirts and hide where I cannot reach you.” She laughed harshly. The only time I’d heard her laugh at all. “No. You will not inflict real harm on yourself to hurt me, or you would have done so centuries ago.”

Right. I couldn’t kill her, then. Testing my patterns swiftly, I followed each one to their sacrifice. I just needed to knock the knife from her hand—something simple. A gust of wind, perhaps. A spasm of her fingers. “Wait,” I whispered to Coco as I searched. “If you thought your mother was dead, why were you trying to summon her?”

“I wasn’t trying to summon her. I just—the waters spoke to me. I listened.”

“You gave them your blood”—I cut an incredulous glance at her over my shoulder—“because they asked nicely? Did they at least say please?”

“I was born of them,” she muttered defensively.

“Surrender Louise,” Josephine insisted, ignoring our low, fervent conversation. Angelica kept her blade loose at her side. Her blood dripped from its tip to the seafloor, and black pearls formed from each drop. I glanced again at Constantin. “Surrender Cosette”—Josephine’s fingers tightened around her own dagger—“or I will dispose of this pathetic child. I will dispose of the mortal prince.”

Like hell.

Gritting my teeth in a sharp burst of hatred, I clenched my fist, and my anger sparked along a pattern. I watched as it sizzled between us, feeling the heat of it leave me. The cord disintegrated to golden ash as Josephine yelped, dropping her dagger and clutching her burned hand. I grinned in satisfaction and wiggled my fingers. “It’s time for you to go, Josie.”

Angelica lifted her own hand in emphasis, and the waters responded, surging past the shoreline to reclaim Célie and Beau, depositing each of them at our feet. But they didn’t stop there. They continued to flood the sand, to reclaim the beach, sweeping away the silver chalices. They chased Josephine’s hem with sentient determination, and she had no choice but to back away quickly. Just as Nicholina had feared the dark, it seemed Josephine feared the strange magic fortifying these waters.

She still refused to cede.

When she turned to shout orders to the remaining Dames Rouges, however—commanding them to hold their ground—her eyes widened, and she finally saw the battle had been lost. The blood witches had already fled into the cliffs. Josephine stood alone.

“Leave this place, sœur,” Angelica said. From the steely edge to her voice, I knew this was her final warning. “And never return. I cannot promise your safety if you continue to provoke Isla.”

“Isla.” Josephine’s face twisted at the name. The waters kept coming, however, forcing her back until she stood atop the first rocks of the path. Her black eyes bored holes into Angelica’s beautiful face. “The Oracle. Your mistress.”

“My friend.” With another wave of Angelica’s hand, the waters climbed higher, and Josephine leapt backward, away from them. She moved with surprising agility for a thousand-year-old hag. “You would do well to respect her,” Angelica continued. “Though she rules below, she has not turned a blind eye to the war above. You do not want her as an enemy.” A peculiar light built in those pale eyes as her gaze turned inward. “Though it seems you’ve already displeased her siblings.” For our benefit, she added, “The Triple Goddess and the Wild Man of the Forest.”