Her eyes met mine as she slashed her palm open, letting the blood drip onto the table. “I should probably tell you, Chass, my name isn’t Brie Perrot. It’s Cosette, but my friends call me Coco.”
Cosette Monvoisin. She’d been hiding in the Tower all along. Right under our noses.
I reached for my Balisarda instinctively, but Ansel’s hand came down on my arm. “Reid, don’t. She’s helping us find Lou.”
I wrenched away from him—horrified, furious—but my hand stilled. She winked at me before returning her attention to the tabletop. The dark powder congealed under her blood—then began moving. Bile rose in my throat, and my nose burned. “What is that?”
“Dried blood of a hound.” She watched raptly as strange symbols formed. “It’ll tell us where Lou is.”
Beau tipped forward, propping his chin in his elbow against the table. “And just where do you think she might be?”
A small furrow appeared between Coco’s eyes. “With Morgane le Blanc.”
“Morgane le Blanc?” He straightened and looked at us incredulously, as if expecting one of us to laugh. “Why would the bitch witch queen be interested in Lou?”
“Because she’s her mother.” The shapes stilled suddenly, and Coco’s eyes snapped to mine. Wide. Panicked. “Lou’s trail disappears north into La Forêt des Yeux. I can’t see past it.” I stared at her, and she nodded imperceptibly at my unspoken question. Her chin trembled. “If Morgane has Lou, she’s as good as dead.”
“No.” I shook my head vehemently, unable to accept it. “We just need to find the Chateau. You’re a witch. You can lead us to it—”
Angry tears sprang to her eyes. “I don’t know where the Chateau is. Only a Dame Blanche can find it, and you’ve lost the only Dame Blanche I know!”
“You—you’re not a Dame Blanche?”
She flung her bloody palm under my nose as if it should mean something. “Of course not! Are Chasseurs really this ignorant?”
I stared at the blood pooling there with rising hysteria. The same acrid smell from before assaulted me. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m a Dame Rouge, you idiot. A Red Lady. A blood witch.” She slapped her hand on the table, splattering the black shapes. “I can’t find the Chateau because I’ve never been there.”
A ringing started in my ears. “No.” I shook my head. “That can’t be true. There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she shoved to her feet, but she wiped them away quickly. The scent around us sharpened. “Unless you know another Dame Blanche—another Dame Blanche willing to betray her sisters and lead a Chasseur into their home—Lou is gone.”
No.
“Do you know a witch like that, Chass?” She stuck a finger in my chest, tears still streaming. They hissed and smoked when they dripped on her shirt. Beau rose, placing an uncertain hand on her back. “Do you know a witch willing to sacrifice everything for you the way Lou did? Do you?”
No.
“Actually,” a cool, familiar voice replied, “he does.”
We turned as one to look upon my savior. I nearly choked at her fiery red hair.
God, no.
Madame Labelle waved a hand toward the eavesdropping men nearest us. “This is a private conversation, dears. I hope you understand.”
Magic—the normal, cloying kind—burst through the air, and their bloodshot eyes glazed over. They turned their attention back to the dancing girls, who now wore equally vacant expressions.
Coco leapt forward, pointing at her in accusation. “You knew about Morgane. You warned Lou. You’re a witch.”
Madame Labelle winked.
I looked between them in confusion, nostrils burning. Mind reeling. Witch? But Madame Labelle wasn’t a—
Realization rushed in, and hot blood rose to my face.
Fuck.
I was so stupid. So blind. My fists clenched as I pushed to my feet. Madame Labelle’s taunting smile faltered, and even Coco shrank back at the fury in my eyes.
Of course Madame Labelle was a witch.
And Mademoiselle Perrot was Coco.
And Coco was a witch. But not just any witch—a Dame Rouge. An entirely new species of witch, who practiced in blood.
And my wife—the fucking love of my life—was the daughter of La Dame des Sorcières. The heiress of Chateau le Blanc. The goddamned princess of the witches.
And everyone had known. Everyone except me. Even fucking Ansel.