“Yes.” Bas flicked the lever, and the portrait swung outward, revealing the vault behind. “Idiocy is oft mistaken for sentimentality. This is the first place I looked.” He gestured to the lock. “Can you pick it?”
I sighed, glancing down at my broken finger. “Can’t you pick it instead?”
“Just do it,” he said impatiently, “and quickly. The guards could wake up any moment.”
Right. I shot the golden cord spreading between myself and the lock a nasty look before going to work. It appeared quicker this time, as if waiting for me. Though I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, a small groan still escaped as I snapped a second finger. The lock clicked, and Bas swung the vault open.
Inside, Tremblay had stacked a slew of tedious items. Pushing aside his seal, legal documents, letters, and stock, Bas eyed the pile of jewelry beyond them hungrily. Rubies and garnets, mostly, though I spied a particularly attractive diamond necklace. The entire box glittered with the golden couronnes lining its walls.
I swept it all aside impatiently, heedless of Bas’s protests. If Tremblay had been lying, if he didn’t have the ring—
At the back of the vault lay a small leather album. I tore it open—vaguely recognizing sketches of girls who had to be Filippa and her sister—before a gold ring tumbled out from between the pages. It landed on the carpet without a sound, unremarkable in every way except the flickering, nearly indiscernible pulse that tugged at my chest.
Breath catching in my throat, I crouched to pick it up. It was warm in my palm. Real. Tears pricked at my eyes, threatening to spill over. Now she’d never find me. I was . . . safe. Or as safe as I’d ever be.On my finger, the ring would dispel enchantments. In my mouth, it would render me invisible. I didn’t know why—a quirk of the magic, perhaps, or of Angelica herself—but I also didn’t care. I’d break my teeth on the metal if it kept me hidden.
“Did you find it?” Bas stuffed the last of the jewelry and couronnes into his bag and looked at the ring expectantly. “Not much to look at, is it?”
Three sharp raps echoed from downstairs. A warning. Bas’s eyes narrowed, and he crept to the window to peer out at the lawn. I slipped the ring onto my finger while his back was turned. It seemed to emit a soft sigh at the contact.
“Shit!” Bas turned, eyes wild, and all thoughts of the ring fled my mind. “We have company.”
I ran to the window. The constabulary swarmed across the lawn toward the manor, but that wasn’t what made genuine fear stab at my stomach. No, it was the blue coats that accompanied them.
Chasseurs.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Why were they here?
Tremblay, his wife, and his daughter huddled next to the guards I’d left unconscious. I cursed myself for not hiding them somewhere. A clumsy mistake, but I’d been disoriented from the magic. Out of practice.
To my horror, one of the guards had already begun to stir. I had little doubt what he would tell the Chasseurs when he regained full consciousness.
Bas was already moving, slamming the safe shut and hauling the portrait back into place. “Can you get us out?” His eyes were still wide with panic—desperate. We could both hear the constables and Chasseurs surrounding the manor. All the exits would soon be blocked.
I glanced down at my hands. They were shaking, and not just because of the broken fingers. I was weak, too weak, from the exertion of the evening. How had I let myself become so inept? The risk of discovery, I reminded myself. The risk had been too great—
“Lou!” Bas grabbed my shoulders and shook me slightly. “Can you get us out?”
Tears welled in my eyes. “No,” I breathed. “I can’t.”
He blinked, chest rising and falling rapidly. The Chasseurs shouted something below, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the decision made in Bas’s eyes as we stared at one another. “Right.” He squeezed my shoulders once. “Good luck.”
Then he turned and dashed from the room.
A Man’s Name
Reid
Tremblay’s townhouse reeked of magic. It coated the lawn, clung to the prone guards Tremblay attempted to revive. A tall, middle-aged woman knelt beside him. Redheaded. Striking. Though I didn’t recognize her, my brethren’s whispers confirmed my suspicions.
Madame Labelle. Notorious courtesan, and mistress of the Bellerose.
Surely she had no business here.
“Captain Diggory.”
I turned toward the strained voice behind me. A reedy blonde stood with her hands tightly clasped, an expensive wedding band glinting on her ring finger. Frown lines marred the corners of her eyes—eyes that currently burned holes in the back of Madame Labelle’s head.