I hadn’t mentioned that last bit, though.
A dove cooed above us as we made our way to the village center, and snowflakes fell thick and fast. They caught in Lou’s hair, in her eyelashes. She winked at me, catching one on her tongue. Then another. And another. Soon she twirled in a circle trying to catch them all at once. People stared, but she didn’t care. I watched her with reluctant amusement.
“C’mon, Chass! Taste them! They’re divine!”
I shook my head, a grin tugging at my lips. The more people who muttered around us, the louder her voice became. The wilder her movements. The broader her smile. She reveled in their disapproval.
I shook my head, grin fading. “I can’t.”
She spun toward me and grabbed my hands. Her fingers were freezing—like ten tiny icicles. “It won’t kill you to live a little, you know.”
“I’m a Chasseur, Lou.” I spun her away from me once more with a pang of regret. “We don’t . . . frolic.”
Even if we wanted to.
“Have you ever tried it?”
“Of course not.”
“Maybe you should.”
“It’s getting late. Do you want to see the Christmas tree or not?”
She stuck her tongue out at me. “You’re no fun, Chass. A frolic in the snow might be just what you and the rest of those Chasseurs need. It’s a good way to get the stick out of your ass, I’m told.”
I glanced around nervously. Two passing shoppers skewered me with disapproving glares. I caught Lou’s hand as she spun back toward me. “Please behave.”
“Fine.” She reached up to brush the snowflakes from my hair, smoothing the furrow between my brows as she went. “I will refrain from using the word ass. Happy?”
“Lou!”
She cackled and grinned up at me. “You, sir, are too easy. Let’s go see this Yule tree.”
“Christmas tree.”
“Nuance. Shall we?” Though we no longer shared a cloak, she wrapped her arms around my waist. Pulling her closer with an exasperated shake of my head, I couldn’t stop the small smile that touched my lips.
Mademoiselle Perrot greeted us in the church foyer that evening, her face pinched. Troubled. She ignored me—as per usual—and walked straight to Lou.
“What is it?” Lou frowned and took her gloved hands. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Bernie,” Mademoiselle Perrot said quietly. Lou’s brows dipped as she scanned Mademoiselle Perrot’s face.
I clasped Lou’s shoulder. “Who’s Bernie?”
Mademoiselle Perrot didn’t even glance at me. But Lou did. “Monsieur Bernard.” Ah. The suicidal patient. She turned her attention back to Mademoiselle Perrot. “Is he—is he dead?”
Mademoiselle Perrot’s eyes gleamed too bright in the candlelight of the foyer. Too wet. Lined with unshed tears. I braced myself for the inevitable. “We don’t know. He’s gone.”
This caught my attention. I stepped forward. “What do you mean gone?”
She exhaled sharply through her nose, finally deigning to look at me. “Gone as in gone, Captain Diggory. Bed empty. Chains torn free. No sign of a body.”
“No sign of a body?” Lou’s eyes widened. “So—so that means he didn’t die by suicide!”
Mademoiselle Perrot shook her head. Grim. “It doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve dragged himself off somewhere and done it. Until we find the body, we don’t know.”
I had to agree with her. “Have my brethren been alerted?”
She pursed her lips. “Yes. They’re searching the church and Tower now. A unit has been deployed to scour the city as well.”
Good. The last thing we needed was someone stumbling upon a corpse riddled with magic. The people would panic. I nodded and squeezed Lou’s shoulder. “They’ll find him, Lou. One way or the other. You needn’t worry.”
Her face remained rigid. “But what if he’s dead?”
I spun her around to face me—much to Mademoiselle Perrot’s irritation. “Then he’s no longer in pain.” I leaned down to her ear, away from Mademoiselle Perrot’s keen eyes. Her hair tickled my lips. “He knew where he was going, Lou. He had nothing to fear.”
She leaned back to look at me. “I thought suicide was a mortal sin.”
I reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Only God can judge us. Only God can read the depths of our soul. And I think he understands the power of circumstance—of fear.” I dropped my hand and cleared my throat. Forced the words out before I could change my mind. “I think there are few absolutes in this world. Just because the Church believes Monsieur Bernard will suffer eternally for his mental illness . . . doesn’t mean he will.”