Grim Lovelies (Grim Lovelies 1)

“But I think I can do magic,” she insisted. “In the closet, I whispered for us to be protected and it worked.”

He ran a hand over his short hair. “Listen. I watched Mada Vittora beat Luc. I watched her let Viggo try to put his hands all over Cricket. I watched her cut off your toes, Anouk! And all that time, I did nothing. I let Luc handle it all. But he needed help as much as we did.” His eyes were full of ghosts. “In the car on the way here, there was something I was trying to tell you.”

The fairy tale of the peasant boy and the princess—?she hadn’t forgotten.

He took her hand and the tension broke. He was gentle now, and more than a little bit awkward. “I wasted our time together being too much of an idiot to tell you. In Luc’s story, do you remember what the peasant boy says to the princess in the end?”

“‘Only a fool would risk a monster’s impalement for love,’” she recited, “‘and I’m a fool.’”

He squeezed her hand, his blue eyes searching hers. “I’m a fool, Anouk.”

She wanted to stuff her hands in her pockets, find some charm to tell her what to say. The knife. The mint. The clock. Useless. She closed her eyes.

“Beau . . .”

“Like Cricket said, we only have each other now. You’re my princess, Anouk. I’ve loved you since the first time I wiped a streak of dust off your face. And I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Her hand felt shaky in his. He loved her? He’d joked about such things, always giving her messy kisses on the cheek. She’d never quite realized that it wasn’t all in jest.

He cupped her face, leaning in, and for a second she thought he might kiss her. But he whispered, “I’m telling you this so you know why we have to leave.”

“She isn’t like Mada Vittora,” Anouk insisted. “There aren’t servants here. She’s broken the rules to have a daughter, not a son. Cricket trusts her, at least a little.”

“Cricket just wants to learn dark spells so that she can slice the Royals into little pieces.”

Anouk fingered the mint deep in her pocket, worried nearly to dust. “What if Zola could prove it to us?”

“Prove that we’re more powerful than the Haute? How?”

“I have an idea.”

He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked like he might throw her over his shoulder and carry her kicking and screaming to the car. But he didn’t, and it dawned on her that something had changed between them in the past few minutes, some subtle shift of power, and she knew without having to ask that he would do whatever she requested of him. It was a power she hadn’t asked for, wasn’t even sure she wanted.

But it was there.

“Trust me, Beau.”

She stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek and felt him shudder with longing in response. He didn’t argue as she led him back to the sitting room. Mada Zola stood from the armchair. For a small woman, she had a way of filling every corner of the room like a clap of rolling thunder.

Anouk pointed to the fire. “Teach me a spell, witch.”

Chapter 16

Two Days and Two Hours of Enchantment Remain

Mada Zola smiled slowly. “Very well, but not the fire trick. That one’s finicky.”

She went to a bouquet of red roses and plucked off the fattest blossom. The firelight cast shadows over half her face, and Anouk felt herself drawn to the witch all the more. Mada Zola held the rose out in open palms.

“Take it, dearie. We aren’t allowed powder in this house, but not all spells require such complexity. Sometimes a simple rose can do the job.”

Anouk hesitated, but she’d gotten them into this and she couldn’t change her mind now. She popped the rose in her mouth. The petals felt wrong against her tongue, like she was eating perfumed silk. She forced it down.

Mada Zola nodded. “A rose alone isn’t enough to perform most enchantments, but it can create a light breeze. Make someone forget what he was about to say.” She looked at Beau. “Put someone to sleep, like your handsome friend.”

Beau grunted. “Why do I have to be the victim?”

Mada Zola ignored him and rested her hands on Anouk’s shoulders. “Feel the life of the flower spreading through you. From your stomach to your throat to your tongue to your fingertips. And whisper after me: Dorma, dorma, sonora precimo.”