Viggo touched his throat. “Hunter Black, I’m parched. Open one of these wine bottles. I saw a teacup somewhere in here . . .”
The tunneling at least explained the dirt in Viggo’s hair. But now that she looked closer, it wasn’t dirt. Several streaks of his fair hair were now nearly as charcoal dark as Hunter Black’s.
“What happened to your hair?”
He tossed it out of his eyes. “Like it?” His smile was harsh. “A witch’s spells last only three days after her death. It’s been two. The spell is fading.” He cocked his head. “You didn’t think my hair just happened to be the exact shade as hers, did you?” He laughed coldly. “She enchanted it afresh every year. Didn’t want any reminder that I wasn’t really her son but some screaming dark-haired baby she’d stolen out of a pram in the houseware section of Le Bon Marché.”
Hunter Black broke open the neck of a bottle of merlot, and Viggo kicked around in the dirt for the teacup he claimed to have seen. Anouk touched her own hair tentatively. If the enchantment that colored Viggo’s hair was already fading, then didn’t that mean their beastie spell was also fading? That they were already turning back? Was her mind playing tricks on her, or did her hair feel coarser? She touched her jaw—?was it heavier, more bestial? But she was still just a girl, at least on the outside.
“Now, what’s this deal?” Viggo said, tossing back a teacup of wine.
Chapter 19
Twenty-Four Hours of Enchantment Remain
When Anouk didn’t answer, Viggo moved toward the bars, tipping his head forward conspiratorially. “You and I have always had an understanding, haven’t we, Anouk? She was like a mother to you too. You and I both loved her. We were the only ones who did.”
Anouk eyed him warily. “So do you believe that I didn’t kill her?”
Viggo snorted messily and wiped his nose with his sleeve. Not broken after all, but definitely bruised. “You? You turn white when you have to pluck chicken for dinner. You’d never hurt her.” His face darkened. “Was it Beau?”
“No,” Anouk snapped, but her heart was thumping so hard she was surprised Viggo couldn’t hear it. Hunter Black made a slight growl as though maybe he heard it. “We don’t know who did. But it wasn’t either of us.”
Viggo grunted noncommittally. “You shouldn’t have come here. Mada Zola can’t be trusted. You’d be safer with me. Come back to the townhouse. I might not be a witch, but I’m influential among the Pretties. Whatever promises Zola made you, they’re lies.”
“We need her.”
“Ha.”
“We need her. In twenty-four hours, our enchantment will end. If that happens, we’ll turn back to animals, all of us. Even you, Hunter Black. The only way to stay as we are is if we get the beastie spell, which Mada Zola has promised to use on us to keep us human. But there’s a problem. It’s kept at Castle Ides.” She held the candle closer to him, meeting his gaze. “We could never get past their security, but you have an invitation.”
“He isn’t helping you,” Hunter Black snarled.
But Viggo held up a hand, silencing him, and eyed Anouk. He’d guzzled a considerable amount of wine in a very short time, but he could hold his alcohol, she had to give him that. “The invitation alone won’t get you in. Not without me to present it.”
Anouk tightened her jaw. “Then you’ll have to come too.”
Viggo laughed at the prospect. Hunter Black cursed and went off to the corner to sulk. Viggo leaned against the door, his hair falling in his face. “You need me. That’s rich.” He took another sip of wine.
“Don’t you want Hunter Black to stay human?” Anouk asked. “And Cricket?”
His only answer was to drink more, though Anouk knew he was toying with her. He lusted after Cricket; perhaps perversely, he’d do anything to keep her safe. His china teacup reflected back the candlelight, and Anouk narrowed her eyes.
“That cup. Show it to me.”
Raising an eyebrow, Viggo complied, holding it up to the grate. It was an odd design, not like the Pretties’ usual floral patterns. This one had sea-monster tentacles amid delicate little ocean bubbles.
A Goblin design.
Her stomach turned as alarm bells chimed in her head. She thought of those rumors of Goblins invited to the château for tea parties and ending up as potting soil. She glanced again at the wine cellar’s heavy door, so like a cell’s. Who else had been imprisoned here?
Viggo scratched his chin, his eyes dangerously sober. “I’ll help you, but I want something.”
“What?”
He leaned closer. “You put me to sleep with a whisper. Bravo, little beastie. And you lit that candle just now with a whisper. I admit, I’m impressed. I never thought beasties capable of magic, especially not you, my little dust mop. If you want my help, I’ll give it to you.” He paused. “Provided that you make Cricket fall in love with me.”
Anouk recoiled from the door. Hunter Black stalked out of the dark corner, a scowl on his face. “Viggo. This is unwise. That girl . . . your obsession—”