She rested a hand on his shoulder. “We all have to play to our strengths. You breathe, sleep, and dream cars. Sorry, but it isn’t up for negotiation.”
He didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t argue. “And you? Once you locate the folio for Cricket to steal, what will you do?”
The others’ jobs seemed so clear: Beau, the getaway driver; Cricket, the spell thief; Viggo, the distraction; and Hunter Black, their bodyguard in case anything went wrong. Where did she fit into all of this? A maid and a cook—?that’s all she’d ever been. And yet there was something about bringing them all together that did feel like baking: gathering disparate ingredients—?a thief, a driver, an assassin—?and mixing them in just the right ways at just the right times while keeping a close eye on the clock.
“What I do best,” she said. “Keep things tidy.”
She went to the clock on the mantel, counting the hours on her fingers. “We have less than a day to drive to Paris, steal the spell, and return. As long as absolutely nothing goes wrong, we can pull this off.”
She started to take down the velvet curtains. There was no time to sew entire costumes by hand, but she’d once seen Mada Vittora cast a trick to stitch a Goblin’s mouth shut. She remembered the spell. It wouldn’t be perfect, but they were short on time, and the maids’ costumes had to stay together for only a few hours.
“As long as nothing goes wrong?” Cricket muttered. “We’re so screwed.”
Chapter 21
Eighteen Hours of Enchantment Remain
Sitting in the front seat of the Rolls-Royce, Anouk slid her hands over the plain dress and white apron. A broom rested at her feet. She adjusted her flimsy veil. The maid’s costume didn’t fit well, but given that she’d cobbled it and a matching one for Cricket together from curtains and gardening wire in under an hour, that was to be expected. She fought against the feeling that she was going backward, sliding into her old life. The apron was only temporary, she reminded herself. She didn’t have to sweep. Didn’t have to polish silver. But still, she was startled when she caught her reflection in the side mirror: Hair pulled back in a crisp ribbon. Dress that was blank and forgettable. No golden threads. No gossamer wings.
She folded up the veil and twisted to the back seat, where Cricket sat between Hunter Black and Viggo. Cricket’s usual wardrobe consisted of ripped tights and shirts with skulls; Anouk wasn’t used to seeing her in a starched apron and prim knee socks with a feather duster in one hand, and she almost had to hide a snicker. Cricket’s arms were folded tight to avoid having to touch either of the boys. Viggo, sitting behind Anouk, kept sneaking his hands forward in an attempt to massage her shoulders.
“Stop it, Viggo,” she snapped.
“You look tense, my love.”
“We’re about to break into Castle Ides to steal the only spell that could keep us human. Yes, I’m tense.”
They’d stuck the cat clock back on the dashboard with gum, and now it tick-tick-ticked, counting down the hours until they arrived in Paris.
“I hid the pouch of eucalyptus leaves in my bra, but there aren’t enough places to stash my blades in this dress,” Cricket complained.
“You’ll have to leave the big ones behind,” Anouk said. “The small ones you can hide in your hair. Speaking of . . .” She motioned regretfully to Cricket’s curly mass of hair. “You’ll need to pull it back.”
Cricket scoffed, offended.
“Maids don’t wear their hair loose,” Anouk said. “Maids don’t wear black lipstick; they don’t have rips in their tights. They don’t show any personality at all: that’s the point. You have to hide everything that makes you you. When you move through a room, it should be with quiet steps and small movements. You’re not a person, you’re a piece of furniture with legs.”
She felt a hollow pang inside; she’d never thought about it in these terms before. How long had she spent hiding who she was behind an apron? Scouring floors for hours in the hopes that her work would be so perfect that she’d be noticed? But she was never noticed. She reached for the old fr
anc coin but realized she’d left it on her bedroom dresser, back at the estate.
Beau was looking at her oddly. She had her arms clutched tightly across her chest and was shivering slightly. He handed her the Faustine jacket from the back seat. She laid it over her chest like a blanket, tracing her fingers over the fabric. When she glanced in the mirror again, a piece of furniture with legs didn’t look back this time.
The gargoyle.
“Thanks,” she said softly, putting the jacket on.
Cricket grudgingly pulled her hair back into a high bun and took off her charm earring, but she refused to remove her sunglasses. She sighed loudly and slid down in the seat. Her boot knocked against Hunter Black and he kicked back.
“Watch it,” he snapped.
“You watch it.” Cricket held up a eucalyptus leaf threateningly. “Or I’ll use the cutting spell on that greasy hair of yours.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Cricket,” Beau warned.
But Hunter Black gave her boot another kick and Cricket swallowed the leaf. “That’s it. Prepare to be bald. Incisha coup, bastard—”
The car lurched hard enough to pitch everyone forward, the engine chugging and struggling. Anouk grabbed the dashboard to steady herself.