“Kill you.”
“What?”
At their horrified looks, he added, “Only temporarily.” He poured off four teacupfuls of the potion. “This elixir has a powerful malignant effect that will, by and by, stop your hearts from beating. A stopped heart cannot age, can it? Time will halt for you. And if time stops, so does the countdown to the end of your enchantment.”
“Yes, but we’ll be dead!”
“Technically dead. But that doesn’t mean you have to stop living. You’ll still have use of your bodies, just like always. The elixir works slowly. It will take twenty-four hours to stop your hearts entirely. You can take an antidote before then.”
Cricket stared at the elixir. “So that’s it? You’re giving us poison, and it’ll grant us only one extra day?”
“I told you it wouldn’t be pretty.”
Hunter Black scowled. “You tricked us, Goblin.”
Tenpenny acted offended. “It’s one more day than you would have had without me.”
Anouk sat heavily on the sarcophagus, loose brittle bones skittering at her feet. She coughed at the cloud of dust and tried to brush it off her clothes but gave up. She was always dirty. Always a mess. Was it so surprising that she’d just led them into another mess? Cricket and Hunter Black continued to argue with Tenpenny, while the blond Goblin who had followed at Beau’s heels hung in the doorway, staring at Beau moonily.
“At least Rennar promised us more than twenty-four hours,” Cricket complained.
“Rennar? Bah! Lies! Listen closely, dearies. Rennar and that witch told you only half the story. It’s true that you aren’t affected by the vitae echo, but saviors? Ha! You weren’t made to save anything. You aren’t heroes.”
“Then what are we?” Beau asked.
“Monsters! Oh, come, don’t look surprised. Nothing good is ever created from magic. You were made to be the most terrifying thing in the known world. The vitae echo is a safeguard. It is meant to keep handlers from slaughtering whole villages and from taking lives for their own gain. But you don’t have that safeguard—?don’t you get it? Rennar made you as weapons. You can do all the dastardly things that he can’t—?but only if he can control you. That’s why the other beasties were destroyed. They were monsters, yes, which was what he wanted. But their mistake was not answering to him.”
“Do we look like bloodthirsty devils to you?” Cricket asked, motioning vaguely to the ribbon in Anouk’s hair, to her own less-than-threatening maid’s costume.
Tenpenny turned to her. “You thirst for magic so you can exact revenge. You want to destroy, to tear down. I see it in your eyes.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, my dear, as long as you don’t mind living in a broken world.”
Cricket pressed her rosebud lips together tightly.
Anouk glanced at the beastie spell. She felt shaken; in times like this, it was Luc they turned to. What would he do now? Would he trust Goblin poison?
No. He would fix this himself.
She jumped down from the sarcophagus and started digging through Tenpenny’s tea canisters. Milk thistle in this one, sorrel in that one, a jug of some poor creature’s blood that still had fur floating in it. She grabbed a teapot, threw in ingredients.
“Anouk?” Beau asked.
“Just wait.”
Spells—?even the most complex ones—?didn’t come with recipes. It was up to each magic handler to interpret the requirements of a given situation and develop a custom-made brew. Mada Vittora had been partial to roses and goldenseal; her tonics all held an air of romance, even when the spell had nothing to do with love. Cricket was fond of eucalyptus. What would Anouk’s signature ingredients be? She would have liked to use feather down, but with only Goblin stores to work with, she had to settle for white dandelion fluff.
She sniffed her tonic and then took a sip. It burned deliciously on her tongue, like spices and licorice. She whispered. She didn’t even need to look at the torn folio page; the words were buried deep inside her. They were her. Rennar, Zola, and Tenpenny—?the most prominent members of every order of the Haute—?had all told her she carried great power. And she could feel it. A tingle from her belly to her toes to her ears. A tickle on her lips.
“Skalla animeux . . .”
“What are you—” Beau said, but Cricket elbowed him.
“Quiet. It’s the beastie spell, you idiot. Tenpenny can’t cast it so she’s going to try.”
Anouk closed her eyes and let the syllables pour out of her. Gone was the throbbing beat of the party in the other room, the chatter of rats from their cages. It was only her and the Silent Tongue, and