Grim Lovelies (Grim Lovelies 1)

Luc blinked a few times, pressing a hand to his forehead. Despite his weakened state, he had an air of solidity about him. Even on his deathbed, he’d still manage to find the strength to jump up and box the ears of anyone who insulted her.

His hands were smooth and firm and the color of night tulips as he traced a finger over her cheeks painted with red hearts. “I’m supposed to look out for you, remember? Not the other way around.” He tried to grin, but it came out as a grimace.

She hugged him hard, feeling tears welling at the trace of thyme on his clothes. She had her North Star again. She let go and then it was Cricket’s turn to embrace him. Cricket whispered something in his ear that made him smile. He kissed her cheek. “Always, gumdrop. Always.”

Then he seemed to notice the tension between Beau and Anouk. His eyes dropped to the empty bag, then went back to Beau.

“You didn’t tell them?” Luc said.

Anouk whipped her head to Beau. “Tell us what?” And then Beau’s silence suddenly made sense to her. It was about far more than a kiss. She shoved herself to her feet. “Beau, did you know Luc was in there?”

Beau flinched as though he’d been struck. “No!” She stared at him hard, and he winced. “Well, not the whole time. I only learned that he was in the oubliette the night we fled. And then I didn’t believe it was possible to get him out without another witch. Besides, once the Royals were searching for Vittora’s killer, I thought it would be best for him to stay in there, hidden, until it was safe to come out.”

Anouk gaped at him. “What does Vittora’s killer have to do with anything?”

Both Luc and Beau went very quiet.

At last, Luc rested a hand on Anouk’s shoulder. “You loved her so deeply, Anouk. I’m sorry.”

Anouk still stared at Luc and Beau, uncertain, and then it all came crashing down on her. She leaned against the tomb, suddenly not trusting her own legs to keep her standing.

“You killed her,” she whispered to Luc.

Luc sank wearily onto the tomb, dusting the grime from his short hair. He took a deep breath. “It started with the rabbits . . .”

He explained in a rusty voice how he had overheard Mada Vittora’s plan to kill and replace all of them but Anouk and that he knew he had to stop her. He prevented it the best he could, having Anouk cook the rabbits before the witch could perform the spell. He even tried to contact Mada Zola for help, not knowing that Mada Zola would turn on him. After he returned from the Château des Mille Fleurs, Mada Vittora was waiting for him. She cursed him into the oubliette.

“It was dark in there, like the world was cast in shadows. I searched for a way out, but there was nothing. No doors. No windows. I had no idea how much time was passing. For all I knew, she was going to leave me there for centuries. But the rest of you were in danger—?I had to come up with a way out. And then I found this.” He took a vial out of his pocket.

Cricket squinted. “Parsley?”

“Jimsonbane,” he said. “It’s rare. Most of the world has forgotten about it. I came across a reference to it years ago in an ancient botany encyclopedia. I’m not even certain Mada Vittora remembered she had a vial left in the oubliette.”

The distant dance party still raged, but in the quiet of the crypt, Anouk felt like she was caught in that same never-ending timelessness that Luc must have felt in the oubliette.

“Jimsonbane,” he continued, “is the only herb known to have ethereal-projection properties. If handled correctly, it can cast an herbalist’s spirit outside of the body.”

“And out of the oubliette to escape,” Cricket guessed.

“Well, that was the idea.” Luc frowned as though remembering something unpleasant. “It didn’t quite work like that. I did cast my spirit out, intending to escape, but I cast it right into Mada Vittora’s bedroom. She was there. It looked late outside—?maybe close to midnight. She’d been drinking. When she saw my spirit, she went pale. I saw myself in the mirror. I looked translucent, like a ghost.”

“A ghoul, you mean,” Tenpenny clarified. “Ghosts don’t exist.”

Luc gave him a suspicious look. “Um, who are you again?”

“Long story.” Tenpenny petted his new rat.

“Right . . .” Luc eyed the rat blood on the Goblin’s cravat. “Anyway, I could feel the jimsonbane fading. I could see my spirit flickering, and Vittora saw it too. She thought she’d won. But she didn’t know that spirits on jimsonbane have the ability to hold physical objects—?one of the reasons why it’s so valuable. I took the knife from her dresser and stabbed her. I had to. She was going to kill us.”

Anouk looked down at her hands, remembering her mistress’s blood on them. She wanted to feel that hot buzz of anger again. She wanted to feel something. But could she condemn Luc for killing their mistress after everything she’d done to them—?and was going to do to them? Still, she felt a small part of herself slip away. She’d loved Mada Vittora once. A twisted, misunderstood love, but even the cruelest forms of love were never lost without heartache.

“I didn’t have much time after that,” Luc said. “The jimsonbane was used up. My spirit returned to my body in the oubliette. Beau came upstairs just as it was happening.”

Anouk turned hotly on Beau. “There was no reason not to tell us.”

Beau rubbed his scalp awkwardly, wincing at her tone. “Telling you wouldn’t have freed him. Besides, what was I supposed to say, that your best friend had murdered the witch you considered a mother? I was afraid it would break your heart. I was trying to protect you.”

Anouk stared at him, uncertain what to think. What did it mean that he thought lies could protect someone? Was that how he saw her—?as an artless, sheltered girl incapable of facing reality?