She cleared her throat and set the water on the side table. “Viggo, how do you feel?”
“Like I’m missing half my blood.”
“You are.”
“Well, that explains it.”
A car horn blared outside—?the British anthem, unmistakably the Goblins. Anouk checked the clock. Six in the morning. The sun would be rising soon. One last day.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” Viggo’s voice was raspy, his eyes closed. With a weak hand, he slapped away Hunter Black. “Get out of here already and turn that flower witch into potpourri.”
“Hold on until tomorrow. We’ll be back,” Anouk promised.
“Hopefully without tails,” Viggo murmured.
Anouk squeezed his hand. She took the pints of blood, hid them away in the oubliette, and slung it over her shoulder. “Thank you, Viggo.”
The car honked again.
Beau appeared at the doorway. “Anouk, Hunter Black. Time to go.”
“Give them a minute,” Anouk said, and she herded Beau down the stairs. In another second, Hunter Black joined them in the front foyer dressed in his black coat, his hair slicked back and knotted at the nape. If he felt any sadness or worry for Viggo, by now he knew how to hide it.
“You think you’ve mastered the blue-flame spell?” she asked.
“I learn fast when it comes to new ways to kill people.”
They stepped into the front garden. A fleet of Goblin motorcycles filled Rue des Amants. There had to be a hundred motorcycles, most of them carrying two or even three Goblins. There was much honking and cheering, and Anouk thought that maybe cappuccino was magic.
Beau, Cricket, Hunter Black, Luc, and her. The five of them together at last. They stood on the front steps as a team, a family. Someone from across the street yelled about the early hour and threatened to call the police, but Anouk just grinned.
If there was anything to fear in the streets of Paris, it was her.
Chapter 35
Seventeen Hours of (New) Enchantment Remain
They rode without stopping, speeding past villages and fields, tearing down curving roads, honking at any car that dared to drive too slowly. Clutching Tenpenny around the middle, Anouk felt distinctively queasy. She had drunk every pint of Viggo’s blood, slowly, giving it time to digest. And now it sat heavy in her stomach, and Tenpenny’s driving didn’t help. But as the hours passed, she began to feel a change. The blood felt less like a greasy puddle in the pit of her stomach and more like sunlight spreading through her body, warm and bright and life-giving. She felt marvelously daring, like she’d drunk too much champagne or was walking on the edge of a rooftop.
Six pints of blood. Enough to cripple a witch.
Mada Vittora had been careful never to add more than a thimbleful of blood to her potions. Any more and the vitae echo would start to take effect. Her skin would turn brittle, her back would stoop, dust would be shed from her clothing and collect in her wake as though she were desiccating from the inside out. But Anouk felt the opposite.
Young. Vital. Alive.
She slid on a pair of black sunglasses, and from the next motorcycle over, Cricket gave an approving nod.
Anouk grinned. Being on the back of the motorcycle was a bit like flying. She could feel the pulsing energy of the Goblins, their determination and hope. This battle meant everything for them, too. The first step toward regaining the city they loved. And ever since dancing atop the Black Death with the Goblins, she’d wanted that for them. Throw out the London witches. Install a new leader, preferably one in a top hat.
The sky darkened. She looked up, expecting a cloud, and her mood dimmed at the flock of crows that had moved in overhead.
“Crows!” she called in Tenpenny’s ear.
He nodded grimly. “There will be no element of surprise for us. What of the contra-beastie spell? Are you ready?”
Viggo’s blood kept pulsing like lightning bugs in her body, making her feel light and strong, and she nodded.
“And the witch’s girl of the dubious loyalties?”