Just like that, the battle outside was over.
Won.
Rennar and Mada Zola were caught in a stunned silence. Luc too. Zola ran to a window and leaned out over her charred fields and her ashen soldiers, her garden overrun by the surviving Goblins. Her fingers curled into claws on the windowsill as she let out a furious cry.
Rennar, though, didn’t seem angered by Countess Quine’s death. Instead, he regarded Anouk with something like amazement, and that felt somehow far more dangerous. Goose bumps sprang up from her head to her eight toes.
It crashed down on her then: a mistake.
That impulsive burst of anger had saved Beau and won the battle, but it had cost her every drop of Viggo’s life-essence.
It felt as though the bones in her legs momentarily vanished, and she had to catch herself on a low wooden beam. A wave of lightheadedness made her see stars. She licked her lips, forcing herself to stand straight. She couldn’t let them see how weak it had made her. They had to believe she was still strong enough to carry through with the contra-beastie spell, even though in her hands and her lips, she felt an awful numbness. Her magic was all but gone. And there were no flowers in the bell tower, no butterflies, not even a spider to swallow down.
Zola raked her nails through her hair as she spun away from the window. “Vittora didn’t kill your kind soon enough! I won’t make that mistake.”
Anouk took a shaky step backward. Glanced at the door. Could she make it in time? What about Luc? She couldn’t leave him, wrists bound, at the prince’s mercy.
Zola raised her hands toward Anouk, but then paused. She saw how Anouk was throwing worried looks at Luc and smiled grimly. She turned toward Luc instead.
Fresh panic thrummed in Anouk’s body. Not Luc! She bolted around the edge of the bell tower to stop the witch, but she was too weak, too slow. Zola whispered low, and a dark cloud began to surround Luc, crackling and sparking just as it had for Cricket.
Prince Rennar grabbed Anouk’s arm and pulled her away from the magic cloud. “Anouk, don’t.” His voice was quiet in her ear. “Get too close and you’ll be caught in the same spell.”
But his words felt distant. What did it matter if she sprouted fur or feathers when so many of her friends had already turned?
“Luc!” she cried.
But it was too late. The change had already started. The cloud of sparking light obscured him, but she could make out his limbs shrinking, the twine binding his wrists dropping to the floor. Fine gray fur clouded like smoke around him—?the smallest pelt from the oubliette, transported here by magic—?and began to weave itself onto his bare arms. She fought against Prince Rennar’s grasp, trying to muster enough magic to save Luc, but she was spent. The whispers on her lips had no life behind them.
As soon as the spell was done, Zola cried out, clutching her side. A slash of pain twisted her face. Something had soured in her, just as it had when Lady Metham pushed herself to do the same spell. Maybe her lungs. Maybe her bowels. But not her heart—?her heart had turned to stone long ago.
The dark cloud surrounding Luc began to dissipate. Where her friend had been, all six feet of him, there was simply . . . nothing. Confused, she dropped her eyes to the bell-tower floor, and she stifled a cry.
A mouse was left in his place.
First Cricket.
Then Hunter Black.
Now Luc.
And outside, Tenpenny was gone, dozens of Goblins were dead, and Beau—?
Anouk glanced out the window, almost afraid to see what might have happened to Beau. Smoke was rising from the smote topiaries. But there. Beau was on his hands and knees but moving. Alive. He crawled slowly toward the château, one arm streaked with blood.
Despite the pain twisting her features, Zola lurched forward to catch the mouse and stuff it into one of the wire crow cages. “What, no more magic?” She coughed. “Can’t you save your friend with all that life-blood you’ve been bragging about?”
Anouk’s gaze fell to the caged mouse. In hours, would she herself be the same? A dog, she thought dimly, or an owl. There would be no more Anouk. It didn’t matter that she’d proven herself to be more than a maid. And her promise to help the Goblins retake London? Worthless. She sank to the floor, her legs like wobbly jam. She felt as weak as Viggo had looked when he was almost drained of blood.
Mada Zola unhooked another of the wire crow cages. “Do you want to do the honors, Rennar, or shall I?” she asked.
Rennar’s eyes were flashing again. They held no mercy. A girl in tatters on his floor stirred no pity in him, and yet she wasn’t just some helpless girl. He still wore that odd look of curiosity he’d had when she’d cast the spell to stop the battle. Beau’s words came back to her: He’s fascinated by you. You have something he lost long ago—?youth. Wonder.
“Yes, I’ll handle this,” he said simply.
He raised a hand, a gesture as simple as waving away a fly, and cast a spell with a flick of his first two fingers.
Only it wasn’t directed at Anouk.