Grim Lovelies (Grim Lovelies 1)

“Oh, we can.”

December embraced her in a macabre bear hug, pinning her arms so she couldn’t fight back, and before Anouk could get another word out, before she could look one last time at Hunter Black dying, the Goblin tipped them both out the window and they were falling, falling into a world that smelled of ash.

Chapter 39

Seven Hours of (New) Enchantment Remain

Ouch.

For a few breaths, all Anouk could do was stare at the sky and try not to throw up. Waves of pain radiated through her body. She didn’t dare move, afraid that she’d discover that her bones had snapped. She could even feel spindly, sharp bones protruding and poking at her legs . . .

Twigs.

She lifted her head and found she wasn’t broken at all. She had landed on a pile of branches that had once been a topiary soldier that the Goblins had killed. She sat up, wincing. December was fishing twigs out of her tangled blond braids.

“You shouldn’t have done that!” Anouk coughed.

“You’re welcome.” December brushed leaves off her jacket, pushed herself to her feet, balanced precariously on the pile of hedge clippings, and extended a hand to help Anouk up.

They clambered free of the hedge, and Anouk pitched her head back and looked at the bell tower, hoping for some indication that Hunter Black wasn’t dead. But it was awfully, deafeningly silent, and her hopes slipped away. There was no sign of the prince either, but she could feel his presence; it was like knowing you weren’t alone in a dark room. He was close. He was coming. Nothing she’d seen so far could stop him, except . . .

“What was that magic dust?” she asked quickly.

December tugged the small bag out of her pocket. “It comes from the Pretty World. I figured the prince wouldn’t know what it was and so he’d freak out.” She handed Anouk the bag and added, “It isn’t magic. We use it for parties.”

Anouk squinted at the words on the package. “Glitter?”

December waggled her eyebrows. “It’s sparkly.”

Voices came from somewhere within the château. Anouk caught a flash of movement behind the curtains of Mada Zola’s storerooms. She tossed aside the glitter. Dread built itself around her, stacking up like bricks. All they could do was run.

Movement near the fountain caught her eye. Someone was trying to sit up.

“Beau!”

She and December ran across the garden and crouched next to him. Blood poured from a gash in his shoulder, and his right arm looked unnaturally loose, like it was missing half its bones. A merlot-colored bruise covered his jaw, spreading down the sinews of his neck, as though something had grabbed him by the throat and lifted him clear off the ground.

“I’m okay,” he said, though he cringed when he sat up. “At least, I will be. The others?”

She cringed too.

How could she tell him? She could barely hold on to the knowledge herself without shattering like a broken teapot, and then there was the guilt, the awful guilt. She’d brought them all here. She was responsible.

“We have to get out of here,” she choked out. “Any moment, the lesser Royals are going to throw open those doors and grill us like toast. I’ve used up all the strength I had from Viggo’s blood. We have to run.”

“And go where?” he asked.

She paused. “Back to Paris. To Viggo and the townhouse. The spell that protects it is ancient magic, not the kind that dies with a witch. The Royals won’t be able to enter. We’ll be safe there. The Goblins will too.”

“You’ll need this.” December tugged on one of her brass chains connected to a small pouch. She shook out a vial and pressed it into Anouk’s hand. “The antidote to Tenpenny’s elixir. You have to drink it before you go from dead-ish to full dead. It will restart your hearts. Slowly—?you won’t turn back right away. But it can’t protect you against midnight.”

“And when midnight strikes,” Beau said, “without a witch or a Royal to recast the spell . . .” He didn’t have to finish.

Anouk handed him the vial. “When that happens—?if it happens—?we’ll be together, at home.”

He looked as though he might protest again, but then she saw the exhaustion in him. He was hurt. Bleeding. He might be lucky to make it to midnight at all.

He uncorked the vial, drank down a dram, and then handed it to Anouk. It tasted foul—?that came as no surprise—?and yet it had a subtle, sweet herbal aftertaste that lingered on her lips, making them tingle, and the sensation traveled all the way down her throat.