With her other hand, she clutched her franc necklace. “The fountain.”
An odd look crossed his face, and then his eyes fell to the coin and a kind of heartbroken sadness filled them as he realized what she hoped—?foolishly—?to do. “Anouk . . .”
“It might work, Beau.”
“It might not.”
“But it might.”
The street lamp threw a halo of light over his face. A face she knew nearly as well as her own—?full lips that were like heaven to touch, his almost too-big nose, sandy hair that had a way of curling in the damp. His features were heavy with doubt. But then, little by little, the doubt melted away. Before her eyes, he became just a boy again.
He grinned. “All right. Screw it. Let’s make a wish.”
Hand in hand, they ran for the wishing fountain at the end of the lane. Past the townhouses Anouk had stared at dreamily through the windows. Past a tiny bulldog with big ears and an even bigger bark. Their feet skidded as they ducked into the fountain alleyway.
It was darker here, away from the streetlights.
Blue-black shadows encased the fountain; starlight reflected on the tinkling water. The gargoyle spat water into the pool, that mischievous half smile on his face, the one that had once repulsed her but now filled her with affection.
She pulled the necklace over her head. How much time was left? Three minutes? Two?
“Just one coin,” Beau said. “So it’ll work for only one of us.”
“I know,” she breathed. “It’s for you. You’re going to stay human.”
Even in the shadows, she could see his expression harden. He reached for the coin, though she held it just out of reach. “No. Anouk, no. It’s going to be you.”
She scrambled back, fiercely guarding the coin. “Forget it, Beau. I couldn’t save the others but maybe I can save you.”
She extended her arm over the pool, the coin clutched in her hand, but he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her away from the water. Let him try to stop her. She’d throw herself into the fountain if she had to. His breath brushed her neck as they scuffled. His arm pressed into her ribs.
He was reaching, but not for the coin.
His fingers closed around one of the few roses still in bloom that hugged the edge of the fountain, and before she could grasp what he was about to do, he popped it into his mouth.
“I know only one spell,” he breathed. “But right now it’s the only one I need.”
An awful premonition struck her. “Beau, no—”
“Dorma, dorma, sonora precimo.” For the first time, his pronunciation was perfect. It was quiet. It was powerful. He’d mastered the damn sleeping spell in the one single moment when she wanted him to make a mistake.
Blackness came first, crackling like ash.
Then a feeling of falling.
His arms around her, lowering her to the ground, and the smell of roses on his breath.
Lips pressed to her cheek.
And then she heard it—?a splash of a coin—?followed by the most awful words in the world.
“I wish for Anouk to stay human forever.”
In the distance, bells rang out from the church they’d passed on the corner, each chime impossibly loud, impossibly heavy, as though the bells were weighed down by devils.
Bong.
Bong.