. In return, you’ll be able to see that I am holding up my end. And if you get into trouble, you can use it to summon me.”
“Beg you for help? I’d sooner an elevator cut me in half.”
He flinched. “Don’t be foolish, Anouk. Take help when it’s offered. You think I’m your enemy, but I’m not.” He leaned as close as the protection spell would allow him. “Be careful. There is dark magic out there.”
Without another word, he strode down Rue des Amants, limping slightly. Anouk waited for him to disappear around the corner and then stuffed the mirror deep into her robe pocket, where the only thing he could spy on was lint.
“There’s dark magic,” she whispered after him, “everywhere.”
* * *
Viggo was waiting for her in the foyer, hands on his hips, scowl on his face. “You shouldn’t have said three words to him,” he scolded. “Not unless it was Va te faire foutre.”
“That’s four words.”
“Whatever.”
She dismissed his concern with a wave. Now that the deal had been made, a nervous energy was stirring in her chest. “He’s calling off the crows.”
Viggo raised a cautious eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
“It means I have a bag to pack.”
Before she could witness the dawning look of alarm on Viggo’s face, she ran for the stairs, Little Beau following at her heels. She took the steps two at a time. Little Beau sensed her excitement and barked as he ran after her. There was the dull thud of Viggo’s cane far behind. What did she know about the Black Forest? Only what she’d been able to glean from the maps in the library and from Luc’s fairy tales: Castles hidden in glens. Trees as tall as city buildings. Wolves and stags and bears. Mad princes who drowned in lakes. None of Mada Vittora’s books described an ancient academy deep in the woods, a place where it always snowed, where girls wanted magic bad enough to die for it.
“Anouk, stop, for God’s sake!” Viggo called from the stairs. “Slow down—?I’m impaired!”
She went to the library and pulled out the heavy stacks of maps. She laid them on the floor and traced the routes with her fingers, the trek from Paris to a remote corner of Germany that would involve trains and taxis and miles on foot. Little Beau wagged his tail, fluttering the maps, and some loose pages fell out. She caught one, a drawing that Luc had made of charcoal trees and swirling snow. It was a scene from one of his fairy tales, “The Frozen Labyrinth,” about a Goblin girl who had ignored her family’s warnings and trekked into the Black Forest after hearing rumors of a castle filled with candy.
“Goblins know better than to go to the Black Forest,” Luc had said. “There’s dark magic there. Ancient creatures who keep to themselves.”
“What kind of creatures?” Anouk asked.
“Creatures who like the cold, who especially like girls who wander into their woods. They can help travelers find their way, but they’ll want something in return. There’s a reason few girls ever make it to the Cottage. Whatever you do,” Luc warned, “don’t let them kiss you.”
Anouk made a face. “Why, what happens?”
“Nothing good.”
At the memory, Anouk bit her lip. If only Luc had finished the story, she might have some clue as to what she was getting herself into.
Huffing with effort, Viggo at last reached the library. “You can’t trust Rennar,” he protested, dabbing sweat off his brow with his shirtsleeve.
“We don’t have a choice.”
“And what am I supposed to do, stay here and babysit a houseful of Goblins?”
Her excitement dimmed. “Oh . . . right. Ah, I actually promised that you and the Goblins would stay at Castle Ides.”
“You bargained us away as hostages?”
“You’ve seen the Castle Ides kitchens! You’ll feast on suckling pig and petits fours every day! That’s hardly torture.”
She expected Viggo to sputter about how Rennar was the enemy, to stomp around in a fit of melodrama, but instead his face grew disturbingly calm. “There’s something I haven’t told you about the Schwarzwald.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Have you been there?”
“Yes, once, with Mada Vittora when I was a boy.” He shuddered at the memory. “The Cottage is a bleak place filled with desperate girls. Girls freeze to death just trying to find it. The ones who make it don’t have a much greater chance of survival. You’ve heard of the Coal Baths? They’re a mystical bed of coals so hot that most girls don’t even burn when they try to cross it—?they just vanish. Only their screams remain. The year we went to observe the trials, all of the initiates burned. Not a single one got to the other side of the bed of coals. I had nightmares for months.”