Midnight Beauties (Grim Lovelies 2)

At the mention of Mada Zola’s name, the look in Petra’s eyes cleared. She tilted up her chin. “Yes, she would have. She always hoped I’d join the Haute. The things she showed me, Anouk . . . the magic. I can’t live a quiet Pretty life.” She ran a shaking hand through her strawberry hair. “All Pretties die, right? Whether it’s today or fifty years from now, what does it matter when immortality is at stake?”

“Petra, don’t—”

But Petra had already started walking. She pressed the lavender ash between her palms and stepped barefoot onto the hemlock boughs. Before she could stop herself, Anouk reached out to snatch her back to safety, but it was too late.

Petra stepped into the blue flames.

“Ouch!” Petra said. She cursed. “This hurts like hell! No one said it hurt this—” Anything else she said was swallowed by the flames.

Anouk pressed her hand to her mouth. Through the flickering blue wall of fire, she could see Petra’s mouth contorting.

One pace. Two. Three.

Anouk tore her eyes away. She couldn’t watch. Her gaze fell on the abbey tower, and, for a second, she thought she saw a shadow in the Duke’s library. Had Luc broken in? Had he found anything?

She looked back at the pyre—?she couldn’t help it. She had to know. Petra was five paces in, then six. Anouk felt hope rising in her chest—?but then again, if Petra survived, it meant Anouk’s chances were infinitesimal. And yet she couldn’t help but silently cheer her friend on.

Eight paces!

“Keep going,” she whispered. “Just a few more steps . . .”

Petra faltered. Karla cried out, but Petra caught herself before falling. Her robes were entirely burned away; only the red sash remained, hugging her narrow hips.

Nine paces through the coals and still going. Her fists were balled fiercely at her side. Her mouth twisted in a grimace. But she was still going! One more step and—?

Anouk held her breath.

With a final lurch, Petra made it through.

Anouk cried out in shock and awe. How many nights had she and Petra lain in their room and discussed this moment? Even prepared for the end? And yet Petra had survived. She’d found her true crux. There were gasps from Lise and Sam and Karla and Jolie as Petra fell out of the Baths, naked. The impossible had happened! Her bare feet touched the grass on the other side and she crumpled into a heap in the snow. She curled into a fetal position, letting out small gasps as though she were still on fire. But there wasn’t a speck of soot on her. She was still Petra, but somehow more beautiful. The bruises were gone from her knees; the perpetual shadows under her eyes had brightened. Her face looked fuller, her hair glossier. Even though she and Mada Zola hadn’t been related by blood, there was now a resemblance, that certain something that united all the witches.

The Royals clapped with the first true enthusiasm of the whole day. A new witch was a valuable thing. New blood in the Haute. At the Witchery Feast tonight, they would all be vying to win the loyalty of the new witch, promising her every luxury in return for her service in their Court. Petra was French, but that didn’t mean she’d be bound to serve Rennar in the Parisian Court. Already the Crimson Queen was arguing with a count from the Court of the Woods.

The Duke whispered something to Saint, who took off and vanished over the northern mountains, bearing the news.

Anouk felt herself grinning. It was miraculous to witness the birth of a witch. And Petra! She was so fiercely proud. But the other remaining acolytes around her now wore stony faces. Anouk’s own smile fell as she remembered why.

Petra had survived, so what were the odds for the rest of them?

Anouk suddenly felt like she might throw up.

After the Pretty servants had draped a cloak around Petra and helped her hobble to a bench to recover, the Duke calmly turned toward the rest of them.

The remaining acolytes were staring in apprehension at the pyre. No—?at Anouk. She touched her face and hair, wondering if she’d somehow smeared soot on herself. It took her a moment to realize that Duke Karolinge had called out a name.

Her name.

“Anouk,” he repeated. “You are next to burn.”

Her stomach plunged. The pain in her side flared.

I’m going to die.

She knew it like she knew the sun rose in the east. She dropped the twist of Little Beau’s fur. Fear roared in her head, deafening her. Lise wasn’t smirking now. None of the girls were. They all looked as pale as Anouk knew she was. The odds were now equally poor for all of them. Dimly, Anouk became aware of someone calling her name from across the courtyard. Rennar was shouting, but her senses had gone numb. And then he was standing, pushing through the other Royals to speak to Duke Karolinge, his limp far more pronounced in his rush. He was pointing to Anouk, saying something to the Duke that Anouk couldn’t hear, something about an unfair wound. Somehow, he’d figured out what had happened to her. But the Duke kept shaking his head. A man of honor, but not a man of sentiment. The kind of man who could spend a year patiently, even kindly, training a girl and then not blink as he watched her burn.

“Anouk.” The voice came from the bench by the rectory. Petra, still shivering in the blanket, met Anouk’s eyes. “Damn the odds, Anouk. Do it. I know you can.”

Anouk started to protest. There hadn’t been two witches in the Coal Baths in decades.