Midnight Beauties (Grim Lovelies 2)

Cricket unlocked the gate with a touch of mint leaves to her lips and a whisper.

Viggo rested his hand on the front door. “Here goes nothing.”

They stepped into the foyer. On the outside, Omen House was identical to Castle Ides, but inside, instead of glittering crystal chandeliers and a glass wall divider, Omen House’s entryway looked like it belonged to a much-loved but musty old hotel. There was a small check-in desk in front of mailboxes filled with dangling keys, a threadbare rug, and a few mismatched tables and chairs next to a bar.

“No Marble Ladies,” Cricket observed, eyes darting to the corners, fingers brushing the hilts of her blades. “Unless they’re hiding.”

“That’s not how Omen House works.” Viggo walked behind the reception desk like he owned the place. He dinged the bell a few times, and Anouk cringed as it echoed loud enough to wake the dead, but nothing happened. “Eight boxes and eight keys,” he explained. “You sign your name in that fat old ledger there, and then you can take a key. The keys operate the elevator. You can only access the floor you have the key for.”

He signed his name in the visitors log, and the key to the penthouse suddenly seemed to take on a life of its own, sparkling as though begging to be picked up. He plucked it off the nail, went to the elevator, and jammed his thumb on the button. Nothing happened. He frowned and pushed the button again and again, at least twenty more times, but still nothing happened.

“Stop before you break it!” Luc said. “It’s frozen, just like everything else. Nothing mechanical works.”

“So how are we supposed to get to the penthouse?” Beau asked.

“We aren’t.” Petra set the jangling box of hardware on the reception counter. She turned to Anouk, lowered her sunglasses briefly, gave her a knowing look, and passed her a brass doorknob. “Leave this to the witches, friends. Step back. Way back. Farther. Viggo, you might as well go outside.”

Viggo didn’t look amused, but he did step behind the bar and eye the closest bottles.

The spell to open a door between the penthouse in Paris and the foyer in London was relatively straightforward, though it did require preparations. Petra explained that they needed two doors, one in each city, and for that they needed two witches working at the same time. Under Petra’s orders, Luc and Hunter Black cleared the artwork off the wall until it was nothing but plain wallpaper and a few empty nails. Petra ran her hand over the wallpaper, nodding, measuring with the width of her hand, and then directed Beau to use a piece of chalk to draw in the approximate shape of double doors to her measurements. Finally, Cricket climbed on a chair and hammered in the hinges and other hardware on the edges of Beau’s drawing.

“Now.” Petra took one of the doorknobs and handed Anouk the other. “Ready?”

“Jamais. Never. But let’s do it anyway.”

Mada Vittora had rarely worked with other witches, and maybe that was a mistake. It felt good to perform a kindred whisper with Petra. Their words spoken at the exact same speed, their movements simultaneous as they pressed the knobs to the drawn-in doors. Beau’s chalk outline started to glow. The hinges produced a long creaking sound. The knob began to warm in Anouk’s hand and vibrate a little, as eager to be handled as the enchanted key that Viggo had collected behind the reception desk.

“Okay,” Petra breathed. There was a thrill in her voice. Magic was as new to her as it was to Anouk. “Whisper the opening spell. Now!”

Petra whispered the final word of the spell in English and Anouk whispered it in French, and they twisted the knobs at the exact same time and threw open the doors. A blast of sou

nd and light erupted from the other side. In a city that had been stopped in time, Anouk had gotten used to perpetual silence, but now the sounds of music and footsteps and voices assailed her ears and she staggered back, pressing a hand to her chest.

A figure came hurtling through the doorway fast as a blur; it crashed into Anouk and toppled them both to the threadbare old rug. Anouk caught sight of bright yellow braids and garish makeup. Grinning, December flashed her golden teeth.

“Anouk! Hello again!”

December was lying on top of Anouk, her knees digging into Anouk’s stomach, still wearing her clunky vintage roller skates. The wheels slowed to a stop, and December frowned. “Sorry. Still getting the hang of these things. I accidentally enchanted them to my feet and now I can’t get them off.” December pushed herself to her feet, wobbling precariously, hands extended for balance. She started wheeling backwards and nearly crashed into a chair before Hunter Black caught her.

More figures crossed into the lobby through the enchanted doorway. Queen Violante and her sisters Carlotta and Ludovica; the Minaret Court Marques and Marquesa, Prince Sorin of the Barren Court, Duke Karolinge with Saint perched on his shoulder; and behind them a motley group of Goblins who were practically skipping as they returned to London. A Goblin boy with brown skin and golden dreadlocks petted the paisley wallpaper fondly. Two Goblin girls in short skirts poured themselves gin from the bar. A third grabbed the bottle and cried in joy at the label written in English.

The last Royal to come through the doorway was dressed in a frost-gray suit, though he’d left his crown behind. He leaned over Anouk, who was still on her back on the ground, massaging her bruised rib cage. His hair was perfect. His eyes devastatingly blue-gray. His lips dusted with fine white powder that made her think of sugar and dark, private dessert pantries. Her pulse throbbed to life.

He offered her a hand up. His wedding ring gleamed. “Anouk.”

“Oof. Rennar.” She clasped his hand, and as he pulled her to her feet, he gave a half smile down at her ring. Then he raised an eyebrow. “Do you know that you have roller-skate grease on your socks?”

She looked down at the black marks streaking her clothes, then shrugged. “Welcome to London.”

Chapter 39

Rennar was Anouk’s husband now—?that was the wildest part. The thought made her laugh deliriously, which earned her a disdainful look from the Royals. She stopped laughing. Dirty socks be damned. She was a princess now and they were bound to her commands.

“Everyone out,” she ordered. “Into Piccadilly Circus. We have work to do.”

They obeyed, though not without a few lingering looks of contempt, and gathered in the streets that surrounded Piccadilly Circus. Hours had passed, but the moons hadn’t moved an inch. Dawn would never come unless they vanquished the Noirceur.

The Royals’ arrogant looks wavered as they took in the frozen city. The Snow Children’s spell was a level of magic beyond even their own. The Goblins, however, were less perturbed. Twin Goblin girls stuck their tongues out to catch snowflakes. A Goblin girl with rose tattoos down her arms ran up to a red telephone booth and hugged it. The rest viewed their city with stars in their eyes, even if it was plunged in the middle of a frozen chaos.