Grim Lovelies (Grim Lovelies 1)

Together they ran across the final exposed stretch of garden between the potting shed and the château. White-hot streaks lit up the grounds like summer lightning. Fountains exploded in spectacular sprays of rubble that clattered on their backs, and for a second she glanced at the château and saw them there, lesser counts and duchesses and baronesses, each one framed in a window, proud and arrogant, like their portraits.

“Anouk, watch out!”

Beau shoved her with his good shoulder as another flash burned the place she’d been a half a second ago. She tumbled to the grass and crawled forward with her heart in her throat until she felt the cool press of stone at her back, the air once more in her lungs.

“There.” She indicated a row of garage doors. “That’s it.”

Beau was already standing on tiptoe and shading his eyes to peer through a window. He made a soft exclamation. “Ils sont si belle.”

“You’re talking about the cars?”

“Well, and you, cabbage.”

He pushed open the window and then made a stirrup of his hands to help her up. She climbed ungracefully through on her stomach, swung a leg over, and dropped down into the garage. Beau climbed in behind her, dusting off his hands.

“Which one?” she asked.

In the faint light from the few windows, the cars were like shadowy things from a dream world. His eyes devoured car after car as he ran between them, reverently touching their hoods. “The Aston Martin . . . no, the Bentley . . . mon Dieu, is that a Huracán?”

She dragged him to the first car.

“Right,” he said. “The Aston Martin it is.”

Mercifully, it was unlocked. Beau slid into the driver’s seat and, with his good arm, searched for the keys behind the visors. In the passenger side, Anouk checked the glove box.

Beau cursed. “No keys.”

“They have to be here somewhere.” Anouk rifled again through the glove box, pulling out crumpled receipts and unpaid speeding tickets, and looked under her seat but found only a muddy pair of combat boots.

A knock at the passenger-side window made them both jump.

Petra.

In the dim light, her face looked spectral on the other side of the glass. She dangled a set of silver keys.

Anouk and Beau exchanged a look.

“She could still have the gun,” Anouk whispered.

“I can hear you,” Petra said, then tapped on the glass again. “These are old ’68 pane windows. The glass is not exactly soundproof.”

With a held breath, Anouk cranked down the window. “Petra,” she said. “If I can just explain—”

“Don’t bother.” Petra tossed the keys into Anouk’s lap. She did it so simply, so effortlessly, that Anouk was left with blankness on her tongue. She’d expected to spend precious minutes they didn’t have making desperate bargains, but—?

“Take the N Seven along the Rhône,” Petra said. “Traffic’s awful this time of day on the E Fifteen.”

Anouk’s thoughts crashed back to her, and she sputtered, “Just like that?”

Petra leaned on the open car window, her eyes hooded. “You put me in a tough place, Anouk. You wanted me to betray my mother for a group of beasties I barely knew. But she’s gone now and it’s Rennar’s fault.”

Anouk held up the keys. “So you’re helping us escape to get back at Rennar?”

Petra didn’t deny it. There was a shadow behind her eyes—?she’d lost the person she’d loved most in the world, a particular pain that Anouk knew well. “Revenge is as good a reason as any. And like I said, I like you.” She jerked her chin at Beau as Anouk handed him the keys. “Put it in fifth gear on the highway. Purrs like a kitten.”

She let go of the car and started to go, but Anouk grabbed her wrist. “Wait. The others.”

Petra looked away sharply, and for a second, Anouk saw her mask fall, revealing a well of deep emotion there. “Yeah. I’ve seen the cages.”