Grim Lovelies (Grim Lovelies 1)
The kettle started whistling. Cricket ran a hand over her face. In the sunlight coming through the windows, her brown skin glowed the color of tea leaves. She jerked the screaming kettle off the stove.
“Murdered? And you don’t know who did it?”
Beau shook his head.
Cricket took a step forward, her face suddenly fierce. “And our pelts?”
“In the car.”
Relief unwound over her strained face, and Cricket sank into the desk chair. The neon lights on her computer played over her features like something Anouk had read about once. The lights in the north? No. The northern lights. Cricket drew in a long breath. She grabbed a cup and poured herself some tea, hands shaking so badly that water sloshed onto the desk.
Anouk quietly wiped away the drops with her dress cuff.
Cricket set down the cup. “Good riddance.”
Anouk gasped. “Cricket!”
Cricket gave her a hard look. Her hands were steady now, more characteristic of the thief Anouk knew. She touched the dangling gold earring in her right ear, the only adornment she allowed herself. “You didn’t know her like we did. You were her pet, her favorite. It’s better that she’s dead. If Luc were here, he’d say the same thing. You know he would.”
Anouk wrung her hands. She went to the windows, looked at the birds on the opposite roof. Crows, but regular ones. If she could go back in time to the night before, would she warn her mistress?
“A flock of scrying crows followed us,” Beau said. “When Hunter Black and Viggo find her body, they’ll come hunting for us.”
“When did it happen?” Cricket asked.
“Late last night. Midnight.”
Cricket glanced at the black-cat clock. “Then we have just over two and a half days.”
Anouk frowned. “For what?”
“To find another master.” Cricket lean
ed forward, tenting her fingers. “Luc explained it to me in case something like this ever happened: A witch’s soul lasts three days after she dies. Once her soul is gone, all her enchantments vanish too.” She looked from one to the other as though she wasn’t certain they understood. “That means if we don’t find another witch to perform the spell again, then by Saturday at midnight . . .”
“We’ll turn back to animals,” Beau whispered.
Anouk flinched.
Cricket nodded. “It’s good that you thought to take the pelts. Beasties’ lives are tied to their pelts. If someone burned them, we’d go up in flames. If they were put through a woodchipper, well . . .” She pantomimed being shredded into tiny little bits.
Beau made a face.
“And anyway, if we have any hope of staying human,” Cricket continued, “we’ll need those pelts to uphold the spell. We just have to find another witch who can do it, fast. Merde, I wish Luc were here.”
Beau cleared his throat, still looking slightly green. “There’s the Trafalgar Witch. Vittora’s called on her for help before.”
Cricket shook her head. “She’s in England. We’d be stopped at the border.” She blew on her tea. “Most witches are out of the question; too far away or too dangerous. Mada Ourselle isn’t a complete terror. She might help . . . but she has close ties to the Royals.”
“Then we’ll need to try something else,” Beau said. “Not a witch. In the bird market near Sainte-Chapelle, there’s a Pretty broker who has connections to disgraced Royals, an old baroness who still has a bit of magic—”
“No Royals. Too risky.”
“Well, what do you suggest? That we go to Viggo for help?”
Cricket shot him a dirty look as she drummed her short nails on the mug. Click-click-click. She let out a loud sigh. “You say the pelts are in the car?”
Beau nodded.