Grim Lovelies (Grim Lovelies 1)

Anouk whirled back toward the boardroom. Two Goblins in velvet armchairs were looking up now, teacups poised mid-sip. Even the Goblin hanging upside down from the chandelier watched them. A pair of Goblins leaning over a table glanced up; each wore a monocle, making one eye look twice as big as the other. Their pointed ears wiggled slightly. With a start, Anouk realized they were sorting dead insects: grasshoppers, flies, spiders, and moths, like the ones the Goblin with the butterfly net was trying to catch. They were filling glass jars with their wings. Anouk looked down at her feet. A spider inched toward her oxford shoe. She used her broom to nudge it away.

Abruptly, the music stopped.

A particularly colorful Goblin appeared seemingly out of nowhere, grinning. He was short, with light brown skin that had a golden undertone and eyes that seemed too big, and he was wearing a maroon three-piece suit with a blue cravat. Fastened to his belt loop were at least a dozen brass pocket-watch chains attached to various objects tucked in pockets.

He sipped from a teacup that was also secured by a chain to his belt. He had a broken-heart tattoo on the back of his hand, and Anouk thought she remembered seeing that somewhere before.

“Lost, are we?”

He had a British accent, a diabolical grin, and a pet rat perched on his shoulder.

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, clutching her broom. “We meant to get out at the penthouse.”

He took another slow sip of tea, mouth curled in a knowing smile. “A witch’s boy, an assassin, and a pair of maids get out at the wrong floor.” Another sip. “That’s the start to a good joke, don’t you think? Or maybe a bad one.”

Behind him, the Goblin hanging upside down from the chandelier let out a high-pitched giggle.

“We were . . . requested,” Anouk sputtered, thinking fast. “A . . . big mess. Something about an accident in the kitchen. Soup everywhere. Lots of extra hands needed to clean it up.”

“A soup explosion! My, how dire.”

Anouk gripped the broom tighter. One word from the Goblins could sound the alarm. Their plans could be ruined. Cricket’s hands were flexing; she was ready to reach for her knives if needed.

“Perhaps I may be of assistance.” The Goblin drained his teacup, then produced another object from his pocket that was also fastened by a chain to his vest.

A golden key.

The Goblin leaned into the elevator, slipped his key in an upper slot, twisted it, and pressed the button for the penthouse. He replaced the key in one of his many pockets. The doors began to close, and Anouk felt a flutter of uncertain relief—?had it really been that easy?—?until the doors were nearly shut and the Goblin in the blue cravat shot out a hand to hold them open.

He pressed his face to the narrow crack.

“The name’s Tenpenny, by the way. I run the London Room. Stop by on your way out. We’re having a party. All are invited.”

A fly landed on Tenpenny’s cheek and his bulging eyes slid to it. He smiled, his makeup giving him a somewhat maniacal look, and petted the rat on his shoulder. He stepped back and offered them a little toodle-oo wave as the doors shut.

The elevator jerked and then started to rise.

Cricket let out a breath. “Is it just me, or did that feel too easy? Like, they’re-sounding-the-alarm-right-now too easy?” She shuddered like she’d walked through a cobweb.

It wasn’t just Cricket. And something about the Goblin had seemed familiar—?had he visited the townhouse? Anouk ran a hand over her hair and the veil, straightened her dress, tried to look normal.

“Don’t worry, my love,” Viggo breathed in her ear. “Goblins don’t care for inserting themselves in politics.” He tried to put his arms around her, but she swatted him away.

“Cricket, what’s the time looking like?”

“Nine hours till midnight.”

“And seven hours

to drive back to Montélimar. We have to hurry. I don’t trust that those Goblins aren’t going to give us away.”

In that moment, she yearned for the simplicity of Mada Zola’s estate. Rich soil and lavender. The hallways in need of a good dusting. She smiled to herself, thinking of it. All those open country roads for Beau to race his cars on, and endless shiny objects for Cricket to pilfer, and Luc—?when they found him—?such a beautiful garden for Luc to work in. And for her? She wanted all of it. The kitchen, where she could cook whatever she wanted, or not cook at all. The library, with its books. The fields, where she could spend all day in the sun, all night beneath the stars.

Her hands were sweating on the broom.

“My love,” Viggo purred in her ear. “Before we reach the top, I must declare that I love you as the grass loves rain, as the birds love the wind—”

“Can it, Viggo!”