Grim Lovelies (Grim Lovelies 1)

“Goodness, no.”

Anouk’s lips parted, ready to insist that he at least try.

“But you can,” he added.

She wrinkled her nose in surprise.

“This spell is, above all, exceptional in its simplicity. You see, it’s much easier to turn a human into a toad than the other way around. Even someone with only a basic mastery of magic, such as yourself, could manage the pronunciation. But the ingredients—?ah, there’s the catch.” He pointed to a notation on the spell. “The beastie spell requires no more than a thimbleful of blood, but the contra-beastie spell calls for six pints. That’s far more than any Goblin or even Royal could consume. The vitae echo would ravage us. But you, dearie, could guzzle that much and more.”

This took all of them by surprise. Finally Cricket broke the silence and said, “I hope you’re proposing to turn Viggo into a toad.”

“Not Viggo. Mada Zola.” Anouk swept aside the bones from the sarcophagus and traced a map in the grime on top. “The Royals haven’t yet lifted Mada Zola’s banishment. She’s still trapped in her estate. If the Goblins will help us lay siege to Château des Mille Fleurs and capture Mada Zola, we can force her to perform the beastie spell on us before midnight tomorrow under threat of casting the contra-spell on her.”

“You want to return to Montélimar?” Beau sounded uncertain.

“It’s our strongest chance, and besides, Viggo doesn’t know about it so he won’t be able to warn her of our plan. Tenpenny, can we still count on the Goblins to fight for us?”

“A deal is a deal, dearie.”

Cricket leaned in the doorway, looking out over the sleeping masses with a frown. “They don’t look like much of an army.”

Tenpenny scoffed, affronted. “I’ll have you know that Goblins have incredible stamina.” But then he too evaluated the drunken sprawl of sleeping revelers, and his confidence waned. “Er, cappuccino is a wonder for shaking off fatigue. They’ll be fine.”

“Once again, we’re screwed,” Cricket muttered.

“You keep saying that,” Beau countered. “But we’ve gotten out of every narrow scrape. Breaking into Castle Ides. Stealing the spell. Avoiding the crows. Fighting off the Royals. And we’re still alive.”

“True, except for the fact that, currently, we’re actually dead.” She kicked at the empty vial of Tenpenny’s heart-stopping elixir.

Luc rubbed the sides of his head like he was still caught in some freakish other reality. “Wait, the four of us and some Goblins are going to attack Château des Mille Fleurs?” He let out a long puff of air. “Merde. Is it too late to banish me to the oubliette again?”

Anouk smacked him on the arm. “Mada Zola’s witch’s girl, Petra, went behind her mistress’s back to help us. She might help us again. That could make all the difference.”

Luc turned to Tenpenny. “If we’re doing this crazy thing, let’s at least be smart about it. Where’s your scryboard? We can listen in on anything Zola and Rennar might be scheming.”

Tenpenny cleared his throat. “Scryboard? Never heard of it. Sounds like something illegal.” When Anouk gave the Goblin a hard look, he conceded with an eyeroll. He went to the hallway and called for December, who returned with the parrot on her shoulder.

“December, show them the scryboard.”

December led them through another graffiti-lined tunnel to a low wooden door. Anouk ducked inside. No bones here, but the smell of something rotting was thick, and she held a hand against her nose. She didn’t recognize the scryboard until she heard its whispers. Or, rather, its hissing. There were no glistening black feathers here. No ropy, vein-like wires. Instead of being made from organic materials taken from crows, this scryboard was made from insect components. A hard carapace covered the whole contraption. She eyed it uncertainly only to realize it was eyeing her back with a fractured, eight-sided insect eye emerging from one side. Luc sat on the stool, cupping a scaly set of headphones over his ears. She took a step backward and bumped into Beau.

He motioned her into the corner, where they had some privacy. He looked nearly sick with guilt. “You’re angry about December.”

Her mind went back to the dark Métro tunnel and pink lipstick on two sets of lips. “I hope you don’t need magic to tell you that.”

“I was jealous about Viggo and Rennar, and she said I had nice hands and you know I’m vain about my hands and . . . and it was stupid. So stupid.”

A sigh escaped Anouk’s lips. “It doesn’t matter right now. We don’t have time to argue over smeared lipstick when our lives are running out.” She started to turn away, but he stopped her.

“I should have told you about Luc.”

Yes. That was the real problem, wasn’t it? She looked away before he could see the still-fresh sting in her eyes.

“I’d do anything to keep you from being hurt,” he insisted. “You loved Luc and Mada Vittora more than you loved anyone else. How could I tell you that one had killed the other?”

“I’m not a bird with broken wings, Beau. I don’t need to be sheltered.”

“I was wrong. You weren’t naive then, and you certainly aren’t now. Through all this darkness, you’ve held on to love and hope, and that’s true strength.”