Midnight Beauties (Grim Lovelies 2)

Little Beau hunkered down against her back, not moving a muscle, as though he knew how precariously he was tied to her. His nose was tucked into the fold of her jacket collar. How high up were they now? Ten feet? Warm, flickering light came from the other side of the window. She pictured herself and Beau curled up by a hearth, drinking hot tea. It gave her the strength to climb the rest of the way, and, muscles burning, she hauled them both onto the wide window ledge. She paused to catch her breath. Little Beau whined softly. From somewhere, she caught a whiff of fresh bread, and her stomach ached.

She twisted the window latch, but it didn’t give. Frozen shut. “Zut alors!”

She gritted her teeth and shoved again. Something squeaked. Then groaned. Without warning, the latch gave way and the window swung inward. Before she knew it, she was falling forward. No! She tried to grab the vine, but it slipped out of her grasp. With Beau still strapped to her back, she plunged down into the abbey. A fifteen-foot fall. She glimpsed church-style lanterns hanging from the ceiling. A cavernous room. A fire roaring in an enormous fireplace at the far end. And then—?

“Ow!” She smacked into the floor hard enough to rattle her bones. Little Beau scrambled, his limbs tangled in the makeshift fur-coat sling. His paw collided with her head. She clamped a hand over her temple. Every one of her muscles screamed. If she hadn’t broken anything, it would be a miracle.

She cursed and rubbed her backside.

Little Beau managed to get himself onto all fours. She hoped he hadn’t broken anything either.

Slowly, she became aware of their company.

They’d fallen into what appeared to be a great hall, though, judging by the stained-glass window and high ceilings, it could once have been the nave of a church. There were no pews or altars or pulpits now. There was only the massive fire roaring at the far end and two long wooden tables flanking it.

A few girls sat at either table, each curled over a bowl of something steaming, a glass of water, and a small hunk of bread. All their eyes were on her. The girls seemed just as surprised to see Anouk falling through their window as Anouk was to see them.

“I’ve . . . come to . . . study under . . . Duke Karolinge.” Her teeth were chattering so hard, she wasn’t sure they could understand her. “I’m sorry about . . . the window. The . . . door was locked.”

A girl who looked to be around twenty years old, with black skin and hair cropped close to her scalp, stood from the bench. Like all of the girls, she was wearing a plain gray muslin dress with a white smock apron and a rope belt.

“That’s because we locked it.” She had a British accent. Her tone was blunt but not without kindness. “We didn’t let you in for a reason. The Duke isn’t taking new acolytes.” Well, merde.

Anouk’s muscles gave out. She fell back to the floor and stared at the ceiling. She’d come all this way. Her friends were depending on her. “He’ll make an exception for me.”

One of the other girls snorted. “Not likely.”

Anouk took a deep breath.

Then she sat up and prepared to do whatever it took to remain within those four walls.

Chapter 7

Anouk pushed up to her feet, wincing as her joints popped, and attempted to disentangle herself from the makeshift sling she’d fashioned out of Mada Vittora’s fur coat. Her pants were torn. Her hair was undone and snarled. Her legs were soaked in snow up to her knees. The only thing about her that seemed in one piece was the Faustine jacket. She made an attempt to brush snow and dirt off herself, but as usual, it was useless.

Now that her eyes had adjusted, she saw that behind the grand fireplace were three sets of curving staircases, two that led to an upper level and one that plunged downward into darkness. The stone floor was slick as ice, polished smooth from centuries of footsteps, and there were uneven marks where she assumed pews had once stood.

There were five girls in all. The tall black girl with the British accent, who looked like the oldest. At her table there was a girl with a storm cloud of black hair down to her waist and eyebrows in desperate need of tweezing, and a pretty girl with glasses who peered at Anouk curiously. At the other table were two girls who looked to be at least five years apart in age, but, judging by their stocky frames and their identical shade of red hair pulled back into the same severe bun, they must have been sisters.

Anouk gazed at the fire longingly. What she wouldn’t give to s

trip out of her soaked clothes, kick off her frozen boots, wrap herself in a blanket, and warm herself and Little Beau by the flames.

The girl with the storm cloud of black hair stood, circled Anouk with a suspicious scowl, and then peered up at the stained-glass window. The other girls didn’t move.

The older of the sisters grinned and said in a German accent, “You’d better turn around and leave, whoever you are.”

The younger sister frowned at the puddle of melting ice beneath Anouk’s feet. “You’ll have a better chance with the cold things out there than the warm things in here.”

The dark-haired girl loomed close to Anouk, like a shadow come to life. She reeked of sweat and onions. She narrowed her eyes and grunted.

Anouk moved a few feet away from the girl. “We’ll freeze if we go back out there.”

“Heida is right—?you’d better leave,” the British girl said regretfully. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about this place, but it isn’t some school for magic. It’s a graveyard for the soon-to-be departed.”

The storm-cloud girl dropped to her hands and knees and began inspecting Anouk’s fur coat, which was crumpled on the floor. She ran the strands between her fingers. Little Beau let out a low growl, and the girl bared her teeth and growled back. She picked up a piece of vine and sniffed the leaf.

“Magic!” She pointed an accusing finger at Anouk.