Midnight Beauties (Grim Lovelies 2)

“We witness,” they replied.

“And acolytes, do you burn?”

“We burn,” they said in unison.

“It is time for the Lighting of the Fires.”

The cloisters grew very quiet. Even the wind stilled. The Royals straightened in their thrones, and all touched some powder from the vials around their necks to their lips, staining them vibrant hues of green and orange and blue. In unison they began whispering in voices that formed an eerie harmony, like a church hymn spoken in the Selentium Vox. There was strain in their faces. Despite the many times they’d performed this ceremony, it never became any easier. This wasn’t any simple fire-casting trick. Gradually the raked coals began to smoke. Sparks caught, shooting out from the beds. A red glow began deep in the coals. The fire burned hotter and hotter, throwing off waves of heat that made sweat break out on Anouk’s face even though she was twenty paces away.

The voices of the Royals rose. The Minaret Court stood, arms extended, then the Lunar Court, and then the Court of the Woods. Soon all of them were standing, chanting in a clash of loud whispers, and Anouk wanted to slam her hands over her ears. With a flash like lightning, the powder-like coals crystalized to glass. The red glow gave one final throb and then burst into a blue so bright, Anouk had to look away.

The Royals stopped chanting. Once more the courtyard was silent except for the crackling flames. One by one the Royals retook their seats and reached for a drink of something strong.

The wound in Anouk’s side throbbed. She pressed a hand to it, feeling suddenly uncertain. She turned quickly to Petra and grabbed her hand.

“If only one of us makes it,” she whispered fiercely, “promise that the one who survives helps the other beasties and the Goblins.”

There’d been a time when she’d considered Petra her enemy. But after those long nights in their dormitory bedroom dreaming of magic, she’d come to see herself in the witch’s girl, and vice versa. Two girls who wanted everything, and would do anything to get their hearts’ desires.

Something passed over Petra’s face. Anouk almost expected her to ask what was wrong, but instead, she said quietly, “I promise.”

The sky was darkening overhead, threatening snow. The smell of tea and wood smoke was heavy in the air. Duke Karolinge laid a hemlock bough over the glass coals, and the brilliant blue flames dulled into a blue so thin and faint it was nearly invisible, but Anouk knew that the most dangerous things weren’t always the brightest.

The bitter aroma of hemlock filled the courtyard.

“Esme,” Duke Karolinge announced. “You’re first.”

If Esme was afraid of the flames, she did not show it. With bare feet she stepped onto the soft boughs of hemlock, and then, clutching a pearl between her palms, lifted her chin high and walked straight into the flames. Her face contorted but she didn’t cry out. She clasped the pearl harder and took another step. The other girls watched from the line, riveted. The Royals observed with decidedly less interest. Esme took another step, wincing. The rippling flames distorted her figure so that Anouk couldn’t make out the expression on her face. The flames ate away at her gray robe. But her body wasn’t burning; there were no eyelashes caught on fire, no sizzling skin. And yet Esme clenched her jaw as though she were being ripped apart. Her mouth suddenly fell open as though she was screaming, but if she was, the flames ate the sound. The courtyard was deathly silent. She managed another step, though shaky, and then another. Five steps in all. Not even halfway.

She lost her footing and crumpled. Her robe was all but burned off her, exposing her soot-covered thighs and back. Jolie gasped. Anouk pressed a hand to her mouth. Esme was on all fours in the coals. The fire licked around her. She tried to stand but couldn’t. Her mouth was open in silent screams.

And then, with another blinding flash of light, she was gone.

Anouk stared in shock at the empty glass coals. There was nothing left of Esme, not even a pile of ash. Lise let out a wail, but she was quickly silenced by Heida. The Royals turned away, disappointed and bored, and Anouk caught one of them saying something about a bet.

Duke Karolinge stoically turned to the line of girls. “Heida. You are next.”

Heida—?like the rest of them—?looked utterly shaken. But she’d been at the Cottage the longest. And she was nothing if not determined. She clutched a lock of Lise’s hair between both palms and stepped barefoot on the hemlock boughs. She glanced back at Lise, gave her a curt nod, then stepped into the fire.

Anouk clenched her jaw against the ache in her side. She felt dizzy from the pain. Her vision was starting to blur. Across the flames, Rennar was watching her with an odd expression on his face, as though he sensed the hidden wound in her side.

Heida made it three steps into the fire before crumpling. Her mouth opened in silent screams. The flames ate away her robes and then tore apart her body in one awful flash, and fast as a blink, another girl vanished from existence.

Chapter 17

Esme. Heida. Marta.

All of them were gone after taking only a few steps into the flames. When Duke Karolinge called the fourth girl, Frederika, Anouk couldn’t watch. She didn’t relish watching anyone die, even someone as deranged as Frederika. She kept her eyes fixed on a clod of mud and thrust her hand in her robe pocket. When she’d changed clothes, she’d slipped Rennar’s mirror into it. It felt solid against her shaking fingers, the mother-of-pearl back soothing. The frozen grass crunched under Frederika’s feet as she approached the coals. All the girls tensed. Anouk kept her gaze low. Was Frederika clutching Anouk’s blood between her hands? Was she sorry for what she had done? Was Frederika screaming silently, like Marta had? Had she tripped and fallen, like Esme?

At Anouk’s side, Lise gasped. Anouk squeezed the mirror harder. When she looked up, the fires were empty. Another girl gone. She sucked in a breath, feeling like the air had been pulled out of her.

Beastie blood was nobody’s crux after all.

“Petra,” the Duke said calmly. “You are next to burn.”

Petra twisted toward Anouk with wide eyes full of sudden panic. The jar of lavender ash in her palm trembled wildly. In a rush she said, “I’m ash in the wind, Anouk, I know it.”

“Then don’t go,” Anouk whispered urgently. “You can forfeit. Wait until next year. Mada Zola wouldn’t have wanted you to take such a risk.”