Anouk stared at him as though she hadn’t heard correctly. Days ago, she’d been on her hands and knees scrubbing biscuit crumbs from between kitchen tiles. Her dreams had felt big and impossible—walking in Paris arm in arm with someone, like the Pretties did, making a wish on the fountain. Dreams that felt childish now that the prince of the Shadow Royals was offering her an entire kingdom.
“A political arrangement,” he continued. “The same proposal I had discussed with Mada Zola, but of course, now I see how much more suitable a partner you would be. The ways of the Shadow Royals are ancient but effective; we will rule side by side, equals in all things. I’ll teach you to develop your magic. You’ll show me how not to misuse my own.”
For a second, he looked as though he wanted to take the beastie spell from her broom and fold it between their palms, the spell that would bind them forever. But he didn’t.
“Anouk, don’t listen to him!” Beau called from the other room. He was gripping the bars with white knuckles, but she couldn’t go to him while the prince blocked the doorway.
“No cages,” Prince Rennar said temptingly in a quiet voice meant only for her. “No banishments. No chains. Say the word, and the chauffeur is free.”
“And what of love?”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s up to you.”
She didn’t trust him. Of course she didn’t. Even if he wasn’t intentionally lying to her, his mind was as twisted by the vitae echo as the witches’ had been. He might say he wanted equality and mean it, but like shifting winds, he might just as easily change his mind.
And of course, there was Beau. The few kisses they’d shared might mean little to the young Pretties who gave out kisses like corner-store candy, but what they had was more delicate, more complex, like a chocolate soufflé: it was just as sweet, but you had to take your time and pay attention to it or it would collapse in a spectacular mess.
And yet, if she refused the prince, would she—all of them—end up animals forever?
Rennar was offering her a chance to save herself and her friends. Like in one of Luc’s fairy tales, where a girl made a deal with Death but found that the deal was riddled with catches. I thought there was nothing worse than dying, the girl said. I was wrong.
“Don’t do it, Anouk,” Beau called again.
From somewhere, a clock was ticking. How many hours did they have left? Six? Five?
A spider crawled across the floor. She couldn’t stop staring at it, trying to remember what life felt like when the only things that mattered were fear and hunger. She’d led them here. She’d convinced them to risk everything, and now the decision rested in her hands once more. Did she resist and risk returning to that? Or obey and live?
Rennar had his back to Beau; he didn’t see Beau reach between the bars for the spider. Anouk felt a flash of danger. What crazy idea had gotten into his head? His fist closed around the spider and he shut his eyes and popped it into his mouth.
She squeaked a gasp of surprise.
Beau made a face as he choked down the spider. He drew in a breath and began to whisper; though he was trying to be quiet, quiet for Beau was like a shout for her. Too loud, she thought. Rennar will hear.
“No,” she spat out. “No, that’s my answer. I’ll never agree to be yours.”
“Dorma, dorma . . .” Beau whispered behind them.
Too late, Prince Rennar heard the whisper. His midnight eyes flashed. A counter-spell was already on his lips, and in a fraction of a breath he would have silenced Beau, but Beau finished his first. Prince Rennar stumbled as though he’d been hit over the head. Beau’s whisper had been murmured and unclear, as though he’d spoken with rocks in his mouth. Rennar doubled over and fell on all fours. He was fighting to keep his head up, his eyes open.
He lost the battle to stay conscious and collapsed to the floor.
Anouk stared, unable to believe what she’d seen. “Beau, you did magic!”
“Well, poorly.”
Anouk dug through Rennar’s pockets for the key and unlocked the door to Beau’s cage. As soon as Beau was free, she threw her arms around him. He felt alive. Warm. Almost too warm, as though some sickness was inside him. Something inside her burned in response—maybe not a sickness after all. Maybe their true natures.
“We can’t trust the Royals,” he said. “But Rennar had a point. If we leave, we’ll be running away from the only magic handlers who can cast the beastie spell.”
The words of the Selentium Vox conjured themselves behind her teeth, and again, she longed to gather the right ingredients, to try.
She grabbed his shirt collar. “I’d rather have one last night as ourselves than a lifetime in cages. Let’s get out of here.”
She grabbed her broom, and they ran through the labyrinth of Rennar’s apartments. His bedroom. A bath with a golden tub. A personal library, the walls lined with books, real books, unmagical stories from the Pretty World. A jacket flung over a chair. A volume with a teaspoon used as a bookmark. Rumpled sheets on the unmade bed told her two things: Rennar didn’t let maids into his private chambers (she’d guessed this, given the spider), and his sleep was too troubled for dreams.
They reached an empty antechamber with doors on all sides. Anouk threw open a random door—a linen closet. The next—an exterior garden. Beau started from the opposite side. He opened a door and found a rickety staircase plunging downward.
“Here!” Anouk called. At last, she’d found a sight she recognized: the artifact hallway. They ran into it and Anouk stopped short at the row of empty benches outside the spell-library doors. “Viggo’s supposed to be here.”
The sound of approaching footsteps came from down the hall.
“Merde,” Beau cursed. “The other Royals are coming.”
It was too late to run for the elevator, so Anouk and Beau started to hustle the other way but stopped when a voice called out: “Wait! It’s us!”
They turned as Cricket and Hunter Black came around the corner with Viggo hobbling between them.
The five of them clasped hands, delighted at their small reunion, but then they heard more footsteps. The smile fell off Cricket’s face.
“About two dozen duchesses are right behind us,” she said.
“Let’s not make it easy for them.” Anouk raised the broom. She remembered how, in the salon, Hunter Black had used the broken shards of the teapot to deflect Countess Quine’s magic. And there were a lot of glass cases. She swung the broom against the nearest case.
“Smashy!” Cricket said. “I love it!”
She leaned hard on a case until it toppled over. Anouk slammed the broomstick into another case and then started on another as a fleet of Royals rounded the corner.
“Right,” Beau said. “Time to go, cabbage!”
Anouk pulled the beastie spell from the broomstick’s handle, put it in her pocket, and then tossed the broom aside. They ran. Anouk could hear the shushing sounds of whispers behind them, but she didn’t dare glance back. The clinking of broken glass meant the duchesses were close. They charged through the maze of hallways. Rain pelted the windows. Crows flapped their wings just beyond the glass, cawing and screeching.
“Which way?” Anouk cried.
Cricket held up her forearm as they ran, consulting the map, trying to figure out the calculations based on the shifting rooms. “Left. No, right!”
They skittered around a corner, dragging Viggo with them as fast as they could.
“There,” Anouk cried in relief. “The elevator’s just ahead!”
But she heard the start of a whisper behind her. Not just any whisper, but one she recognized. One to shut doors—permanently. And ahead, the wide-open doors of the elevator gave a sudden shudder and began to close. No. Her muscles burned. Her face felt hot. She ran as fast as she could, Cricket on her heels, Beau and Hunter Black practically carrying Viggo between them, but it was too late. The doors were closing.
Nearly shut.
They wouldn’t reach it in time.
“No!”
Then a shadow moved in the elevator. Someone was there. Inside. She couldn’t see who—but whoever it was, that person was their last chance.
“Hold the elevator!” she cried.
The doors continued to close. All that remained was four inches.
Three.
Two.
“Please! Hold the elevator!”
At the last possible second, a hand shot into the narrow space between the doors. A hand with black fingernail polish and a tattoo of a broken heart on the back. A bell dinged. The elevator doors paused. Then, slowly, they began to open again.
It was the Goblin, Tenpenny, his rat still on his shoulder. He grinned at them with his maniacal smile, but then his eyes shifted to the army of Royals pursuing them and he frowned. Anouk crashed against the half-opened elevator doors and shoved her way between them enough to slip in. Cricket pushed the doors open wide enough for Hunter Black and Beau to help Viggo hobble inside.
“Close it, close it!” Cricket yelled once they were all on board.
Anouk threw herself against the buttons, pounding on anything that would ding or light up, but the doors didn’t close. No lights came on. She felt panic clawing beneath her skin. The Royals were almost on them. Close enough that she could see the smeared blue powder on Countess Quine’s scowling lips.
Tenpenny inserted his master key in the controls. “Going down, I assume?”
“Yes! Dieu, yes!”
He twisted the key and at last the doors began to close.