“Let’s go somewhere,” Lou announced.
I looked up from my Bible. She’d visited the infirmary again this morning. Since returning from the foul place, she’d done nothing but sit on the bed and stare at empty air. But her eyes hadn’t been idle. No, they flicked back and forth as if watching something, her lips moving imperceptibly. Her fingers twitching.
Though I didn’t say anything, I feared the patients were beginning to rub off on her. One patient in particular, a Monsieur Bernard, worried me. A few days ago, Father Orville had pulled me aside to inform me the man was kept under constant sedation—and chained—to prevent suicide. Father Orville seemed to think Lou would suffer a shock when the inevitable happened.
Perhaps time away would do us both good.
I set aside my Bible. “Where do you want to go?”
“I want a sticky bun. Do you remember the patisserie where we first met? The one in East End? I used to go there all the time before, well . . . all of this.” She waved a hand between us.
I eyed her warily. “Do you promise to behave yourself?”
“Of course not. That would ruin the fun.” She hopped down from the bed. Fetched her cloak from the rack. “Are you coming or not?”
A sparkle lit her eyes that I hadn’t seen since the theater. Before the burning. Before, well . . . all of this. I eyed her carefully, searching for any sign of the woman I’d known the past week. Though her fever had abated quickly, her spirits hadn’t. It’d been like she was balancing on the tip of a knife—one wrong move, and she’d impale someone. Likely me.
Or herself.
But today she seemed different. Perhaps she’d turned a corner. “Are you . . . feeling better?” I asked, hesitant.
She stilled in tying her cloak. “Maybe.”
Against my better judgment, I nodded and reached for my own coat—only to have her snatch it out of reach.
“No.” She wagged a finger in front of my nose. “I’d like to spend the day with Reid, not the Chasseur.”
Reid.
I still hadn’t grown used to her saying my name. Every time she did, an absurd little thrill shot through me. This time was no different. I cleared my throat and crossed my arms, trying and failing to remain impassive. “They’re the same person.”
She grimaced and held the door open for me. “We’ll see about that. Shall we?”
It was a blustery day. Icy. Unforgiving. Bits of the last snowfall clung to the edge of the streets, where footsteps had turned it slushy and brown. I stuffed my hands into my trouser pockets. Blinked irritably into the brilliant afternoon sunshine. “It’s freezing out here.”
Lou turned her face into the wind with a grin. Closed her eyes and extended her arms, the tip of her nose already red. “The cold stifles the reek of fish. It’s wonderful.”
“That’s easy for you to stay. You have a cloak.”
She turned to me, grin widening. Pieces of her hair tore free of her hood and danced around her face. “I can swipe you one, if you’d like. There’s a clothier next door to the patisserie—”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Fine.” She burrowed deeper into the folds of her cloak. Charcoal. Stained. Fraying at the hem. “Suit yourself.”
Scowling, I trudged down the street after her. Every muscle in my body seized with cold, but I didn’t allow myself to shiver. To give Lou the satisfaction of—
“Oh, good lord,” she said, laughing. “This is painful to watch. Here.”
She threw one side of her cloak around me. It barely covered my shoulders, but I didn’t complain—especially when she nestled beneath my arm, drawing it tighter around us. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders in surprise. She laughed harder. “We look ridiculous.”
I glanced down at us, lips quirking. It was true. I was simply too big for the fabric, and we were forced to shuffle awkwardly in order to stay covered. We tried to synchronize our steps, but I soon stepped wrong—and we ended up in a tangled heap in the snow. A spectacle. Passersby eyed us in disapproval, but for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn’t care.
I laughed too.
By the time we burst into the patisserie, our cheeks and noses were red. Our throats ached from laughter. I stared at her as she swept the cloak from my shoulders. She smiled with her whole face. I’d never seen such a transformation. It was . . . infectious.
“Pan!” Lou flung her arms open. I followed her gaze to the familiar man behind the counter. Short. Heavyset. Bright, beady eyes that lit with excitement upon seeing Lou.
“Lucida! My darling child, where have you been?” He waddled around the counter as fast as his legs would carry him. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten your friend Pan! And”—his eyes widened comically, and his voice dropped to a whisper—“what have you done to your hair?”
Lou’s smile slipped, and her hand shot to her hair. Oblivious, Pan swept her into his arms, holding her a second longer than appropriate. Lou gave a reluctant chuckle. “I—I needed a change. Something darker for winter. Do you like it?”
“Of course, of course. But you’re much too thin, child, much too thin. Here, let us fatten you up with a bun.” He turned back toward the counter, but halted when he finally noticed me. He raised his brows. “And who is this?”
Lou grinned, devious. I braced myself for whatever scheme she’d concocted—praying it wasn’t something illegal. Knowing it probably was.
“Pan.” She took my arm and tugged me forward. “I’d like you to meet . . . Bas.”
Bas? I looked down at her in surprise.
“The Bas?” Pan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
She winked at me. “The one and only.”
Pan scowled. Then—incredibly—he rose to his toes and poked a finger in my chest. I frowned, bewildered, and made to step back, but the man followed. Poking me all the way.
“Now you listen to me, young man—yes, I’ve heard all about you! You don’t know how lucky you are to have this cherie on your arm. She is a pearl, and you will treat her as such from this point on, do you understand? If I hear differently, you will answer to me, and you do not want Pan as an enemy, oh no!”
I glared at Lou, indignant, but she only shook with silent laughter. Useless. I took a quick step backward. Too quick for the man to follow. “I— Yes, sir.”
“Very good.” He still eyed me shrewdly as he fetched two sticky buns from behind the counter. After handing one to Lou, he promptly threw the other in my face. I hastened to stop it from sliding down my shirt. “Here you are, my dear. You have to pay,” he added, glaring at me.
I wiped icing from my nose incredulously. The man was a lunatic. As was my wife.
When Pan retreated back behind the counter, I rounded on her. “Who is Lucida? And why did you tell him my name is—is—that?”
It took her several seconds to answer—to chew through the enormous glob of sticky bun in her mouth. Her cheeks bulged with it. To her credit, she managed to keep her mouth closed. To my credit, I did too.
She finally swallowed. Licked her fingers with a reverence that belonged in Mass. No—with a reverence that most definitely did not belong in Mass. I looked anywhere but at her tongue. “Mmm . . . so territorial, Chass.”
“Well?” I asked, unable to conceal my jealousy. “Why would you tell him I’m the thief?”
She grinned at me and continued licking her thumb. “If you must know, I use him to guilt Pan into giving me sweets. Just last month, the wicked, wicked Bas tricked me into elopement, only to leave me at the dock. Pan gave me free buns for a week.”
I forced myself to meet her eyes. “You’re deplorable.”
Her eyes glittered. She knew exactly what she was doing. “Yes, I am. Are you going to eat that?” She motioned to my plate. I shoved it toward her, and she bit into my bun with a soft sigh. “Like manna from Heaven.”
Surprise jolted through me. “I didn’t realize you were familiar with the Bible.”
“You probably don’t realize a lot of things about me, Chass.” She shrugged, stuffing half the bun into her mouth. “Besides, it’s the only book in the entire Tower except La Vie Éphémère, Shepherd, and Twelve Treatises of Occult Extermination—which is rubbish, by the way. I don’t recommend.”
I hardly heard a word she said. “Don’t call me that. My name is Reid.”
She arched a brow. “I thought they were the same person?”
I leaned back, studying her as she finished my bun. A bit of icing covered her lip. Her nose was still red from the cold, her hair wild and windblown. My little heathen. “You dislike the Chasseurs.”
She fixed me with a pointed stare. “And I tried so hard to hide it.”
I ignored her. “Why?”
“I don’t think you’re ready to hear that answer, Chass.”
“Fine. Why did you want to come out today?”
“Because it was time.”
I suppressed a sigh of frustration. “Meaning . . . ?”
“Meaning there’s a time for mourning, and there’s a time for moving on.”
It was always the same with her. She always hedged. As if sensing my thoughts, she crossed her arms, leaning onto the table. Expression inscrutable. “All right, then. Maybe you are ready to hear some answers. Let’s make a game of it, shall we? A game of questions to get to know each other.”
I leaned forward too. Returning the challenge. “Let’s.”
“Fine. What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
She rolled her eyes. “Boring. Mine’s gold—or turquoise. Or emerald.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Because you aren’t as stupid as you look.” I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. She didn’t give me time to decide. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”
“I—” Blood crept up my throat at the memory. I coughed and stared at her empty plate. “The Archbishop once caught me in a—er, compromising position. With a girl.”
“Oh my god!” She smacked her palms against the table, eyes widening. “You got caught having sex with Célie?”
The people at the next table swiveled to stare at us. I ducked my head, thankful—for the first time ever—I wasn’t wearing my uniform. I glared at her. “Shhh! Of course not. She kissed me, okay? It was just kissing!”
Lou frowned. “Just kissing? That’s no fun at all. Hardly something to be embarrassed about.”
But it had been something to be embarrassed about. The look on the Archbishop’s face—I forced the memory away quickly. “What’s yours, then? Did you strip naked and dance the bourrée?”
She snorted. “You wish. No—I sang at a festival when I was a child. Missed every note. Everyone laughed. I’m a shit singer.”
Our neighbors tsked in disapproval. I grimaced. “Yes, I know.”
“Right. Biggest pet peeve?”
“Swearing.”
“Killjoys.” She grinned. “Favorite food?”
“Venison.”
She pointed to her empty plate. “Sticky buns. Best friend?”
“Jean Luc. You?”
“Really?” Her grin faded, and she stared at me with what looked like—like pity. But that couldn’t be right. “That’s . . . unfortunate. Mine is Brie.”
Ignoring the jab—the look—I interrupted before she could ask another question. “Fatal flaw?”
She hesitated, dropping her gaze to the tabletop. Tracing a knot in the wood with her finger. “Selfishness.”
“Wrath. Greatest fear?”
This time she didn’t hesitate. “Death.”
I frowned and reached across the table to grasp her hand. “There’s nothing to fear in death, Lou.”
She looked up at me, blue-green eyes inscrutable. “There isn’t?”
“No. Not if you know where you’re going.”
She gave a grim laugh and dropped my hand. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“Lou—”
She stood and thrust a finger against my mouth to silence me. I blinked rapidly, trying not to fixate on the sweetness of her skin.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore.” She dropped her finger. “Let’s go see the Yule tree. I saw them putting it up earlier.”
“The Christmas tree,” I corrected automatically.
She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “We really ought to get you a coat first, though. Are you sure you don’t want me to steal one? It would be easy. I’ll even let you pick the color.”
“I’m not going to let you steal anything. I’ll buy a coat.” I accepted the bit of cloak she offered me, pulling it around us once more. “And I can buy you a new cloak as well.”
“Bas bought this for me!”
“Exactly.” I steered her down the street toward the clothier’s shop. “All the more reason to throw it in the trash where it belongs.”
An hour later, we emerged from the shop in our new garments. A navy wool coat with silver fastenings for me. A white cloak of crushed velvet for Lou. She’d protested when she saw the price, but I’d insisted. The white looked striking against her golden skin, and she’d left her hood down for once. Her dark hair blew loose in the breeze. Beautiful.
I hadn’t mentioned that last bit, though.
A dove cooed above us as we made our way to the village center, and snowflakes fell thick and fast. They caught in Lou’s hair, in her eyelashes. She winked at me, catching one on her tongue. Then another. And another. Soon she twirled in a circle trying to catch them all at once. People stared, but she didn’t care. I watched her with reluctant amusement.
“C’mon, Chass! Taste them! They’re divine!”
I shook my head, a grin tugging at my lips. The more people who muttered around us, the louder her voice became. The wilder her movements. The broader her smile. She reveled in their disapproval.
I shook my head, grin fading. “I can’t.”
She spun toward me and grabbed my hands. Her fingers were freezing—like ten tiny icicles. “It won’t kill you to live a little, you know.”
“I’m a Chasseur, Lou.” I spun her away from me once more with a pang of regret. “We don’t . . . frolic.”
Even if we wanted to.
“Have you ever tried it?”
“Of course not.”
“Maybe you should.”
“It’s getting late. Do you want to see the Christmas tree or not?”
She stuck her tongue out at me. “You’re no fun, Chass. A frolic in the snow might be just what you and the rest of those Chasseurs need. It’s a good way to get the stick out of your ass, I’m told.”
I glanced around nervously. Two passing shoppers skewered me with disapproving glares. I caught Lou’s hand as she spun back toward me. “Please behave.”
“Fine.” She reached up to brush the snowflakes from my hair, smoothing the furrow between my brows as she went. “I will refrain from using the word ass. Happy?”
“Lou!”
She cackled and grinned up at me. “You, sir, are too easy. Let’s go see this Yule tree.”
“Christmas tree.”
“Nuance. Shall we?” Though we no longer shared a cloak, she wrapped her arms around my waist. Pulling her closer with an exasperated shake of my head, I couldn’t stop the small smile that touched my lips.
Mademoiselle Perrot greeted us in the church foyer that evening, her face pinched. Troubled. She ignored me—as per usual—and walked straight to Lou.
“What is it?” Lou frowned and took her gloved hands. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Bernie,” Mademoiselle Perrot said quietly. Lou’s brows dipped as she scanned Mademoiselle Perrot’s face.
I clasped Lou’s shoulder. “Who’s Bernie?”
Mademoiselle Perrot didn’t even glance at me. But Lou did. “Monsieur Bernard.” Ah. The suicidal patient. She turned her attention back to Mademoiselle Perrot. “Is he—is he dead?”
Mademoiselle Perrot’s eyes gleamed too bright in the candlelight of the foyer. Too wet. Lined with unshed tears. I braced myself for the inevitable. “We don’t know. He’s gone.”
This caught my attention. I stepped forward. “What do you mean gone?”
She exhaled sharply through her nose, finally deigning to look at me. “Gone as in gone, Captain Diggory. Bed empty. Chains torn free. No sign of a body.”
“No sign of a body?” Lou’s eyes widened. “So—so that means he didn’t die by suicide!”
Mademoiselle Perrot shook her head. Grim. “It doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve dragged himself off somewhere and done it. Until we find the body, we don’t know.”
I had to agree with her. “Have my brethren been alerted?”
She pursed her lips. “Yes. They’re searching the church and Tower now. A unit has been deployed to scour the city as well.”
Good. The last thing we needed was someone stumbling upon a corpse riddled with magic. The people would panic. I nodded and squeezed Lou’s shoulder. “They’ll find him, Lou. One way or the other. You needn’t worry.”
Her face remained rigid. “But what if he’s dead?”
I spun her around to face me—much to Mademoiselle Perrot’s irritation. “Then he’s no longer in pain.” I leaned down to her ear, away from Mademoiselle Perrot’s keen eyes. Her hair tickled my lips. “He knew where he was going, Lou. He had nothing to fear.”
She leaned back to look at me. “I thought suicide was a mortal sin.”
I reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Only God can judge us. Only God can read the depths of our soul. And I think he understands the power of circumstance—of fear.” I dropped my hand and cleared my throat. Forced the words out before I could change my mind. “I think there are few absolutes in this world. Just because the Church believes Monsieur Bernard will suffer eternally for his mental illness . . . doesn’t mean he will.”
Something swelled in Lou’s eyes at my words. I didn’t recognize it at first. Didn’t recognize it until several hours later, as I drifted to sleep on my bedroom floor.
Hope. It had been hope.
