I turned toward the roof without another word, forcing myself to unclench my fists. To breathe.

It wasn’t Davide or Geoffrey’s fault. They weren’t trained to handle witches. And yet—perhaps they could explain their incompetence to the Archbishop. Perhaps they could accept the punishment. The shame. Another witch free. Another witch left to plague the innocent people of Belterra. To plague Célie.

Through a haze of red, I trained my eyes on the thief.

Lou.

She would tell me where the witch went. I would force the information from her, no matter what it took. I would fix this.

Even with her injured hand, she still managed to outclimb the Chasseurs. She reached the roofline before the others had even cleared the first story. “Spread out!” I roared to the constabulary. They scattered at my command. “She has to come down somewhere! That tree—cover it! And the drainpipes! Find anything she could use to make an escape!”

I waited, pacing and seething, as my brethren scaled steadily higher. Their voices drifted down to me. Threatening her. Good. She consorted with witches. She deserved to fear us.

“Any sign?” I called to the constabulary.

“Not here, Captain!”

“Not here either!”

“None, sir!”

I bit back an impatient growl. Finally—after what seemed an eternity—Jean Luc hoisted himself over the rooftop after her. Three of my brethren followed. I waited. And waited.

And waited.

Davide shouted behind me, and I whirled to see the bound thief halfway to the road. He’d somehow worked the ropes from his feet. Though the constables sprinted toward him, they’d spread themselves too far across the yard on my orders. Biting back a curse, I leapt after him, but Jean Luc’s shout made me falter.

“She’s not here!” He appeared back at the roofline, chest heaving. Even from a distance, I could see the anger in his eyes. It matched my own. “She’s gone!”

With a snarl of frustration, I scanned the street for the man.

But he too had disappeared.

Angelica’s Ring

Lou

I could still hear the Chasseurs as I sprinted down the street, staring at the place where my feet—and my legs and my body—should’ve been. They couldn’t understand where I’d gone. I hardly understood it myself.

One second, I’d been trapped on the roof, and the next, Angelica’s Ring had burned hot on my finger. Of course. In my panic, I’d forgotten what the ring could do. Without stopping to think, I’d slid the ring off my finger and stuck it in my mouth.

My body had vanished.

Climbing up the townhouse with an audience and two broken fingers had been difficult. Climbing down with an audience, two broken fingers, and a ring clenched between my teeth—invisible—had been almost impossible. Twice I’d almost swallowed the thing, and once I’d been certain a Chasseur heard me when I torqued my broken fingers.

Still, I’d done it.

If the Chasseurs hadn’t thought I was a witch before—if by some miracle, the guards hadn’t squealed—they certainly suspected it now. I’d need to be careful. The copper-haired Chass knew my face, and thanks to Bas’s idiocy, he also knew my name. He would search for me.

Others far more dangerous might hear and begin searching for me too.

When I was far enough away to feel relatively safe, I spat the ring from my mouth. My body immediately reappeared as I slid it back on my finger.

“Neat trick,” Coco mused.

I whirled at the sound of her voice. She leaned against the dirty brick of the alleyway, eyebrow arched, and nodded to the ring. “I see you found Tremblay’s vault.” When I glanced toward the street, hesitating, she laughed. “Don’t worry. Our muscled blue friends are currently tearing Tremblay’s townhouse apart brick by brick. They’re far too busy looking for you to actually find you.”

I chuckled but stopped quickly, looking back at the ring with awe. “I can’t believe we actually found it. The witches would riot if they knew I had it.”

Coco followed my gaze, brows furrowing slightly. “I know what the ring can do, but you’ve never told me why your kin revere it. Surely there are other objects more—I don’t know—powerful?”

“This is Angelica’s Ring.”

She stared at me blankly.

“You’re a witch.” I returned her befuddled stare. “You haven’t heard the story of Angelica?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m a red, in case you’d forgotten. Forgive me for not learning your cultic superstitions. Was she a relative of yours or something?”

“Well, yes,” I said impatiently. “But that’s not the point. She was really just a lonely witch who fell in love with a knight.”

“Sounds dashing.”

“He was. He gave her this ring as a promise of marriage . . . then he died. Angelica was so devastated that her tears flooded the land and created a new sea. L’Eau Mélancolique, they called it.”

“The Wistful Waters.” Coco lifted my hand, scorn giving way to grudging admiration as she examined the ring. I slid it off my finger and held it out to her in my palm. She didn’t take it. “What a beautiful, terrible name.”

I nodded grimly. “It’s a beautiful, terrible place. When Angelica had cried all her tears, she threw the ring into the waters and herself after it. She drowned. When the ring resurfaced, it was infused with all sorts of magic—”

Raucous voices sounded from the street, and I stopped talking abruptly. A group of men passed by, singing a pub song loudly and off-key. We shrank farther into the shadows.

When their voices faded, I relaxed. “How did you escape?”

“Through a window.” At my expectant stare, she grinned. “The captain and his minions were too concerned with you to notice me.”

“Well, then.” I pursed my lips and leaned against the wall beside her. “I suppose you’re welcome. How did you manage to find me?”

She lifted her sleeve. A web of scars marred her arms and wrists, and a fresh cut down her forearm still oozed. A mark for every bit of magic she’d ever done. From the little Coco had taught me about Dames Rouges, I knew their blood was a powerful ingredient in most enchantments, but I didn’t understand it. Unlike Dames Blanches, they weren’t bound to any laws or rules. Their magic didn’t demand balance. It could be wild, unpredictable . . . and some of my kin even called it dangerous.

But I’d seen what the Dames Blanches themselves could do. Filthy hypocrites.

Coco arched a brow at my appraisal and rubbed some blood between her fingers. “Do you really want to know?”

“I think I can guess.” I sighed and slid down the wall to sit on the street, closing my eyes.

She joined me, her leg resting companionably against my own. After a few seconds of silence, she nudged me with her knee, and I forced an eye open. Hers were unnaturally serious. “The constabulary saw me, Lou.”

“What?” I lurched forward, eyes fully open now. “How?”

She shrugged. “I waited around to make sure you escaped. I was lucky it was the constabulary, really. They nearly pissed down their legs when they realized I was a witch. Made climbing out the window easier.”