Page 23 of The Scarlet Veil

Though it might be spiteful, I do not wish to see my parents. They...disapproveof my involvement with the Chasseurs, yet their disapproval feels like more than a difference of opinion; it feels desperate, like manacles clasped on my wrists, bricks tied to my feet, as I plunge headlong into the sea. Whenever I think of them—the last living members of my family—I’m suddenly unable to breathe, and these days, I already struggle to keep my head above water. No. I can’t afford to drown in my shame or hurt or anger tonight. I must focus on the task at hand.

If Jean Luc and the others suspect correctly, a killer stalks the streets of Cesarine.

Inhaling slowly, I allow the chill night air to wash over me,throughme, and freeze the tide of emotions in my chest. Then I place my palm flat against the trunk of the nearest Brindelle tree.

Though I expected cold, the bark nearly freezes my skin, and the color—once luminescent silver—has darkened to stark black. No. It’swithered. I crane my neck to peer into the bows of the tree. As if sensing my gaze, the wind picks up helpfully, and one of the branches cracks at its touch, dissipating into fine powder. On another gust of wind, the powder swirls toward my outstretched hand and coats my fingers. Its particles sparkle slightly in the dying sunlight.

My frown deepens. My mother petitioned the royal familymanytimes to destroy Brindelle Park throughout my childhood. Once, King Auguste even complied. The trees grew back overnight, however, taller and stronger than before—brighter—forcing the aristocrats of West End to accept their spindly neighbors. The Brindelle trees became a stubborn presence in West End. In the verykingdom.

What could have possibly caused them to... todie?

Another branch breaks, and my mind drifts back to the roses in the cemetery, to the way they shriveled upon the earth. Could the killer be responsible for them too? And for the trees? Though I didn’t smell witchcraft earlier, the rain might’ve washed away its scent. Jean Luc thought blood magic could be at play, and all the victimsdidbelong to magical species....

When a third branch snaps behind me, I whirl with a squeak.

“Easy.” Lou holds up her hands with an uncommonly serious expression. “It’s just me.”

“Louise.” Quickly, I wipe the black powder on my bodice, pretending I didn’t just clutch my heart. Pretending I didn’t just impersonate amouse. “Did you follow me here?”

Clad in a brilliant white cloak, she treads closer, extending a swath of crimson wool in my direction. Another cloak, I realize, at precisely the same second gooseflesh sweeps my limbs. I left my own cloak in the cemetery with Babette. “Coco sent this,” Lou says instead of answering my question. “She would’ve come with me, but she... she stopped by the morgue instead. She needed to say goodbye.” Pain flares brilliant and sharp in her eyes as she struggles to collect herself. “To Babette,” she clarifies after a moment. “They loved each other once, a long time ago. Before Coco met Beau.” She pauses again, waiting for me to speak, and this silence stretches longer and tauter than before. I make no move to accept the cloak. At last, she lowers it to her side with a sigh. “We thought you might be cold.”

Sniffing, I resist the urge to shiver. “You thought wrong.”

“Your lips are turning blue, Célie.”

“Do not claim to care, Louise.”

“Do you really want to do this?” Her turquoise eyes narrow as she stalks to my Brindelle tree, leaning against its trunk to peer up at me. A fourth branch crumbles. “You look like you’re about to collapse, and a sadistic killer could be marking us at this very second. If you want to have this discussion here and now, though—while we both freeze our delectable asses off—by all means, let’s discuss.”

Scoffing, I turn to glare at the river. “You’re La Dame des Sorcières. I very much doubt anyone who attacksyouwould survive to tell the tale, sadistic killer or not.”

“You’re angry with me.”

I wrap my arms around my torso in response. When the wind strokes my hair as if to comfort me, I repress another shiver. “Not just you,” I mutter, sticking my hand out for the cloak. The crimson wool hits my open palm immediately. Bundling it around my shoulders, I inhale the earthy sweetness of Coco’s scent. “I’m angry at everyone.”

“But you’re angrier at me,” Lou says shrewdly.

“No,” I lie.

She crosses her arms. “You’ve always been a shit liar, Célie.”

“How did you find me?”

“Are you trying to deflect the master of deflection?” When I say nothing, her lips twitch, and I probably imagine the subtle glint of approval in her eyes. “Well...fine. I will allow thistemporarydistraction from the issue at hand.” From the pocket of her leather trousers, she withdraws the sketches—now wadded into a pitiful lump—and gestures to the town house behind us. “I didn’t follow you here. I figured you might... want to start your investigation with the melusine. Perhaps interview your parents? Jean asked them a few questions after we found her body, but they weren’t exactly forthcoming.”

“Of course he did.” Still shivering violently, I wrap the cloak tighter against the wind, but it does little to comfort me. The cold in my chest creeps through my limbs now, settling into my bones, and I feel impossibly heavy, almost numb. Jean Luc involved myparentsbefore he involved me. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, but even the scent of my childhood has gone wrong—the magic has fled, leaving only the faint stench of fish and brine behind. Another branch crumbles to dust. I try not to crumble with it. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“This was your home,” Lou says quietly. “It’s natural that you’d seek solid ground when everything else is, well—” Though she shrugs, the gesture doesn’t irk me like it did with Jean Luc. Perhaps because no pity clouds her gaze, only a strange sort of wistfulness. Ofsorrow.

“Falling to pieces?”

She nods. “Falling to pieces.” Pushing from the tree, she comes to stand beside me, and her arm is warm where it brushes mine. Her eyes distant as she too stares out at the Doleur. “The Brindelle trees died with the melusine. I haven’t been able to revive them.”

The revelation brings me little satisfaction. “Just like the roses.”

“Something is wrong, Célie.” Her voice grows quieter still. “It isn’t just the trees and roses. The land itself... it feelssicksomehow. My magic feels sick.” When I look at her sharply, she just shakes her head, still gazing at the water without seeing it. “Did you find anything else in the cemetery? Something we might’ve missed?”

Instinctively, I slide the necklace from my pocket, dangling the silver cross between us. “Just this.”

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