I’d known it, even then. I’d known how much better he was than us. I stared down at his profile now, his eyes wide and unseeing. Blood matted his hair. It slicked down his graceful neck, stained the back of his coat. “Did you love him, Louise?” Nicholina echoed my mother’s jeer. “Did you watch as the light left those pretty brown eyes?”

Why hadn’t I told him? Why hadn’t I hugged him one last time?

Closing my own eyes, I crumpled to my knees, pressing my forehead against his cheek. I couldn’t feel him, of course. Couldn’t feel anything. Was this what it was to drown? How strange. I couldn’t even bring myself to cry—not when Coco wrenched the knife from his skull, not when Reid pried his lips apart. Not when Nicholina loomed over me, the discarded knife in hand.

She wouldn’t be changing the past by killing me.

Part of me had died here already.

What It Is to Swim

Reid

I didn’t pause to unlace my boots, unfasten my coat. When she hit the water, I moved to follow, already ankle-deep.

A low growl rumbled from behind.

Stiffening, I turned. Amber eyes reflected back at me. White fur gleamed in the moonlight.

I swore softly.

The fucking dog.

It paced along the path, hackles raised and teeth bared. Snorting, it shook its head before whining once. Twice. Its eyes bored into mine as if trying to . . . to communicate something. When it inched closer, I drew a knife. Unsettled. “Not another step,” I said darkly. Flattening its ears, it snarled again, louder now, vicious, and did just that. To Coco, I asked, “How did it get here? Where is Constantin?”

“Leave it.” She watched our standoff while hastily shucking off her own boots. “It isn’t harming anything.”

“Every time something catastrophic happens to us, that dog is there. It’s an ill omen—”

“Lou is probably drowning.” Her fingers moved to the laces of her bodice next. I looked away hastily. “Get your ass in there before—”

We both froze, scenting it at the same time: sharp yet sweet, barely there on the breeze. My nose still burned with its familiar scent.

Magic.

Not mine and not hers. Someone else’s. Which meant—

Célie’s scream split the night. The dog’s ears pricked forward in response, but instead of turning toward it, he stared fixedly at a point within the waters. My blood ran cold. Torn with indecision—rooted in fear—I didn’t move fast enough. I couldn’t block it.

With preternatural speed, the dog careened past me, straight into the heart of the Wistful Waters.

The decision came easily then.

I dove in after it.

The Final Verse

Lou