With the graceful incline of her head, Angelica nodded. She stood with impeccable posture, unearthly stillness, her shoulders back and her hands clasped at her waist in a familiar position. How many times had I seen Josephine hold herself that way? How many times had I yearned to wring that long, elegant neck?

It was uncanny how two people with the same features could look so different.

I glanced at Coco.

It was haunting when there was a third.

“Sœur.” With a voice smooth as silk, Angelica spoke with calm assurance. “Fille.” She lifted a hand as if to touch Coco’s cheek before thinking better of it. She let it fall to her side instead. Bereft. “I have missed you.”

Though Coco said nothing, her eyes spoke volumes. They glittered with unshed emotion in the moonlight.

I frowned, my own eyes narrowing, and the glow around Angelica’s face dimmed slightly.

More than slightly.

I might’ve even called her hideous now.

Then again, mothers abandoning their children to cruel relatives might’ve been a sore spot for me. Madame Labelle had left Reid, and he’d ended up with the Archbishop as a father. Morgane had tried to kill me, and somehow, I had too. Though beautiful, Angelica had left Coco in the hands of her aunt. She was no different from them, really. She was rotten inside.

In her case, rot just happened to smell like lilies.

Accepting that her daughter wouldn’t or perhaps couldn’t answer, Angelica returned her gaze to Josephine, who had inched toward Beau and Célie. Those perfect lips pursed. “Do not harm the children, Josie. Your quarrel is with me.”

Josephine glowered as she lifted Célie’s head. Her hands weren’t needlessly cruel, but careful and steady as she held Célie’s neck firm. No. Not careful. Practical. Efficient. She would kill Célie if necessary, just as she’d killed Etienne. “What will you do?” she asked her sister. “You cannot leave the waters.”

Coco and I shared a brief, confused look.

Angelica only flicked a jeweled dagger from her thigh sheath—her thigh sheath—and sighed. “Must we do this, sœur? We both know the damage I can inflict from here.” To illustrate her point, she placed the dagger against her chest and sliced down, directly between her breasts, without hesitation. The blade tore through fabric and skin as butter, leaving a thick line of blood in its wake.

Josephine hissed, and her hand flew to her own chest, where an identical wound had formed.

My confusion deepened as I stared at it. Nicholina’s memories hadn’t revealed anything like this. Not that I’d known to look for it.

“What the hell is happening?” I breathed to Coco. Josephine and Angelica still glared at each other, bleeding, in a silent standoff. “You said your mother was dead.”

“I said my aunt said she was dead.”

“And now?”