With one last anxious glance at Claud’s back, I nodded, and we sprinted toward Father Achille and Gabrielle, Etienne’s sister, who’d been trapped in a circle of vines. A blood witch coaxed the thorns tighter around them. Behind, Célie rushed Violette and Victoire to safety in the nearest shop—a patisserie manned by none other than Johannes Pan.

At Gabrielle’s cry, he burst into the street with a rolling pin, shouting and swinging it wildly. It struck the blood witch’s head with a sickening crunch. When she crumpled, her thorns shriveled, and Father Achille and Gaby leapt free.

“Come, come!” Pan ushered Gaby toward him while Reid, Jean Luc, and Father Achille converged.

Other witches did too, their eyes intent on the three little girls.

It seemed they still planned to exterminate the Lyon line, regardless of Auguste.

Drawing a deep breath, I plucked a pattern, and it shimmered and expanded like a film over the patisserie. The same protection existed over Chateau le Blanc, over the door to the castle’s treasury. It was a piece of my magic itself—a piece of all Dames des Sorcières who’d come before me. As it left my body, the white patterns dimmed. Just a bit. My connection to them weakened. A worthy sacrifice.

None would enter the patisserie but those I permitted. I caught Gaby’s hand as she passed, squeezing fiercely. “Stay inside,” I told her. My eyes met those of Violette and Victoire. Beau’s sisters. Reid’s half sisters. “All of you.”

Though Gaby and Violette nodded fervently, I didn’t like the stubborn set of Victoire’s chin. Célie pushed all three into the shop before ushering a hysterical couple in after them.

“Cut down the barricades!” Father Achille pointed to the thorn hedges. A handful of Chasseurs fought to drive the witches back. “Anyone with a blade!”

“We have no blades,” a panicked man said, pushing forward.

Reid thrust his Balisarda at him in answer. “You do now. Go.” When more men clambered forward, hands outstretched, Reid tore another knife from his bandolier. Another and another until none remained.

“What are you doing?” I asked in alarm.

Voice grim, he lifted his hands. “I am a weapon.”

Each man turned and fled toward the vines, hacking at the thorns with all their might.

Without pause, Reid pointed at the neighboring shops. To Jean Luc, he said, “Break down the doors. Get these people inside every building. Lou and I will follow behind to enchant them locked—”

He broke off as Philippe and a score of huntsmen blasted through the witches’ line, slaughtering them with brutal efficiency. Bite wounds bled freely on his leg. Leveling his Balisarda at Reid and me, he snarled, “Kill them.”