Lou held her mother for a long time. I waited at the chasm’s edge, even after Coco and a handful of blood witches built a bridge of vines. Even after Célie and her newfound friends—two witches named Corinne and Barnabé—crossed on shaky legs. Jean Luc had enveloped Célie in a desperate hug, while Coco had tentatively greeted the witches. She’d remembered them from childhood. They’d remembered her.

They’d even bared their throats before leaving to find their kin. A sign of submission.

Coco had watched them go, visibly shaken.

Not all had been so courteous. One witch—a sobbing Dame Blanche—had attacked my back as I’d waited. Jean Luc had been forced to inject her. To bind her wrists. He hadn’t killed her, however, not even when Célie had stepped aside to speak with Elvire. Aurélien had fallen. Others too. As the Oracle’s Hand, Elvire had begun to collect their dead, preparing to depart for Le Présage once more.

“We cannot leave our lady waiting,” she’d murmured, bowing low. “Please say you will visit us sometime.”

Beau and Coco hurried to find Zenna and Seraphine.

Though I started to follow, Coco shook her head. Her gaze drifted to Lou, who hadn’t moved from beneath her mother. “She needs you more,” Coco murmured. Nodding, I swallowed hard, and after another moment, I took a hesitant step on the bridge.

Someone shouted behind me.

Unsheathing my stolen Balisarda, I whirled, prepared for another witch. Instead, I met two: Babette supporting Madame Labelle as they hobbled into the street. An enormous smile stretched across my mother’s face. “Reid!” She waved with her entire body, presumably healed by Babette’s blood. The lesions and bruises from the trial had vanished, replaced by vibrant skin, if a touch pale. I exhaled a sharp breath. My knees weakened in a dizzying wave of relief.

She was here.

She was alive.

Crossing the street in three great strides, I met her halfway, crushing her in my arms. She choked on a laugh. Patted my arm. “Easy, son. It takes a bit more time for the insides to heal, you know.” Though she still beamed, clapping my cheeks, her eyes tightened at the corners. Babette looked unusually grave behind.

I met her gaze over my mother’s head. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me.” She waved an errant hand. “Your mother supplied my first job in this city. I owed her one.”

“And still owe me many more,” Madame Labelle added, turning to eye the courtesan waspishly. “Do not think I’ve forgotten, Babette, the time you dyed my hair blue.”

Only then did Babette crack a sheepish grin. After another moment, she glanced around us covertly. “Pray tell, huntsman, have you seen our lovely Cosette?”

“She’s with Beau. They headed north.”

Her smile fell slightly. “Of course. If you’ll excuse me.”