“Yes, Reid. Yes.” Tongue flicking out to lick her teeth, she dropped her head to my shoulder. “Hurt me. Hurt this body. This suit. We’ll enjoy it, yes. We’ll savor each bruise.”

I recoiled instantly, hands shaking. Blood roared in my ears. Beau caught her wrists between heartbeats. His mouth firmed when she turned to nuzzle his chest. “Mmm. A prince. I tasted your cousin once.”

Coco gripped her chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. “Kink is consensual, Nicholina. We’re going to remove you one way or another. It won’t be kinky. It won’t be consensual. But it will hurt.”

“Oooh, tell me, with the captain’s holy stick? I wonder how he’ll help you? Will he prick, prick, prick—”

“There shall be no pricking,” Beau interrupted. “Holy sticks or otherwise. No unnecessary force either,” he added, glancing pointedly between Coco and me. “Nicholina might be, well, Nicholina, but she’s hiding behind Lou. Who knows what Lou can see and hear? What she can feel?”

Nicholina laughed again. “I said she’s dead, she’s dead I said. The gold one is gone. I’m here instead.”

I ignored her, nodding with a deep breath. Lou wasn’t dead. She wasn’t. Suppressing a red haze of anger, I took her wrists back from Beau. Though physically repulsed—at her, at myself—I rubbed the angry skin there with my thumbs. This was Lou. This was Nicholina. They couldn’t be the same person, yet somehow, now, they were.

A golden pattern twined around our hands. Slowly, carefully, I fed it until the red tint in my vision faded. As my anger dissipated, so too did the marks on her wrists. With it, another burst of inspiration struck. I couldn’t heal her with a Balisarda, but perhaps I could heal her with magic. Closing my eyes, breathless with hope, I cast my net of gold in search of an answer. A cure, a restorative. Anything to purge Nicholina’s presence. The patterns coiled and undulated in response, but none connected. They simply drifted outward into nothing. Frustrated, I pulled at each one to examine it, to determine its asking price, but I sensed nothing from them. No gain. No give. These patterns weren’t functional. When I plucked one on a whim, snapping my fingers, it fell limp in my hand instead of dispersing.

Concentrating harder, I tried again. Nothing.

Though I hadn’t routinely practiced magic, I hadn’t expected my patterns to simply . . . wilt. Could they wilt? No. No, Nicholina must’ve been blocking me somehow. As often as I’d tried to dispose of my magic, I knew it couldn’t go away so easily. Perhaps my intent had been wrong.

I focused anew. Help me exorcise Lou.

Nothing.

Help me force Nicholina out of Lou.

The patterns floated aimlessly.

Help me heal Lou. Help me hurt Nicholina. Help me make her like before.