“Thanks to you.” Cecile sank down in her seat and rested her chin on her hand.

Lara was fascinated at this strange familial argument she was witnessing. She tried to muffle a thought she had, much like trying to stifle one of those dry coughs you get at the end of a bad cold, but the thought wouldn’t stay down. This man is a lunatic. We’re placating a lunatic.

As the thought swirled in her, she looked at Mr. Tisdale, who seemed to be able to read her mind. His eyes were now wide with alarm.

The car kept descending under a tunnel. “And as you might guess, both my girls fell in love with Giroux, so when Giroux chose Cecile over Esmé, well, she went a little crazy.”

“She killed him,” said Cecile.

“But not before lovely Cecile here had conceived your… well, I guess it would be your grandmother Margot. I think you saw her riding His Majesty earlier. Marvelous performer she is, much better than Sylvie ever was on a horse.”

Cecile spoke through gritted teeth. “Father is wrong. I fell in love with Émile before he cast the spell. Only Esmé was affected by the spell. Her love for Giroux was never genuine.”

Althacazur made a face that indicated he disagreed with this assessment.

Lara couldn’t speak. This man—this daemon—was fucking nuts. How on earth could she make sense of this? Was this a bad trip of some sort?

“As a result, Esmé has stomped around for decades in a terrible mood over Émile Giroux. She traveled around the world for the first ten years getting into all kinds of trouble. The other daemons were furious. Then she decided to set up a residence in that horrid little town you live in. I think she enjoys killing all of the loves of Cecile’s offspring as payment for Émile Giroux, who, frankly, was dull as dishwater and someone she never would have loved of her own volition.”

Cecile went to protest, but he put his hand up.

“I know, I know,” he said, his eyes rolling. “Greatest love, blah, blah.”

Mr. Tisdale chirped.