“Be bold, Cécile,” I whispered to myself, trying to ignore the shake in my hands. “Be brave.”

“What?” There was alarm in Chris’s voice.

I held a finger up to my lips. Pushing by him, I went up the first few rungs of the ladder and cautiously lifted the trapdoor an inch. The only sight I could see was the woman’s dog cowering under a chair. La Voisin was still shouting away out front, drowning out any noise I might make. And with any luck, the guard who had been out back would have gone round to assist. Lifting the trapdoor the rest of the way, I climbed out, holding it open for Chris. “This way,” I mouthed, pointing at the back door.

Luck was with us when I peeked out, as the tiny yard was devoid of life. We swiftly exited, and Chris grabbed hold of my wrist, dragging me toward the stone fence dividing the yard from the adjoining properties. “No,” I whispered, tugging free. “You can go, if you want. But I’m helping her.”

He swore quietly under his breath, but didn’t try to stop me as I squeezed through the narrow space between the witch’s shop and the boardinghouse next to it. The night was black as pitch; Pigalle was not graced with gas lamps to light its streets as the rest of Trianon was. I prayed it would be enough to hide me as I emerged from between the buildings. There were shockingly few onlookers on the street – no one was willing to fall afoul of the law – but I could see faces looking out from windows and entranceways.

Three uniformed guards were struggling with La Voisin, who was screaming like a banshee that she was falsely accused while clinging to the doorframe with one hand. Two of the young men struggling with her were strangers to me. One of them was not.

“Frédéric de Troyes,” I snarled, “I daresay, if our father saw you allowing a woman to be treated this way, he’d disown you and never look back.”

My brother twisted around to stare at me, his eyes wide with shock. “Cécile? Stones and sky, why are you here?”

“For tea.” I shot black glares at the two other men, and while they didn’t let go of the woman, they ceased their attempts to drag her off the door.

“Tea?” Fred’s voice was strangled. “In Pigalle? After dark?”

“A special tea,” I clarified. “That only she makes. And I’m here after dark because it was the only time Chris could bring me.”

Fred’s eyes flicked over my shoulder and latched onto Chris. “You better have a good explanation for this, Girard.”

I rolled my eyes and walked closer. “Oh, stop that and let the poor woman go. Mother will thrash me if I don’t bring back the tea to soothe her throat, and half a dozen of the dancers begged me to retrieve some ointment for their poor heels.”

“Go home, Cécile.” My brother’s cheeks were flushed red with anger. “Pigalle is no place for a girl like you. This woman has been accused of witchcraft and…”