I extend my hand and he understands immediately. He sits up and hands me his jacket. I run my fingers over the collar and find the place where Finn ripped it as he stumbled. I pull a needle and black thread from the sewing kit in Maxine’s desk and begin to sew as the others speak. It is comforting and familiar to have a needle and thread in my hand. Lena’s visions are rarely wrong.

“We were caught leaving the catacombs. She let us go,” Maxine explains.

“And there was the creepy portrait,” I add. “He said it was painted decades ago but he looked exactly the same.”

“Both of those could be lies,” Lena considers. “There’s no way to prove it.”

She’s right. Maybe the Mourrier family is conducting an elaborate ruse, maybe it’s a way to con people out of money or magic, or maybe it’s just a sadistic joke and Anais is sitting in front of the fire laughing with the duke right now.

I don’t know what it is the Mourriers are about or if it’s possible to live forever.

But I do know that a boy is dead and that we have to do something about it.

“It doesn’t matter, does it? We have to stop them.”

“As long as the veil is open, they’ll keep killing,” Finn agrees.

Oliver props himself up on his elbow. “At dinner, the duke made a joke about the Sons of Saint Druon and their key, tucked away in the Louvre. He made it sound like the key could close the veil.”

Finn sighs. “It’s just a rumor.”

I sit up to look at him properly. Just moments ago I felt so dead inside, but now the smallest bloom of hope grows. “The last rumor proved to be true. We’d be foolish to dismiss this one too. Did he say anything more?”

Oliver shakes his head. “He didn’t give details, only that the Sons had a key.”

“Wait!” I exclaim. I bounce to my feet, ignoring the way my head pounds, and rush over to Maxine’s desk. I jerk open the drawer and grab handfuls of the papers I stole from my father. I kneel on the carpet and fan them out in front of me until I find the one I’m looking for.

“Aha!” I hold the yellowing page above my head triumphantly.

It’s a fading yellow photograph from a museum collection of a simple golden key. It’s labeled LOUVRE, PERMANENT COLLECTION. ANONYMOUS DONOR, 1813.

I remember thinking the picture was odd, even amongst all of the other odd papers. The key appeared too simple to warrant being displayed permanently at the Musée du Louvre.

“It seems too easy,” Maxine says.

“Perhaps that’s the point,” Lena replies. “They needed something they could access in case of emergency. Hide it in plain sight, always ensure it’s protected.”