Every ounce of color drains from Oliver’s cheeks, and for a second I’m afraid he might faint.

Finn says my name like it is an inevitable thing. “Frances.” Then he grins. “I see you got my letter.”

It’s enough to send me careening through time, back to every other time he said my name.

I used to like it best when he said it in the dark, like it was a secret just for him, but it sounds like poison now, a curse.

Fury rises like bile in my throat.

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

But—a voice in the back of my mind whispers.

But—

Maxine marches away. I admire the way she doesn’t look back. She’s always been stronger than me.

“Maxine, wait!” I call.

Oliver turns and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. He stands so still in the grass, like he’s forgotten he has a body at all.

Maxine turns to me too. “He tricked us, Frances!” I don’t know if she’s talking about Pascal or Finn. Pascal looks completely baffled by the scene currently playing out, so either he’s an incredible actor or this is the worst coincidence in the history of coincidences.

“I—” I don’t know what to say to Maxine, how to explain it. “Stay, please, just for a moment.”

“Stay?” I didn’t know it was possible to say a single word with so much ire. She’s looking at me like she hates me too. I wouldn’t blame her if she does.

I wish I knew how to explain. I never have the right words. She doesn’t know how empty I feel without my power, she doesn’t know how hollow and terrifying it is to possess something and then have it go away. Nor does she know what my father said about the veil between the living and the dead.

I’d do anything for more information, even this.

Finn has always known more about magic than the rest of us. I came to Paris for answers, and as much as I despise him, Finn may have them.

“He may still have answers.” I feel guilty I led my friends into believing today was nothing more than an innocent day trip.

“What use would it be?” Lena says. “He could say anything and we’d still never believe him.”

She’s right. Of course she’s right.

“But I have to try.”

My friends look at me in identical stunned silence.

Finn smirks. I want to slap the expression off his face. “Come in, then, you’re welcome.” His Irish accent lilts like poetry.

“Frances…” Oliver sounds so hurt. I wish I could fix this, but I don’t have time to explain. I don’t know how to make him understand when I hardly understand myself.

“I won’t be long.”

“You aren’t going in there alone,” Lena says.