Gwen turned just long enough to kiss Ellis on the lips. Their left hands entwined for a long moment, Ellis slipping his fingers under Gwen’s smaller ones. “You be careful, daisy,” Rory heard him whisper. “Don’t give me another reason to tear Zeppler apart.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back. Then she broke away and stepped out into the hall, setting off at a brisk pace. “Come on, Rory.”

He narrowed his eyes, but they had to go. He chased after her.

Out on the street, Gwen went to the car parked just up the block. She slipped gracefully into the back seat and Rory scrambled in behind her. She spoke in rapid French as she threw a wad of bills over the seat.

The driver nodded sharply and then pulled the car in a tight U-turn and took off in the direction Arthur had gone.

“I told him we’re going wherever you tell us,” Gwen said to Rory.

The ring box was heavy in Rory’s pocket. He hesitated, then reached for it.

Gwen raised her eyebrows as he slipped the Tempest Ring on his finger.

“He’s under blood magic,” Rory said quietly. “I need whatever edge I can get.”

“Good idea,” Gwen said, her gaze on the ring.

Rory reached for the link, sending up a prayer of thanks that the Puppeteer’s blood magic hadn’t broken it. “East,” he said. “Keep going.”

Arthur’s body drove the Delage east out of Paris, until the city lights were gone, and the road was black beyond his headlights. He made several turns, taking smaller and smaller roads until he eventually turned off the pavement altogether, onto a narrow dirt road.

Rocks crunched under his tires and the occasional deeper pothole rocked the car. After a few minutes, he rounded a bend and his headlights illuminated high walls of gray stone. An iron gate stood open.

Iron, like the railing Rory had crashed into after Arthur shoved him across the balcony—

He swallowed.

A country manor loomed just beyond the gate, the white sides and gray roof aglow under the moonlight, small rectangular windows with peaked dormers just visible on the third and highest floor. Arthur’s body drove the car up the gravel path and into the circular driveway, his headlights illuminating the main steps and the covered front door as he came to a stop and pulled the brake.

He was more angry than afraid as his hand reached for the driver’s door and his feet hit the drive. He watched like a passenger in his own body as he left the engine running and strode around the car to the sprawling house. He stopped just short of the house, the steps and front door to his right, the beam of the headlights in his eyes. Their brightness made it impossible to see anything in the darkness beyond, but every nerve in Arthur’s body was aware of being watched.