Serpent & Dove

by Shelby Mahurin

  Chest heaving, Reid stared resolutely at the floor as I approached. He didn’t flee when the witch released him, didn’t move to stop her when she stabbed the quill into my throat.

  I felt it pierce my skin as if I were in another’s body—the pain disconnected, somehow, as the thick liquid congealed in my veins. It was cold. The icy fingers crept steadily down my spine—paralyzing my body—but it was nothing compared to the ice in Reid’s gaze as he finally looked at me.

  That was the ice that pierced my heart.

  I slumped forward, eyes never leaving his face. Please, I silently begged. Understand.

  But there was no understanding in his eyes as he watched my body fall to the floor, as my limbs began to spasm and twitch. There was only shock, anger, and . . . disgust. Gone was the man who had knelt before me and gently wiped my tears away. Gone was the man who had held me on the rooftop, who had laughed at my jokes and defended my honor and kissed me under the stars.

  Gone was the man who had claimed to love me.

  Now, there was only the Chasseur.

  And he hated me.

  Tears tracked through the blood on my face to the floor. It was the only outward sign that my heart had cleaved in two. Still Reid did not move.

  The witch lifted my chin, piercing my skin with her fingernails. Black hovered at the edges of my vision, and I struggled to remain conscious. The drug swirled in my mind, tempting me with oblivion. She bent down to my ear. “You thought he would protect you, but he’d tie you to the stake himself. Look at him, Louise. Look at his hatred.”

  With enormous effort, I raised my head. Her fingers loosened in surprise.

  I looked directly into Reid’s eyes. “I love you.”

  Then I blacked out.

  Oblivion

  Lou

  When I woke, I was vaguely aware of the floor moving beneath me—and a long, lean pair of arms. They wrapped around my waist, holding me close. Then came the throbbing pain of my throat. I clasped a hand to it, feeling fresh blood.

  “Lou,” a familiar voice said anxiously. “Can you hear me?”

  Ansel.

  “Wake up, Lou.” The floor still shifted. Something crashed nearby, followed by a thunderous boom. A woman cackled. “Please wake up!”

  My eyes fluttered open.

  I was sprawled on the floor behind the bed with my head in Ansel’s lap, a syringe discarded beside us.

  “It’s the antidote,” he whispered frantically. “There wasn’t enough for a full dose. He’s losing, Lou. The witch—she blasted the door. His Balisarda flew into the corridor. You have to help him. Please!”

  He’s losing.

  Reid.

  Adrenaline spiked through me, and I sat up quickly, coughing on the dust pervading the air. The world spun around me. Reid and the witch had decimated the room; holes had been blasted through the floor and walls, and the desk and headboard lay in splinters. Ansel dragged me out of the way as a chunk of mortar crashed to the floor where my legs had been.

  Reid and the witch circled one another in the center of the room, but Reid appeared to be having difficulty moving. He gritted his teeth, forcing his muscles to obey as he swung my knife at the witch. She darted easily out of reach before flicking her fingers once more. Reid inhaled sharply as if she’d struck him.

  I struggled to my feet. Darkness still swirled in my vision, and my limbs were as clumsy and heavy as Reid’s. But it didn’t matter. I had to stop this.

  Neither acknowledged me. The witch thrust her hand forward, and Reid dove out of the way. The blast leveled the wall instead. A sadistic smile played on her lips. She was toying with him. Toying with the man who’d burned her sister.

  Ansel tracked the witch’s every movement. “Everyone is still outside.”

  I swayed, vision blurring as I raised my hands. But there was nothing. I couldn’t concentrate. The room tilted and spun.

  The witch’s gaze snapped toward us. Reid moved to strike, but she flicked her wrist, throwing him against the wall once more. I started forward as he crumpled.

  “You are a fool,” the witch said. “You’ve seen his hatred, yet still you rush to his aid—”

  A cord sprang into existence, plunging to her voice box. I clenched my fist, and the words died in her throat. My blood flowed thicker from the syringe punctures while she struggled to breathe. I swayed again, breaking concentration, but Ansel caught me before I could fall. The witch gasped and clutched her throat as her breath returned.

  I was too weak to continue fighting. I could barely stand, let alone fight a witch and hope to win. I had no physical strength left to give, and my mind was too drug-saturated to distinguish patterns.

  “You two deserve each other.” The witch blasted me from Ansel’s arms, and I flew through the air and collided with Reid’s chest. He staggered back at the impact, but his arms wrapped around me, softening the blow. Stars danced in my vision.

  Ansel’s battle cry revived me, but it too was cut short. Another thud sounded behind us, and he skidded into our knees.

  “I can’t . . . beat her.” Though my bleeding had stopped, I still felt faint. Light-headed. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. “Too . . . weak . . .”

  Darkness beckoned, and my head lolled.

  But Reid’s grip on me turned almost painful. My eyes snapped open to see him staring down at me determinedly.

  “Use me.”

  I shook my head with as much force as I could muster. Stars dotted my vision.

  “It could work.” Ansel nodded frantically, and Reid released me. I swayed on my feet. “The witches use other people all the time!”

  I opened my mouth to tell them no—that I wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t wield his body like other witches did—but a hand tore me backward by my hair. I landed in the dun-haired witch’s embrace, back pressed against her chest.

  “I grow weary of this, and your mother is waiting. Will you kill them, or will I?”

  I couldn’t bring myself to answer. Every last bit of my focus centered on the thin, deadly rope that had emerged in the air between the witch and Reid.

  A pattern.

  I was weak, but Reid . . . he was still strong. And, despite everything, I loved him. Loved him enough that nature had acknowledged him a worthy trade. He wasn’t just another body. Another shield of flesh. He was . . . me.

  This could work.

  With a ragged breath, I clenched my fist. The pattern vanished in a burst of gold.

  Reid’s eyes widened as his neck went taut, and his back bowed off the wall. His spine strained to remain intact as the magic pulled him upward as if he were caught in a noose. The witch shrieked, dropping me, and I knew without looking she was in a similar position. Before she could counter, I flicked my wrist, and Reid’s arms snapped to his sides, pinned, his fingers adhering together. His head tilted back unnaturally, extending his throat. Exposing it.

  Ansel dove into the corridor as the witch’s shrieks turned strangled—desperate.

  “Ansel,” I said sharply. “A sword.”

  He raced forward, handing me Reid’s Balisarda. The witch struggled harder against the enchantment binding her—fear finally breaking loose in those hateful eyes—but I held strong.

  Lifting the knife to her throat, I took a deep breath. Her eyes darted wildly.

  “I’ll see you in Hell,” I whispered.

  I flexed my hand, and the witch’s and Reid’s bodies collapsed in unison, the pattern dissolving. The blade severed her throat as she fell, and her lifeblood coursed, warm and thick, down my arm. Her body slumped to the floor. It stopped twitching within seconds.

  Witch killer.

  The silence in the room was deafening.

  I stared down at her body—Balisarda dangling limply at my side—and watched her blood pool at my feet. It coated my boots and stained the hem of my dress. The sounds of the battle outside had faded. I didn’t know who had won. I didn’t care.

  “Ansel,” Reid said with deadly calm. I flinche
d at the sound of his voice. Please. If you can hear me, God, let him understand. But Ansel’s eyes widened at whatever he saw on Reid’s face, and I didn’t dare turn around. “Get out.”

  Ansel’s gaze flicked back to me, and I pleaded wordlessly with him not to leave. He nodded, straightening and stepping toward Reid. “I think I should stay.”

  “Get. Out.”

  “Reid—”

  “GET OUT!”

  I whirled, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Don’t talk to him like that!”

  His eyes sparked with fury, and his hands curled into fists. “You seem to have forgotten who I am, Louise. I’m a captain of the Chasseurs. I will speak to him as I wish.”

  Ansel backed hastily into the corridor. “I’ll be right outside, Lou. I promise.”

  A wave of hopelessness swept through me as he left. I felt Reid’s eyes burning into my skin, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him again. Couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge the hatred I would find there . . . because once I acknowledged it, it became real. And it couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be.

  He loved me.

  Silence stretched between us. Unable to stand it any longer, I glanced up. His blue eyes—once so beautiful, like the sea—were living flames.

  “Please say something,” I whispered.

  His jaw clenched. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “I’m still me, Reid—”

  He jerked his head in swift dismissal. “No, you’re not. You’re a witch.”

  More tears leaked down my face as I struggled to collect my thoughts. There was so much I wanted to say—so much I needed to tell him—but I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the loathing in his eyes, the way his lip curled as if I were something repulsive and strange. I closed my eyes against the image, chin quivering once more.

  “I wanted to tell you,” I began softly.

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Because I . . . I didn’t want to lose you.” Eyes still closed, I extended his Balisarda tentatively. An offering. “I love you, Reid.”

  He scoffed and jerked the handle from my grip. “Love me. As if someone like you is even capable of love. The Archbishop told us witches were clever. He told us they were cruel. But I fell for the tricks, same as him.” An angry, unnatural sound tore from his throat. “The witch said your mother was waiting for you. It’s her, isn’t it? Morgane le Blanc. You—you’re the daughter of La Dame des Sorcières. Which means—” An anguished noise this time, raw with disbelief, as if he’d been stabbed through the heart without warning. I didn’t open my eyes to watch the realization dawn. Couldn’t bear to see the final piece click into place. “The witches’ story was true, wasn’t it? Their performance. The Archbishop—”

  He broke off abruptly, and silence descended once more. I felt his gaze on my face like a brand, but I didn’t open my eyes.

  “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.” His voice was colder now. Chilling. “His unnatural interest in your welfare, his refusal to punish your defiance. The way he forced me to marry you. It all makes sense. You even look alike.”

  I didn’t want it to be true. I wished it away with every fragment of my fractured heart. My tears fell thicker and faster, a torrent of sorrow Reid ignored.

  “And here I was—pouring my foolish heart out to you.” His voice grew louder and louder with each word. “I fell right into your trap. That’s all this was, wasn’t it? You needed a place to hide. You thought the Chasseurs would protect you. You thought I would protect you. You—” His breathing turned ragged. “You used me.”

  The truth of his words was a knife to my own heart. My eyes snapped open. For a split second, I saw the flicker of misery and hurt beneath his fury, but then it was gone, buried beneath a lifetime of hatred.

  A hatred proving stronger than love.

  “That’s not true,” I whispered. “At first—maybe—but something changed, Reid. Please, you have to believe me—”

  “What am I supposed to do, Lou?” He wrung his hands in the air, voice escalating to a roar. “I’m a Chasseur! I took an oath to hunt witches—to hunt you! How could you do this to me?”

  I flinched again and stepped back until my legs pressed against the bed frame. “You—Reid, you also made an oath to me. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife.”

  His hands dropped to his sides. Defeated. A spark of hope flared in my chest. But then he closed his eyes—seeming to collapse in on himself—and when he opened them again, they were void of all emotion. Empty. Dead.

  “You are not my wife.”

  What was left of my heart shattered completely.

  I pressed a hand to my mouth in an effort to stem my sobs. Tears blurred my vision. Reid didn’t move as I fled past him, didn’t reach out to catch me as I tripped over the threshold. I crashed to my hands and knees outside the door.

  Ansel’s arms wrapped around me. “Are you hurt?”

  I pushed away from him wildly, scrambling to my feet. “I’m sorry, Ansel. I’m so sorry.”

  Then I was running—running as hard and fast as my broken body would allow. Ansel called after me, but I ignored him, hurtling down the stairs. Desperate to put as much distance between myself and Reid as possible.

  Do not urge me to leave you or turn back from you. His words stabbed through me with each step. Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay.

  I won’t let her hurt you again, Lou. I’ll protect you. Everything will be all right.

  I love you, Lou.

  You are not my wife.

  I turned into the foyer, chest heaving. Past the shattered rose window. Past the witches’ corpses. Past the milling Chasseurs.

  God—if he was there, if he was watching—took pity on me when none moved to block my path. The Archbishop was nowhere in sight.

  You are not my wife.

  You are not my wife.

  You are not my wife.

  Fleeing through the open doors, I lurched blindly into the street. The sunset shone too bright on my stinging eyes. I stumbled down the church steps, peering around blearily, before starting down the street for Soleil et Lune.

  I could make it. I could seek shelter there one last time.

  A pale hand snaked out from behind me and wrapped around my neck. I tried to turn, but a third quill stabbed my throat. I struggled weakly—pathetically—against my captor, but the familiar cold was already creeping down my spine. Darkness fell swiftly. My eyelids fluttered as I collapsed forward, but pale, slender arms held me upright.

  “Hello, darling,” a familiar voice crooned in my ear. White, moonbeam hair fell across my shoulder. Gold shimmered in my vision, and the scar at my throat puckered in a burst of pain. The beginning of the end. The life pattern reversing.

  Never again never again never again.

  “It’s time to come home.”

  This time, I welcomed oblivion.

  Beating a Dead Witch

  Reid

  “What have you done?”

  Ansel’s voice echoed too loudly in the silence of the room—or what was left of it. Holes riddled the walls, and the stench of magic lingered on my furniture. My sheets. My skin. A pool of blood spread from the witch’s throat. I stared at the corpse, hating it. Longing for a match to set it aflame. To burn it—and this room, and this moment—from my memory forever.

  I turned away, unwilling to look in its dull eyes. Its lifeless eyes. It looked nothing like the graceful actresses we would burn in the furnace tonight. Nothing like the beautiful, white-haired Morgane le Blanc.

  Nothing like her daughter.

  I stopped the thought before it took a dangerous direction.

  Lou was a witch. A viper. And I was a fool.

  “What have you done?” Ansel repeated, voice louder.

  “I let her leave.” Legs wooden, uncooperative, I shoved my Balisarda in my bandolier and knelt beside the corpse. Though my body still ached from Lou’s attack, the witch needed to be burned, lest it reanimat
e. I paused at the edge of blood. Reluctant to touch it. Reluctant to draw near to this thing that had tried to kill Lou.

  For as much as I hated to admit it—as much as I cursed her name—a world without Lou was wrong, somehow. Empty.

  When I lifted the corpse, its head lolled back grotesquely, throat gaping where Lou had slit it. Blood soaked through the blue wool of my coat.

  I’d never hated the color more.

  “Why?” Ansel demanded. I ignored him, focusing on the dead weight in my arms. Again, my traitorous mind wandered to Lou. To last night when I’d held her briefly under the stars. She’d been so light. And vulnerable. And funny and beautiful and warm—

  Stop.

  “She was drugged and obviously injured,” he insisted. I hoisted the corpse higher, ignoring him, and kicked open the splintered door. Exhaustion crashed through me in waves. But he refused to give up. “Why did you let her go?”

  Because I couldn’t kill her.

  I glared at him. He’d defended her even after she’d revealed her true nature. Even after she’d proved herself a liar and a snake—a Judas. And that meant Ansel had no place among the Chasseurs.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. Lou’s mother is Morgane le Blanc. Didn’t you hear what the witch said about reclaiming their homeland?”

  With your sacrifice, we’ll reclaim our homeland. We’ll rule Belterra again.

  I can’t allow you to slaughter innocent people.

  Yes. I’d heard it.

  “Lou can take care of herself.”

  Ansel pushed past me and planted his feet in the middle of the corridor. “Morgane is out in the city tonight, and so is Lou. This—this is bigger than us. She needs our help—” I shouldered past him, but he stepped in front of me again and shoved my chest. “Listen to me! Even if you don’t care for Lou anymore—even if you hate her—the witches are planning something, and it involves Lou. I think— Reid, I think they’re going to kill her.”

  I pushed his hands away, refusing to hear his words. Refusing to acknowledge the way they made my mind spin, my chest tighten. “No, you listen, Ansel. I’ll only say this once.” I lowered my face slowly, deliberately, until our eyes were level. “Witches. Lie. We can’t believe anything we heard tonight. We can’t trust this witch spoke truth.”