Serpent & Dove

by Shelby Mahurin

  The witch I paired with Beau wrinkled her nose. Though Madame Labelle had taken pity on him and removed his wart, he undoubtedly remained the least attractive of us. Undeterred—or just stupid—he shot the witch a charming smile, revealing a gap between his two front teeth. She stepped away from him, disgusted.

  The first witch wrapped a hand around my arm, attempting to pull me close. “And what’s your name, handsome?”

  “Raoul.”

  Her fingers explored my biceps. “It’s nice to meet you, Raoul. I’m Elaina. Have you ever been to the Chateau?”

  I struggled to keep my face polite. Interested. “No, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”

  “As are its inhabitants.” Beau gave them a roguish wink. Everyone ignored him.

  “You are in for such a treat!” The witch next to Ansel pushed past her sister to clutch my other arm. “I’m Elodie, by the way. Are you sure you don’t have a sister?” She peered behind me hopefully.

  “Hey!” the third sister protested when she realized I had no more arms to spare.

  “That’s Elinor,” Elaina said, dismissive. “But Elodie is right—you couldn’t have picked a better night to offer your services. Tonight is Modraniht, and tomorrow is Yule. Our Lady has planned a great festival this year—”

  “We’ve traveled all the way from Sully to celebrate—” Elodie said.

  “—because Louise has finally returned!” Elinor finished. She grabbed Ansel’s arm and followed us through the trees.

  My heart stopped, and I stumbled. Two sets of hands moved eagerly to steady me.

  “Are you all right?” Elaina asked.

  “You look quite pale,” Elodie said.

  “Who is Louise?” Beau asked, shooting me a sharp look.

  Elinor’s nose wrinkled as she looked at him. “Louise le Blanc. Daughter and heir of La Dame des Sorcières. Are you daft?”

  “Apparently.” Beau looked on with a bemused expression. “So, mademoiselles—what does our fair Lady have planned for us this evening? Food? Dancing? Will we get to meet the lovely Louise?”

  “You won’t,” Elinor said. “You’re not coming.”

  I stopped walking abruptly. “He goes where I go.”

  Elaina pouted up at me. “But none of us want him.”

  “If you want me, he goes.” I pulled away from her, and her lips puckered slightly. I mentally chastised myself. “Please.” I tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and attempted a smile. “He’s my brother.”

  She leaned into my touch, frown melting into a sigh. “Well, if you insist.”

  We resumed walking. Ansel cleared his throat. “So—er, what can we expect tonight?”

  Elinor grinned coyly. “You needn’t be nervous, Antoine. I’ll take good care of you.”

  Ansel’s face burned crimson. “No, that’s not— I meant—”

  Elinor laughed and nestled closer to him. “There’ll be the usual gifts and minor sacrifices. Our mother passed a few years ago, so we’ll honor our Lady in her stead.”

  “And the Goddess, of course,” Elodie added.

  “And then,” Elaina said, eager, “after the feasting and dancing, Morgane will make her sacrifice to the Goddess at midnight.”

  Midnight. Numbness crept over my limbs. “Her sacrifice?”

  Elaina leaned in conspiratorially. “Her daughter. Terribly wicked, but there you are. We’ll be witnessing history tonight, you and I.”

  Elodie and Elinor both huffed protests at being excluded, but I didn’t hear them. A ringing started in my ears, and my hands curled into fists. Beau clipped my heel in an innocent gesture. I tripped, breaking out of the witches’ grip, before rounding on him.

  “Sorry, Raoul.” He shrugged and smiled easily, but his eyes held a warning. “You’d think I could control my own feet, eh?”

  I took a steadying breath. Then another. Forced myself to unclench my fists.

  One.

  Two.

  Three—

  “Oh, look!” Elinor pointed to our left. A small group of people emerged between the trees. “It’s Ivette and Sabine! Oooh, we haven’t seen them since we were witchlings!”

  Elaina and Elodie squealed in delight and dragged me and Ansel toward the newcomers. Beau trailed behind.

  Upon closer inspection, I recognized Coco on the arm of one of the newcomers. Which left only Madame Labelle unaccounted for. When Coco cast me a furtive, troubled glance, I nodded in understanding.

  “Keep your mouths shut and your eyes open,” Madame Labelle had warned. “I’ll find you inside.”

  Vague, unsatisfactory instructions. No further explanations. No contingencies. We were a Chasseur, initiate, Lyon prince, and blood witch walking into Chateau le Blanc blind. Lou wasn’t the only one who would die if things went badly tonight.

  Elaina introduced me to her friends before curling her fingers around mine and resting her head on my arm. I bared my teeth in a smile, imagining she was Lou instead.

  Lou, vibrant and alive. Flicking my nose and swearing at me affectionately. I pictured her face. Held on to it.

  It was the only way I could continue without throttling someone.

  Elodie eyed one of the women beside Coco with obvious interest before patting my cheek. “Sorry, pet. If you’d had a sister . . .”

  She strode away without a backward glance, and Ansel fell into step beside me. Under cover of the girls’ prattling, he nudged my arm, nodding in front of us to where the trees thinned out. “Look.”

  A bridge stretched out before us. Impossibly long. Wooden. Fabled. Above it, towering over the peak of the mountain, sat Chateau le Blanc.

  We had arrived.

  Modraniht

  Reid

  There were witches everywhere.

  My breath caught as they swept me into the snowy courtyard. It was almost too crowded to walk. Everywhere I turned, I bumped into someone. There were hags and babies and women of every age, shape, and color—all bright-eyed with excitement. All flushed. All laughing. All praising the pagan goddess.

  A dark-haired woman ran up to me through the crowd, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to my cheek. “Merry meet!” She giggled before disappearing into the crowd once more.

  A decrepit old witch with a basket of evergreens came next. I eyed her suspiciously, remembering the hag from the market, but she only placed a juniper crown on my head and croaked a blessing from the goddess. Little girls ran shrieking past my legs in a wild game of tag. Feet bare and faces dirty. Ribbons in their hair.

  It was madness.

  Elaina and Elinor—who had abandoned Ansel after realizing Elodie had traded up—pulled me in opposite directions, each determined to introduce me to every person they’d ever known. I didn’t bother remembering their names. A month ago, I would’ve wanted them all dead. Now, a hollow sort of pit opened up in my stomach as I greeted them. These women—with their pretty smiles and shining faces—wanted Lou dead. They were here to celebrate Lou’s death.

  The revelry soon became intolerable. As did the undiluted stench of magic, stronger here than anywhere I’d ever encountered it.

  I tugged away from Elaina with a strained smile. “I need the washroom.”

  Though my eyes roamed for Madame Labelle, I had no idea what face she’d taken—or if she’d even gotten inside.

  “You can’t!” Elaina clutched me tighter. The sun had sunk below the castle, lengthening the shadows in the courtyard. “The feast is about to start!”

  Sure enough, the witches began moving toward the doors as if answering a silent call. Perhaps they were. If I concentrated hard enough, I could almost feel the faint whispering of it across my skin. I shuddered.

  “Of course,” I ground out as she tugged me forward. “I can wait.”

  Ansel and Beau stuck close to me. Coco had been dragged away as soon as we crossed the bridge, and I hadn’t seen her since. Her absence made me uneasy.

  Beau elbowed a plump witch aside to keep up. “Will our Lady be attendi
ng the feast?”

  “Excuse you.” She nearly leveled him in retaliation, and he skidded into me before righting himself.

  “Good Lord.” He eyed the witch’s broad back as she shoved through a set of stone doors. Above them, an elaborate depiction of the waxing, full, and waning moons had been carved.

  “I think you have the wrong deity,” I muttered.

  “Are you coming or not?” Elinor yanked me past the carving, and I had little choice but to follow.

  The hall was vast and ancient—larger than even the sanctuary in Saint-Cécile—with vaulted ceilings and giant beams covered in snow and foliage, as if the courtyard had somehow spilled inside. Vines crept in from the arched windows. Ice glittered on the walls. Long wooden tables ran the length of the floor, overflowing with moss and flickering candles. Thousands of them. They cast a soft glow on the witches who lingered nearby. No one had yet seated themselves. All watched the far side of the room with rapt attention. I followed their gazes. The very air around us seemed to still.

  There, on a throne of saplings, sat Morgane le Blanc.

  And beside her—eyes closed and limbs dangling—floated Lou.

  My breath left in a painful whoosh as I stared at her. Only a fortnight had passed, yet she appeared skeletal and sickly. Her wild hair had been trimmed and neatly braided, and her freckles had disappeared. Her skin—once golden—now appeared white. Ashen.

  Morgane had suspended her in midair on her back, with her body bowed nearly in two. Her toes and fingertips just brushed the dais floor. Her head lolled back, forcing her long, slender throat to extend for the entire room to see. Displaying her scar prominently.

  Rage unlike anything I’d ever felt exploded through me.

  They were making a mockery of her.

  Of my wife.

  Two sets of hands gripped the back of my coat, but they weren’t necessary. I stood with preternatural stillness, eyes locked on Lou’s inert form.

  Elinor stood on tiptoes to get a better look. She giggled behind her hand. “She’s not as pretty as I remember.”

  Elaina sighed. “But look how slender she is.”

  I turned to look at them. Slowly. The hands at my back tightened.

  “Easy,” Beau breathed at my shoulder. “Not yet.”

  I forced a deep breath. Not yet, I repeated to myself.

  Not yet not yet not yet.

  “What’s the matter with you three?” Elaina’s voice rang unnaturally loud in the hush of the room. Shrill and unpleasant.

  Before we could answer, Morgane rose from her seat. The murmured conversation in the room died instantly. She smiled down at us with the air of a mother beholding her favorite child.

  “Sisters!” She lifted her hands in supplication. “Blessed be!”

  “Blessed be!” the witches hailed back in unison. A rapturous joy lit their faces. Alarm tempered my rage. Where was Madame Labelle?

  Morgane took a step down the dais. I watched helplessly as Lou floated along behind her. “Blessed be thy feet,” Morgane cried, “which have brought thee in these ways!”

  “Blessed be!” The witches clapped their hands and stomped their feet in wild abandon. Dread snaked down my spine as I watched them.

  Morgane took another step. “Blessed be thy knees, that shall kneel at the sacred altar!”

  “Blessed be!” Tears ran down the plump witch’s face. Beau watched her in fascination, but she didn’t notice. No one did.

  Another step. “Blessed be thy womb, without which we would not be!”

  “Blessed be!”

  Morgane had fully descended now. “Blessed be thy breasts, formed in beauty!”

  “Blessed be!”

  She stretched her arms wide and threw her head back, chest heaving. “And blessed be thy lips, that shalt utter the Sacred Names of the gods!”

  The witches’ cries rose to a tumult. “Blessed be!”

  Morgane lowered her arms, still breathing heavily, and the witches gradually quieted.

  “Welcome, sisters, and merry Modraniht!” Her indulgent smile returned as she stepped to the head of the middle table. “Draw near to me, please, and eat and drink your fill! For tonight we celebrate!”

  The witches cheered once more, and they scrambled for the chairs nearest her.

  “Consorts can’t sit at the tables,” Elaina called hastily over her shoulder. She rushed after her sister. “Va-t’en! Go stand by the wall with the others!”

  Relief surged through me. We quickly joined the other consorts at the back wall.

  Beau directed us toward one of the windows. “Here. I’m getting a headache from all the incense.”

  The position offered an unimpeded view of Morgane. With a lazy wave of her hand, she called forth the food. Soon sounds of clinking cutlery joined the laughter echoing through the hall. A consort beside us turned and said in awe, “She is almost too beautiful to look upon, La Dame des Sorcières.”

  “So don’t look at her,” I snapped.

  The girl blinked, startled, before shuffling away.

  I turned my attention back to Morgane. She looked nothing like the drawings in Chasseur Tower. The woman was beautiful, yes, but also cold and cruel—like ice. She had none of Lou’s warmth in her. She had none of Lou in her at all. The two were night and day—winter and summer—and yet . . . there was something similar in their expression. In the set of their jaw. Something determined. Both confident in their ability to bend the world to their will.

  But that was how Lou used to look. Now, she floated near Morgane as if sleeping. A witch stood by her side. Tall and ebony-skinned. Sprigs of holly braided through her black hair.

  “A poor witch’s Cosette,” a voice murmured beside me. Coco. She watched Lou and the ebony witch with an unfathomable expression.

  A small hand touched my arm through the window. I spun swiftly.

  “Don’t turn around!”

  I stopped moving abruptly, but not before glimpsing strawberry blond hair and Madame Labelle’s alarmingly familiar blue eyes.

  “You look the same.” I attempted to move my lips as little as possible. Coco and I inched back until we were pressed against the windowsill. Ansel and Beau fell in on either side of us, completely blocking Madame Labelle from view. “Why aren’t you disguised? Where have you been?”

  She huffed irritably. “Even my power has its limits. Between casting the protective enchantment on our camp and transforming all your faces—as well as maintaining those transformations—I’m spent. I could barely manage lightening my hair, which means I can’t come inside. I’m too recognizable.”

  “What are you talking about?” Coco hissed. “Lou never had to maintain patterns in the infirmary. She just—I don’t know—did them.”

  “Did you want me to alter your face permanently, then?” Madame Labelle skewered her with a glare. “By all means, it would be much easier for me to be done with it and have you all remain lecherous little cretins forever—”

  Heat crept up my throat. “Lou practiced magic in the church?”

  “So what’s the plan?” Ansel whispered hastily.

  I forced myself to refocus on the tables. The meal was quickly coming to an end. Music drifted in from somewhere outside. Already some had risen from their chairs to retrieve their consorts. Elaina and Elinor would soon be upon me.

  “The plan is to wait for my signal,” Madame Labelle said tersely. “I’ve made arrangements.”

  “What?” I resisted the urge to turn around and throttle her. Now was not the time or place for vague and unhelpful instructions. Now was the time for conciseness. For action. “What arrangements? What signal?”

  “There’s no time to explain, but you’ll know when you see it. They’re waiting outside—”

  “Who?”

  I stopped talking abruptly as Elinor bounded up to us.

  “Ha!” she cried, triumphant. Her breath smelled sweet with wine. Her cheeks flushed pink. “I beat her here! That means I get first dance!”

>   I dug in my feet as she pulled me away, but when I glanced back over my shoulder, Madame Labelle had gone.

  I spun Elinor around the clearing without seeing her. It’d taken a quarter of an hour to trek to this unnatural place, hidden deep within the shadow of the mountain. The same thick mist from La Forêt des Yeux clung to the ground here. It swirled around our legs as we danced, matching the lilting melody. I could almost see the spirits of witches long dead dancing within it.

  The ruins of a temple—pale, crumbling—opened up to the night sky in the middle of the clearing. Morgane sat there with a still unconscious Lou, overseeing minor sacrifices. A stone altar rose from the ground beside them. It shone pristine in the moonlight.

  My mind and body warred. The former screamed to wait for Madame Labelle. The latter itched to throw itself between Lou and Morgane. I couldn’t stand to look upon her lifeless body any longer. To watch her drift along as if she were already a spirit of the mist.

  And Morgane—never before had I longed to kill a witch as I did now, to plunge a knife into her throat and sever her pale head from her body. I didn’t need my Balisarda to kill her. She would bleed without it.

  Not yet. Wait for the signal.

  If only Madame Labelle had told us what the signal was.

  The music played endlessly, but there were no musicians in sight. Elinor grudgingly passed me to Elaina, and I lost track of time. Lost track of everything but the panicked beat of my heart, the cold night air on my skin. How much longer would Madame Labelle expect me to wait? Where was she? Who was she expecting?

  Too many questions and not enough answers. And still no sign of Madame Labelle.

  Panic rapidly gave way to despair as the last sheep was slain, and the witches began presenting other tokens to Morgane. Wooden carvings. Bundled herbs. Hematite jewelry.

  Morgane watched them place each gift at her feet without a word. She stroked Lou’s hair absently as the ebony witch approached from within the temple. I couldn’t hear their murmured conversation, but Morgane’s face lit up at whatever the witch said. I watched the witch return to the temple with a sense of foreboding.