Blood & Honey

by Shelby Mahurin

  Zenna’s eyes flashed. “The witch does not scare me.”

  Claud’s face grew grave. “She should.” To Seraphine, he added, “Perhaps you could . . . ruminate on the situation.”

  She clutched the cross at her throat, staring at him with wide eyes.

  Once again, I turned to Reid, but he remained as if carved from stone. A statue. I sighed. “The catacombs will still take several hours to search. Does anyone have the time?”

  Deveraux pulled out his pocket watch—a silly, gilded contraption. “Just shy of nine o’clock in the evening.”

  “Three hours.” I nodded to myself, trying to infuse optimism into my words. “We can find her in three hours.”

  “I can perhaps buy you an extra hour or two,” Claud offered, “if I find Morgane before we find this Célie. We have much to debate, La Dame des Sorcières and I.” He ambled to his feet, abruptly relaxed once more—as if we discussed the weather and not abduction and murder. “The hour draws late, Monsieur Diggory. It is clear none wish to proceed without your blessing. A decision must be made. Will we ignore La Dame des Sorcières’ threat, or will we venture into La Mascarade des Crânes to rescue your lady fair? All paths involve considerable risk to those you love.”

  Your lady fair. I couldn’t help a grimace. Those you love.

  Reid’s eyes snapped to mine, not missing the movement. Neither did Jean Luc. He pressed closer to Reid, unwilling or unable to hide his desperation. “Reid.” He touched a hand to Reid’s chest, tapping insistently. “Reid, this is Célie. You aren’t going to leave her in the hands of that madwoman, are you?”

  If Reid wondered about Jean Luc’s sudden interest in Célie, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he’d known. Perhaps he’d known all along. He didn’t break eye contact with me. “No.”

  “Thank God.” Jean Luc allowed himself a brief second of relief before nodding. “We haven’t a moment to lose. Let’s go—”

  Reid stepped around him to face me. I forced myself to return his gaze, knowing his next words before he even opened his mouth. “Lou, I . . . I don’t think you should come. This is a trap.”

  “Of course it’s a trap. It’s always been a trap.”

  At last, La Voisin broke her silence. “If you need reassurance of her safety, huntsman, I can provide it.” If Nicholina had been capable, she might’ve bounced on the balls of her feet. As it was, she tittered girlishly. “A bit of Louise’s blood will show me her future.” She extended her hand to me with an inscrutable expression. “If she dares.”

  The werewolves looked on uneasily, shifting their feet. Though they remained in their human forms, their nails had sharpened amidst the panic. An instinctive reaction, I presumed.

  “No.” Coco slapped her aunt’s hand away—actually slapped it—and stepped in front of her. “If anyone tastes Lou’s blood, it’ll be me.”

  La Voisin’s lip curled. “You do not have my skill with divination, niece.”

  “I don’t care.” Coco squared her shoulders before asking me silent permission with her eyes. If I said no, she wouldn’t ask again. She wouldn’t let the others ask either. She’d accept my decision, and we would find another way forward. “It’s me or no one.”

  Inexplicably nervous, I placed my hand in hers. I didn’t fear Coco. She wouldn’t abuse my blood in her system. She wouldn’t attempt to control me. No, I feared what she might see. When she lifted my finger to her mouth, the blood witches—even the werewolves—seemed to press closer in response. In anticipation. Reid seized my wrist. “You don’t have to do this.” Panic laced his voice. “Whatever this is.”

  I gave a grim smile. “It’s better to know, isn’t it?”

  “Rarely,” Claud cautioned.

  “Just do it,” I said.

  Without another word, Coco pierced the pad of my finger with her incisor, drawing a single bead of blood into her mouth. I didn’t turn to see the others’ reactions, instead watching as Coco closed her eyes in concentration. After several tense seconds, I whispered, “Coco?”

  Her eyes snapped open, rolling to the back of her head. Though I’d seen her scour the future countless times before, I still shivered at the way those white, sightless eyes studied my face. At least I’d been prepared for it. The others gasped audibly—some cursing, some retching—as Ansel darted forward. His hands fluttered around her, helpless, as if he was unsure whether or not he could touch her. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

  “Shut up, and she’ll tell us,” Beau said, watching her with rapt attention.

  “Lou . . .” Reid edged closer, his hand slipping into mine. “What is this?”

  “She’s fine.” I glanced back at the werewolves, who—standing in the tavern of a dirty inn, watching a witch divine the future—seemed to be questioning their life choices. Jean Luc’s face contorted with disgust. “Just give her a moment.”

  When Coco touched my cheek, everyone drew a collective breath. “I see death,” she said, voice deep and strange.

  A beat passed as we all stared at her.

  “I see death,” she repeated, tilting her head, “but not your own.” Reid exhaled in a sigh of relief. The movement attracted Coco. Her eerie gaze flicked between us, through us. My chest tightened at that look. This wasn’t over. This wasn’t good, and Reid didn’t seem to understand—

  “By the stroke of midnight, a man close to your heart will die.”

  My hand slipped from Reid’s.

  “What?” Ansel whispered, horrified.

  “Who?” Pushing past us, Beau gripped Coco’s shoulder with sudden urgency. “What man?”

  “I cannot see his face.”

  “Damn it, Coco—”

  “Let her go.” Through numb lips, I forced the words out, remembering her explanation from so long ago. Before the heist. Before Reid. Before everything. “All she can see is what my blood shows her.”

  Beau stumbled back, crestfallen, before whirling to look at Reid. “We don’t know it’s you. It could be Ansel or Deveraux or—or that Bas fellow. Or the heart could be symbolic,” he added quickly, nodding. “You are her heart. Maybe—maybe it could mean a man close to you like—like Jean Luc or our father, or—”

  “Or you,” Reid admitted quietly.

  Beau whirled to face me. “Are there any other ex-boyfriends who—”

  “Beau.” I shook my head, and he broke off, staring at his boots. I swallowed hard. My throat ached with unshed emotion, but only a fool cried over what hadn’t yet happened—what would not happen. A small voice in my head warned it unwise to poke fate in the nose, so I gave her the finger instead. Because I wouldn’t allow this. I wouldn’t accept it.

  “Can you see anything else, Cosette?” More than one head turned at the cool, detached voice of La Voisin. She surveyed Coco dispassionately. “Ground yourself in the vision. Touch it. Taste it. Hone your focus however you can.”

  But Coco’s hand merely fell from my cheek. Her eyelids fluttered shut. “You will lose the one you love.”

  Absolute silence descended as Coco gradually came back to herself.

  Though Beau dropped his head in defeat, Reid turned me to face him with gentle hands. “Are you . . . okay? Lou?”

  You will lose the one you love.

  I supposed that cleared it up nicely.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” At his concerned look, I said, “Oh, I won’t be losing you anytime soon. Coco’s visions are changeable, subjective to the user’s current path. You see?”

  “I—” He glanced at Coco, whose eyes sharpened as they returned to normal. Ansel held her steady. “No, I don’t.”

  “It’s simple, really. If I continue on the path as planned, you’ll die, but if I change my path, you’ll live. Which means you aren’t coming with me.”

  Reid fixed me with a flat, incredulous look, while Deveraux tilted his head. “I’m not sure that logic tracks, my dear. He can expire in this inn quite as easily as he can expire in the tunnels.”

  “Yes, but Morg
ane is down there,” Beau insisted. Our eyes locked in understanding. “At least he has a chance up here.”

  I stared at the door to the storeroom, unable to meet anyone’s eye.

  Blaise shook his head. “We cannot afford for Reid to hide above. We need numbers in this battle. Strength.”

  “You owe him a life debt,” Beau said, uncharacteristically emphatic. “How can you fulfill it if he dies?”

  “She said someone would die.” Liana crossed her arms, shooting an unapologetic look in my direction. “You were right. We don’t know if it’ll be Reid.”

  Beau threw his hands in the air. “Except Coco then followed with—and I quote—you will lose the one you love. How the hell are we supposed to interpret that? Morgane told her once that she’d cut out his heart. How do we know that won’t happen tonight?”

  Coco clamped her jaw and exhaled hard through her nose. “We don’t know. We don’t know what’s going to happen down in those tunnels. But I do know that my visions are rarely what they seem. I had one before we robbed Tremblay too. I thought it meant something ominous, but Angelica’s Ring ended up saving Lou’s ass—”

  Jean Luc looked likely to die from apoplexy then and there. “I don’t care about rings and blood visions. Célie is down there now—trapped in a crypt—and we’re wasting time.”

  “You do not speak—” La Voisin hissed.

  “He’s right,” Reid said curtly. “I’m going into those tunnels. The more people searching, the faster we’ll find her.” Though he gave me a cursory glance, lips pursed with genuine remorse, his voice brooked no argument. Heart pounding, still numb, I felt myself nod.

  Beau slumped in his chair, defeated, and cursed bitterly. “The crypts are nearly as expansive as the tunnels—and they’re creepy as shit, in case you were wondering.”

  Reid nodded. “We’ll split into groups to cover more ground.” With a subtle change in posture, he shifted seamlessly into captain once more. Jean Luc didn’t even gnash his teeth. “Josephine, divide your kin into groups of three. You can search the northern and eastern crypts. Blaise, you and your children can take the southern. Deveraux and his troupe can take the Skull Masquerade.”

  Ansel stepped forward tentatively. “What about me? Where should I go?”

  “I need you to stay here, Ansel. The patrons of La Mascarade des Crânes won’t know the danger that awaits them. If anyone enters Léviathan seeking this entrance through the tunnels, warn them away.”

  It was a thinly veiled excuse, and Ansel knew it. His face fell. There would be no patrons in Léviathan tonight. Claud had assured it. Though Reid sighed, he continued, undeterred. “Coco and I will take the western crypts . . .”

  His voice dimmed into background noise as Nicholina caught my eye from behind him. She looked pointedly to the storeroom door. For once, she wasn’t smiling. I stared at her. She couldn’t possibly be helping me. She couldn’t possibly care. . . .

  Soon we’ll taste the noises on his tongue, oh yes, each moan and sigh and grunt.

  A sharp pain spiked through my chest.

  Perhaps she didn’t want Reid to die either.

  I didn’t stop to consider her nefarious purposes for wanting him alive. When she glided toward him, weightless, I shifted subtly, making room for her beside him. She took full advantage, draping herself across his chest. “Do you wish to die, Monsieur Diggory?” He shot me an anxious glance, but I shrugged, adopting my best nonplussed expression. “Death comes swiftly on this night,” she sang sweetly, “cloaked not in black, but eerie white.”

  I inched backward.

  Coco scowled. “Get off him, Nicholina—”

  “She is his bride, his maiden fair, who feasts upon flesh and despair.”

  “Just ignore her,” Beau said, rolling his eyes. “I do.”

  The wood of the storeroom door touched my fingertips as he tried to push her away. His hands couldn’t quite connect, however, as if her form consisted of more vapor than flesh. It clung to him like mist.

  “As she eats, her bridegroom moans, come to gather skin and bones—”

  I turned the handle. Reid struggled helplessly as Nicholina brought her lips toward his.

  Swallowing bile, I hesitated, but La Voisin slid into place before the door, blocking me from view. She didn’t look at me. The slight dip of her chin was my only indication she’d seen me at all.

  With one last, lingering look at Reid’s back—the breadth of his shoulders, the coppery waves at his neck—I slipped through the door and out of sight. This was the only way. Though they’d deliberated, Coco’s vision had been clear: you will lose the one you love. I let the words flow through me, strengthening my resolve, as I glanced around the storeroom, searching for the tunnel entrance.

  A thick layer of dust coated the rotting shelves, the amber bottles, and the oaken barrels. I stepped carefully over shards of shattered glass, my boots sticking to the tacky floor around them. A single lantern bathed everything in flickering, eerie light. But—there.

  I rolled a whiskey cask away from the darkest corner, revealing a trapdoor. Its hinges made not a sound as I swung it open. They were well oiled, then. Well used. Beneath the trapdoor, a narrow staircase disappeared into complete and utter darkness. I peered into it warily. The only things missing were weeping and gnashing of teeth.

  After bending to retrieve the dagger from my boot, I stepped down, closed the door overhead, and shoved the blade through the handle. I pushed up once experimentally. It didn’t budge.

  Good.

  I turned away. He couldn’t follow me—not easily, at least. Not without magic.

  When life is a choice between fighting or fleeing—every moment life or death—everything becomes a weapon. It doesn’t matter who holds them. Weapons harm.

  Weapons harm.

  If we lived through this, I refused to be a weapon any longer.

  But until then . . . I glanced up at the trapdoor, torn with indecision.

  You’re a witch. I shouldn’t have resented you using magic. Just—don’t let it take you somewhere I can’t follow.

  This time, however, that was exactly what I needed to do. A simple knife wouldn’t keep Reid away. Despite Coco’s vision, he would do everything in his power to follow, to protect me from Morgane. From myself. If ever there was a moment of life and death, this was it—and it was mine.

  I slipped my dagger from the handle, sheathing it in my boot once more. Then I lifted trembling hands. “Just once more,” I promised him, taking a deep breath. “One last time.”

  I heard their shouts—the storeroom door rattle—as I turned and descended into Hell.

  Nous Tombons Tous

  Reid

  “Lou! LOU!” I pounded on the trapdoor, roaring her name, but she didn’t answer. There was only silence. Silence and panic—raw, visceral panic that closed my throat. Narrowed my vision. I beat on the door again. Tore at the handle. “Don’t do this, Lou. Let us in. LET US IN.”

  Deveraux, Beau, Coco, and Ansel gathered around me. The others watched from the tavern door. “If you’re determined to continue on this rather fruitless course of action, I will not stop you.” Deveraux touched a gentle hand to my forearm. “I will, however, point out this door has been barred with magic and suggest we journey to a secondary entrance. The closest resides within the cemetery, perhaps a quarter hour walk from here.”

  Jean Luc pushed past Nicholina, who stroked a pale hand down his back. He leapt away. “East End is brimming with Chasseurs. The rest are down those tunnels. If we’re seen, I can’t protect you. I won’t.”

  “Your loyalty inspires,” Liana snapped.

  “I’m not loyal to any of you. I’m loyal to Célie—”

  “Jean Luc,” Beau said, clapping a hand to his shoulder. Bracing. “Everyone here wants to kill or possibly eat you. Shut up, good man, before you lose your spleen.”

  Jean Luc fell into mutinous silence. I turned to Coco. “Open the door. Please.”

  She stared at me
for several tense seconds. “No,” she said at last. “You could die. I know you don’t care, but Lou does. To everyone’s surprise, I do. I won’t supersede her efforts to protect you—and even if I wanted to, I can’t open this door. No one can but the witch who cast the enchantment.”

  A snarl to rival the werewolves’ tore from my throat. “I’ll do it myself.”

  When I willed the patterns to emerge, however, none did. Not a single strand of gold. Not a single voice in my head. Furious, desperate, I turned to Toulouse, ripping the tarot deck from his shirt pocket. I shoved a card into his chest, and now, now, gold finally flared in my vision.

  To know the unknown, you must unknow the known, the voices whispered.

  Nonsense. Riddles. I didn’t care. Choosing a pattern at random, I watched as it exploded into dust. “Reverse Strength,” I snapped, and Toulouse grinned, glancing down at the card. “It means intense anger. Fear. A lack of confidence in one’s own abilities, a loss of faith in oneself. In some cases—”

  “—it is a loss of one’s identity altogether.” He chuckled and flipped the card to face me, revealing an upside-down woman and lion. Despite the horrific circumstances, triumph burst in my chest. Toulouse’s grin spread. “It’s about time too. You had me worried for a moment.”

  I jerked my chin toward the door. “Can you help me?”

  His eyes dimmed. “Only Lou can open that door. I’m sorry.”

  Fuck.

  “On to the cemetery, is it?” Deveraux clapped his hands. “Marvelous! Might I suggest we tarry forth? Time continues slipping away from us.”

  I nodded, breathing deeply. Forcing myself to calm. He was right. Each moment I’d bickered was a moment wasted—a moment Morgane tormented Célie, a moment Lou slipped farther away. Two desperate problems. One potential solution? I wracked my brain, thinking quickly. Analytically.

  Lou would find Célie. Of that, I was sure. She had a head start. She had knowledge. She had incentive. No, there wasn’t a force in Heaven or Hell—including Morgane—that would prevent her from succeeding in this. I didn’t need to find Célie. If I found Lou, I’d find them both.