I squared my shoulders. “Your note said you’d let her go.”
“No. My note said I’d eat her heart if you didn’t rescue her by midnight, which”—she licked her teeth salaciously—“is now. Perhaps you can offer a distraction in the meantime.”
“But I rescued her—”
“No, Louise.” Morgane’s grin darkened. “You haven’t. Now,” she said, matter-of-fact, “tell me, are there more like your huntsman? Perhaps I was foolish in sending away our sons. It has proved near impossible to track them, and those we found . . . well, they’re quite terrified of me. It seems not all sons inherit our gifts.” She looked lovingly to the corpses above her. “But I am not without reward. My labor yielded different fruit.”
“We found no one,” I lied, but she knew. She smiled.
“Come here, sweeting.” She crooked a finger at Célie, who stood so close behind me I could feel her body shake. “Such a lovely little doll. Come here, so I may shatter you.”
“Please,” Célie whispered, clutching my arm as her feet moved of their own accord. “Please, help me.”
I caught her hand and held it there. “Leave her alone, Morgane. You’ve tormented her enough.”
Morgane cocked her head as if considering. “Perhaps you’re right. It would be much less satisfying to simply kill her, wouldn’t it?” She clapped her hands together and laughed. “Oh, how delightfully cruel you are. I must say I’m impressed. With her dead sister’s flesh still fouling her skin, of course we must condemn her to live—to live and to never forget. The torment, as you say, will be delicious.”
Tasting bile, I released Célie’s hand. When her feet continued forward, however, she let out a sob. “What are you doing?” I snarled, leaping down the steps after her.
“Please, Louise,” Morgane crooned, “I desire for you to come closer. Follow the doll.” To Ansel, she added, “From the way you flit at her side, I assume you’re some kind of pet. A bird, perhaps. Remain where you are, lest I pluck your feathers for a hat.”
Ansel reached for the knife at his belt. I waved him back, hissing, “Stay here. Don’t give her more reason to notice you.”
His doe-like eyes blinked, confused. He still hadn’t connected the dots.
“I’m waiting,” she sang, her voice dripping with honey.
Witches lined the steps, watching as Célie and I descended. More than I’d expected. More than I recognized. Manon stood near the bottom, but she refused to look at me. Indifference smoothed her pointed features, turned her ebony face into a hard mask. But—she swallowed hard as I passed, mask cracking as her eyes flicked to one of the corpses.
It was the handsome, golden-haired man from earlier. Gilles.
Beside him, two girls with equally fair complexions drifted, their glassy eyes just as blue. An older brunette hovered on his other side, and a toddler—he couldn’t have been older than three—completed the circle. Five bodies in all. Five perfect corpses.
“Do not let their expressions deceive you,” Morgane murmured. This close, I could see the angry red scar on her chest from Jean Luc’s blade. “Their deaths were not peaceful. They were not pretty or pleasant. But you know that already, don’t you? You saw our sweet Etienne.” Another smile twisted her lips. “You should’ve heard him scream, Louise. It was beautiful. Transcendent. And all because of you.”
With the curl of her fingers, the bodies lowered, still circling, until they surrounded me at eye level. Their toes brushed the earth, and their heads—I swallowed a gag.
Their heads were clearly kept intact by magic.
Numb, I rose to my toes, closing first the toddler’s eyes—his head wavered at the contact—then the brunette’s, the twins’, and finally, the handsome stranger’s. Manon shifted in my peripheral vision. “You’re sick, Maman,” I said. “You’ve been sick for a long time.”
“You would know, darling. You can’t imagine my delight watching you these past weeks. I’ve never been so proud. Finally, my daughter realizes what must be done. She’s on the wrong side, of course, but her sacrifices are still commendable. She has become the weapon I conceived her to be.”
Bile rose in my throat at her emphasis, and I prayed—prayed—she hadn’t been spying on us earlier, hadn’t overheard Reid’s words in our room at Léviathan. Our bedroom. Her presence would poison those moments between us.
Please, not those.
Her finger—cold and sharp—lifted my chin. But her eyes were colder. Her eyes were sharper. “Did you think you could save them?” When I said nothing, only stared, she pinched my chin harder. “You humiliated me on Modraniht. In front of all our sisters. In front of the Goddess herself. After you fled, I realized how blind I’d been. How fixated. I sent your sisters into the kingdom in search of Auguste’s spawn.” She backhanded Gilles’s face, rupturing his skin. Stagnant blood oozed out of him. It dripped onto Gaby’s hair. She moaned again. “And I found them—not all of them, no, not yet. But soon. You see, I do not need your wretched throat to exact my vengeance, Louise. My will shall be done, with or without you.
“Make no mistake,” she added, seizing my chin once more, “you will die. But should you escape again, I will not chase you. Never again will I chase you. Instead, I will cherish dismembering your huntsman’s brothers and sisters, and I will send you each piece. I will bottle their screams and poison your dreams. Each time you close your eyes, you will witness the end of their miserable lives. And—after the last child is slain—I will come for your huntsman, and I will cut the secrets from his mind, butchering him in front of you. Only then will I kill you, daughter. Only when you beg for death.”
I stared at her. My mother. She was mad, wholly and completely crazed. She’d always been passionate, volatile, but this . . . this was different. In her quest for vengeance, she’d given away too much. All those pieces you’re giving up—I want them, Reid had said. I want you. Whole and unharmed. I searched her face for any sign of the woman who’d raised me—who’d danced with me on the beach and taught me to value my worth—but there was nothing left. She was gone.
Do you think you’ll be able to kill your own mother?
She hasn’t given me a choice.
It hadn’t been an answer then. It was now.
“Well?” She released my chin, her eyes blazing with fury. “Have you nothing to say?”
My hands were heavy, leaden, but I forced them upward anyway. “I think . . . if you plan to dismember all of his children, one by one . . . I have quite a bit of time to stop you.” She bared her teeth, and I grinned at her, faking bravado. That stretch of my mouth cost everything. It also provided a distraction for the half step I took in Gabrielle’s direction. “And I will stop you, Maman—especially if you blather about your plans every time we meet. You really love the sound of your voice, don’t you? I never took you for narcissistic. Deranged and fanatical, yes, at times even vain, but never narciss—”
Morgane hauled Gaby to her feet before I could finish, and I cursed mentally. When she twisted a hand, a ball of fire bloomed atop her palm. “I had thought to offer you an ultimatum, darling, between Célie and Gabrielle—just a bit of fun—but it seems you’ve quite tested my patience. Now I will kill them both. Though I know you prefer ice, I’m partial to fire. It’s rather poetic, don’t you think?”
Célie whimpered behind me.
Shit.
At the stroke of Morgane’s finger, Gaby’s eyes snapped open—then widened, darting around us. “Lou.” Her voice cracked on my name, and she thrashed in Morgane’s arms. “Lou, she’s a maniac. She and—”
She stopped talking on a scream when Morgane swept the fire against her face—when Morgane swept and kept sweeping, drawing the flames down her throat, her chest, her arms. Though she screamed and screamed, thrashing anew, Morgane didn’t release her. Panicked, I cast about for a pattern, for the pattern, but before I could commit, a blade sliced through the air, through Morgane’s hand.
Howling in outrage, she dropped Gaby and je
rked toward—
My breath caught in my throat.
Ansel. She jerked toward Ansel.
He’d followed me again.
Eyes narrowing, she looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time. Her blood dripped onto the hem of her robes. One drop. Two drops. Three. “I remember you.” When she smiled, her face twisted into something ugly and dark. She didn’t stop Gaby as she scrambled backward, away from us, and disappeared into the tunnel below the aisles. “You were at Modraniht. Such a pretty little bird. You’ve finally found your wings.”
He gripped his knives tighter, jaw set, and widened his stance, planting his feet and preparing to use both his upper- and lower-body strength. Pride and terror warred inside my heart. He’d saved Gaby. He’d drawn Morgane’s blood.
He’d been marked.
The patterns came without hesitation as I stepped to his side. When I raised my hands, determined, he nudged the knife in my boot instead. I drew it swiftly. “First lesson,” he breathed. “Find your opponent’s weaknesses and exploit them.”
“What are you whispering?” she hissed, drawing another fireball into her hand.
She’d chosen fire to make a statement, but fire could be stoked. It meant passion. Emotions. In combat, she’d react swiftly, without forethought, and that impulsivity could be her undoing. We’d have to be careful, quick. “I knew you’d choose fire.” I smirked, tossing the blade in my hand with casual nonchalance. “You’re growing predictable in your old age, Maman. And wrinkled.” When she launched the first fireball, Ansel ducked swiftly. “It’s a good thing your hair is naturally white. It hides the gray, yes?”
With a scream of indignation, she flung the second. This time, however, I moved swifter still, catching the flames on my blade and hurling them back at her. “Second lesson,” I said, laughing as her cloak caught fire. “There’s no such thing as cheating. Use every weapon in your arsenal.”
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Morgane flung her cloak to the ground, panting. It smoldered gently, sending clouds of smoke to curl around her. “But I taught you how to fight, Louise. Me.” Barely discernible through the smoke, she gathered a third ball of fire between her palms, eyes glittering with malice. “Third lesson: the fight isn’t over until one of you is dead.” When she threw the fireball, it grew into a sword—a pillar—and neither Ansel nor I could move swiftly enough. It razed our skin as it passed, knocking us from our feet, and Morgane lunged.
Anticipating the movement—body screaming in pain—I swiped Ansel’s knife and rolled over him, slashing his blade at her face. Her upper half reared backward, but the movement propelled her lower half toward me—toward my knife, which I drove through her stomach. She gasped. The flames vanished, and the bodies floating above thudded to the ground. Horrified gasps rose from the audience as her spell lifted. With Ansel’s blade, I moved to finish the job, watching her every movement, every emotion, as if time had slowed. Memorizing her face. Her brows as they dipped in confusion. Her eyes as they widened in surprise. Her lips as they parted in fear.
Fear.
It was one emotion I’d never seen on my mother’s face.
And it made me hesitate.
Above us, footsteps thundered, and Reid’s shout splintered the silence.
No.
Faster than humanly possible, Morgane’s hand snaked out, catching my wrist and twisting. The world rushed back into focus with vivid clarity, and I dropped the knife with a cry.
“You tried to kill me,” she whispered. “Me. Your mother.” Wild, cackling laughter stole her breath, even as—as Chasseurs descended. Reid and Jean Luc led them with Blaise snarling behind, fully shifted. “And what if you’d succeeded, daughter? Is that why you came here? Did you think you’d become queen?” She twisted brutally, and I heard my bone snap. Pain radiated up my arm, consuming everything, and I screamed. “A queen must do what is necessary, Louise. You were almost there, but you stopped. Shall I show you the path to continue? Shall I show you everything you lack?”
She dropped my wrist, and I staggered backward, watching through tears as Reid sprinted toward us, pulling away from the rest, knives drawn. I couldn’t move fast enough. I couldn’t stop him. “Reid, NO—!”
Morgane hurled a fourth and final ball of fire, and it exploded against his chest.
The Woodwose
Reid
Smoke engulfed me, thick and billowing. It smothered my nose, my mouth, my eyes. Though I couldn’t see her, I could still hear Lou as she screamed, as she raged against her mother, who laughed. Who laughed and laughed and laughed. I waded through the smoke to reach her, to tell her I was fine—
“Reid!” Ansel bellowed. Jean Luc’s voice soon joined his, shouting over the din as audience members fled for safety. As witches shrieked and footsteps pounded, thick as the smoke in the air.
But where was the fire?
I patted my chest, searching for the sharp heat of flames, but there were none. Instead, there was—there was—
Claud Deveraux stood beside me, offering me a sly smile. In his hands, he held the ball of flames—shrinking now, smoking wildly—and in his eyes . . . I blinked rapidly through the smoke. For just a moment, his eyes seemed to flicker with something ancient and wild. Something green. I yielded a step in astonishment. The faint earthiness I’d smelled within Troupe de Fortune’s wagons had returned tenfold. It overwhelmed the smoke, doused the cavern in the scent of pine sap and lichen, fresh soil and hay. “I thought—you said you weren’t a witch.”
“And I’m still not, dear boy.”
“We couldn’t find you. In the tunnels, we couldn’t—”
“My ducklings had gone missing, hadn’t they?” He straightened my coat with a tight smile. “Never fear. I shall find them.” Beyond the smoke, Lou still screamed. It filled my ears, hindering all other thought. “And though sweet Zenna knew better, the temptation of violence proved too much to resist—such bloodlust in that one. I found her in the tunnels while I searched for the others. Poor Seraphine had no choice but to follow, and I couldn’t very well leave them unprotected. I had hoped to return before the situation here escalated—better to prevent than to heal, you know—but alas.” He looked over his shoulder toward Morgane’s laughter. “Her sickness may consume us all. If you’ll excuse me.”
He parted the smoke with the flick of his wrist.
Lou and Morgane materialized, circling each other with their hands raised. Past them, Ansel shielded Célie in his arms, and Jean Luc and Coco fought back-to-back against a trio of witches. Above us, Beau ushered panicked revelers to the exits. The body of a witch cooled at Blaise’s feet, throat torn open, but another had cornered him. Her hands contorted wildly.
Two Chasseurs reached her first.
When Deveraux stepped out of the smoke, Lou and Morgane both froze. I followed behind.
“You,” Morgane snarled at him, and she stumbled—actually stumbled—backward.
Deveraux sighed. “Yes, darling. Me.”
And with those words, Claud Deveraux began to change. Growing taller, broader, his form stretched over even me. Cloven hooves burst from his polished shoes. Stag antlers erupted from his styled curls. A crown of oaken branches wove around them. Pupils narrowing abruptly to slits, his eyes gleamed in the darkness like a cat’s. He stared down at us in silence for several seconds.
I took a shaky breath.
“Holy shit.” Lou gaped up at him in disbelief. In confusion. I edged toward her. “You’re . . . you’re the Woodwose.”
Winking, he tipped his hat to her. It vanished in a burst of lilacs, which he presented to her with a flourish. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you, little one.” His voice was deeper now, ancient, as if it hailed from the earth itself. “I do apologize for not revealing myself sooner, but these are strange and difficult times.”
“But you aren’t real. You’re a goddamn fairy tale.”
“As are you, Louise.” His yellow eyes crinkled. “As are you.”
He smiled without warmth, revealing pointed fangs. “Tread carefully, darling. I am not a dog who must obey his master’s summons.” His voice grew harder, fiercer, at Morgane’s grimace. “I am the Wild. I am all that inhabits the land, all things that are made and unmade. In my hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind. The mountains bow to my whim. The wild animals honor me. I am the shepherd and the flock.”
Despite herself, Morgane yielded a step. “You—you know the Old Laws. You cannot intervene.”
“I cannot directly intervene.” He drew to his full height, looming over her—over us all—his catlike eyes flashing. “But my sister . . . she is displeased with your recent exploits, Morgane. Very displeased.”
“Your sister,” Lou repeated faintly.
Morgan paled. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for her. Soon, her children will be free—”
“And your child will be dead.” Frowning, he reached down to touch her cheek. She didn’t recoil. Instead, she leaned into his touch. I wanted to look away. I couldn’t. Not when profound sadness welled in this strange being’s eyes, not when it slid as a tear down Morgane’s cheek. “What has happened to you, my love? What evil poisons your spirit?”
Now she did recoil. The tear curled into smoke on her cheek. “You left me.”
The word broke something in her, and she leapt into movement, thrusting her hands toward him. Lou lifted her own instinctively. I followed a second too late, dropping one of my knives, cursing as it skidded across the ground past Morgane. She didn’t see it, thrusting her hands at Deveraux again and again. He only flicked his wrist and sighed. The sharp scent of cedar wood engulfed us.
“You know that won’t work on me, darling,” he said irritably. With another flick, Morgane sailed directly upward, suspended as if pinned to a tree. Her palms snapped together. The tumult around us quieted as everyone turned to stare. “I am the land. Your magic comes from me.”
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