I hurtled around the bend, and sure enough, a familiar hamlet rose to meet me. If one could even call it that. Comprising a single street, it boasted a parish and an inn, complete with pub underneath. The entire settlement had risen only to accommodate sailors in need of work, passing from one port city to the next. A handful of them stared as I hurtled past. It mattered not.
Without breaking stride, I headed toward the parish at the end of the road. My fist nearly leveled the door. Once. Twice. Three times. At last, a tall, spotted boy peeked his head out. His eyes widened at my ruddy cheeks, my towering frame. My palpable fury. He let out a squeak before trying to slam the door in my face. Incredulous, I caught it and wrenched it back open. “I am Captain Reid Diggory, and—”
“You can’t be here!” His feeble arms trembled with the effort to shut the door. I held fast. “You—you—”
“—require your services,” I finished roughly, losing patience and flinging the door wide. It banged against the weathered stone wall. Men outside the pub turned to stare. “There are witches in the area. Summon your priest. If no Chasseurs are near, I’ll need a contingent of able-bodied men to—”
The boy planted himself in the threshold when I moved to step inside. “Father Angelart ain’t here. He’s—he’s in Cesarine, sittin’ in on the conclave, isn’t he?”
I frowned. “What conclave?” But the boy merely shook his head, swallowing hard. My frown deepened. Though I attempted to pass once more, he flung his arms wide, barring entrance. Impatience roused the anger in my gut. “Step aside, boy. This is urgent. These witches hold both the crown prince and a lady of the aristocracy hostage. Do you want the lives of innocents on your conscience?”
“Do you?” His voice cracked on the challenge, but still he didn’t move. “Go on. Get!” He jerked his head down the street, waving his hands to shoo me away like I was a mangy dog. “Father Angelart ain’t here, but I—I got me a knife too, right? I’ll gut you, I will, before the huntsmen arrive. This is a sacred place. We don’t—we won’t tolerate your sort here!”
I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to knock his hands aside. To force my way through. “What sort is that?”
The boy’s entire body trembled now. With anger or fear, I couldn’t tell. “Murderers.” He looked as if he wanted to spit at me. Anger, then. “Witches.”
“What are you talking—” My own angry words broke as the memories rose. A temple. The Archbishop. And—and me. I’d stabbed him to death. Sickening cold swept through me at the realization. It extinguished my rage. My mind continued to skitter over the images, however, leaping from one to the next before scattering. I stumbled back a step. Lifted my hands. I could still feel his blood there, could still feel its slick warmth on my palm.
But it—it made no sense. I’d felt nothing but love for my patriarch. Nothing but respect. Except . . . I focused harder on the memory, the parish in front of me falling away.
I’d felt vengeful too. Bitter. The emotions came to me slowly, reluctantly. Like shameful secrets. The Archbishop had lied. Though I couldn’t recall it—though the memory rippled somehow as if distorted—I knew he’d betrayed me. Betrayed the Church. He’d consorted with a witch, and I—I must’ve killed him for it.
I was no longer a Chasseur at all.
“Is there a problem here?” A brawny sailor with a beard pressed his hand on my shoulder, jerking me from my thoughts. Two companions flanked him on either side. “Is this man bothering you, Calot?”
Instead of relief, fresh panic widened the boy’s features. He looked from the sailor’s hand on my shoulder to my face, where my jaw had clenched and my mouth had flattened. “Remove your hand, sir,” I said through my teeth. “Before I remove it for you.”
The man chuckled but complied. “All right.” Slowly, I turned my head to look at him. “You’re built like a tree, and I don’t want any trouble. Why don’t you and I head on up for a pint and leave poor Calot here alone?”
Calot pointed to something beside us before I could answer. A piece of paper. It fluttered in the evening breeze, tacked to the message post beside the door. I looked closer. A picture of my own face glared back at me.
REID DIGGORY
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
UNDER SUSPICION OF MURDER, CONSPIRACY, AND WITCHCRAFT.
REWARD.
The sick feeling in my stomach increased tenfold.
It couldn’t be true. Though my memory felt—off, surely I would know if I—if—
I swallowed bile. There were too many gaps. I couldn’t be sure of anything, and these men—their amicable nature vanished instantly. “Holy shit,” one breathed. His companion hastened to yank the sword from his scabbard. I lifted my hands in a conciliatory gesture.
“I don’t want any trouble either. I came to gather men. There are witches three miles up the road. Two of them. They—”
“We know who they are,” the bearded man growled, jabbing a finger at the other posters. More men from the pub headed toward us now. They drew weapons as they came. Calot shrank into the shadows of the foyer. “You travel with them. They even say one is your wife. Mort Rouge and Sommeil Éternel, they call you.” He too drew a set of knives from his belt. They gleamed sharp and polished in the setting sun. Well used. “You killed the Archbishop. You set the capital aflame.”
My eyes narrowed. A tendril of old anger unfurled. Of disgust. “I would never marry a witch.”
“Is this some sort of hoax?” his friend asked uncertainly.
The bearded man jerked his chin. “Ride to Hacqueville. See if that Chasseur is still there. We’ll hold him.”
“That Chasseur?” My voice sharpened. “Who?”
Instead of answering, the man charged, and the anger simmering in my gut exploded. We collided with bone-shattering impact, and Calot squeaked again before slamming the parish door shut. I threw the bearded man against it. “This is ridiculous. We’re on the same—”
His unharmed friend leapt atop my back, wrapping an arm around my neck. Fisting his hair, I wrenched him over my shoulders and drew a knife from my bandolier. Each dove out of reach as I slashed it in front of me. “Fine. You want to challenge me? You’ll lose. I’m the youngest captain of the Chasseurs in history—”
“Were.” The bearded man stepped around me in a circle. His friend stepped behind. “You were a captain of the Chasseurs. Now you’re a witch.”
“Call them.” With a snarl, I unsheathed another knife, pointing one at each of them. Backing into the parish wall. “Call them all. There are witches near, and they’ve taken someone I—”
They dove at me simultaneously. Though I dodged the bearded man, his friend’s sword clipped my side. Gritting my teeth, I blocked his counterstrike, but others joined now—too many. Far too many. Blades glinted in every direction, and where one failed, a fist connected. A boot. An elbow. A scabbard smashed into my skull, and stars blurred my vision. When I doubled over, someone drove a knee into my face. Another my groin, my ribs. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Wrapping my arms around my head, I attempted to bowl through the mob, but I crashed to my knees instead, spitting blood. The blows kept coming. Violent, frenzied shouts echoed from everywhere at once. My head swam with them.
A strange, whispering energy thrummed in my chest, building and building until—
“That’s enough!” A familiar voice cut through the din, and the foot on my back vanished. “Stop it! Let him go!” I felt rather than saw him approach. My eyes had swollen shut. Still, two hands gripped under my arms and heaved until I stood vertical, and his arm wrapped around my bloody waist.
“Jean Luc,” I croaked, prying my right eye open. Never before had I been so pleased by his presence.
“Shut up,” he said harshly.
Perhaps not.
He swung his Balisarda wide, and those nearest us lurched back with sounds of protest. “This creature belongs to the Church now, and we shall deal with it accordingly—on a stake in Cesarine. Did you think your fists
could kill it? Did you think a sword to the heart would do?” He sneered derisively like only he could. “Witches must burn. Here now, watch me subdue the creature!” When he lifted a syringe, I pushed away from him, lunging for my fallen knives. He laughed coldly and kicked my knees. I sprawled into the snow. Bearing down on me, bending low, he pretended to stick the needle in my throat and whispered, “Play along.”
My muscles sagged in relief.
He rolled me to my back with the tip of his boot. “You there”—pointing to the bearded man, he jerked his chin toward his horse—“help me move the body. It shall burn within the fortnight.” Hastily, the man complied, and together, the two heaved my body upward. “Onto the saddle,” Jean Luc commanded.
The man hesitated in confusion. “Sir?”
Jean Luc’s eyes narrowed as he realized his mistake. “I meant tie him to the saddle. I’ll drag him behind to Cesarine.”
“Him?”
“It,” Jean Luc snapped. “I’ll drag it to Cesarine, you impertinent clot. Perhaps you’d like to join?”
They dumped me behind the horse without another word. No one spoke as Jean Luc tied a length of rope around my wrists, as he hoisted himself into the saddle. I watched him in disbelief. “You all can clear off now.” He kicked his horse into a trot, and my body rioted with pain as I staggered to my feet. At the last second, Jean Luc called, “Thank you for your service in apprehending this criminal. I shall inform the king of your”—he craned around to look at them—“what is the name of this foul place?”
“Montfort,” the bearded man called back angrily.
“What about our reward money?” someone else shouted.
Jean Luc ignored them both, dragging me into the forest.
“You enjoyed that too much,” I said darkly.
Rougher than necessary, Jean Luc untied the rope from my wrists outside the village. “Entirely too much.” He didn’t smile, instead shoving my chest with a murderous expression. “What the hell is wrong with you? Where’s Célie?”
I rubbed my wrists, instantly alert. My head still pounded. “She’s with the witches.”
“What?” Jean Luc’s roar shook the birds from the nearest trees, and he advanced on me again. “What witches? Who?”
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have retreated. As it was, however, I’d sustained two broken ribs, a concussion, and a shattered nose. My pride was bruised enough already. It needn’t suffer another defeat at the hands of Jean Luc. “I don’t know. Two of them.” I started north, careful to navigate around Montfort. “Coco and—and Lou. The crown prince was there too. I tried to bring her with me, but she refused. She likes them.”
“She likes them?” Jean Luc hurried to catch up. “What does that mean?”
“How did you know I was here?” I asked instead.
“I didn’t. I’ve been tracking Célie since she hatched this demented scheme. Did you know she stole her father’s carriage?”
“After robbing his vault,” I added, surprising even myself.
“She robbed him?” Voice faint, Jean Luc shook his head. “You’ve been a terrible influence—you and that witch. I can’t believe you left Célie.” He flung his hands in the air, outpacing me in his agitation. “You are the only reason I allowed her to go. This place—this entire fucking kingdom—it’s dangerous. You were supposed to guard her. Now she’s God knows where with only an idiotic prince for protection.” He exhaled hard, shaking his head frenetically. “This just might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, Reid. I shouldn’t be surprised. You haven’t thought straight since the moment you met—” He clenched his fists midair, apparently overcome. He took a deep breath. Then another. “Whenever she’s around, it’s like every single coherent thought flies out of your head.”
“Who? Célie?”
He whipped around to face me, eyes murderous. “No. Not Célie. Lou. Your wife.”
My wife. I snapped at the repulsive words, stooping to pick up a stone and hurling it at his face. Eyes wide, he ducked, narrowly missing it. “Stop saying that,” I snarled.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He scooped up his own stone then, launching it back at me. I didn’t dodge in time. When it grazed my shoulder, I groaned, but he merely reached for another—a stick this time. “Saying what? That she’s your wife? She is. I watched the inane ceremony myself—”
“Shut up!” I tackled him around the knees, and we both went tumbling in the snow. “Shut! Up! I would never tie myself to such a creature.” We rolled, neither of our blows fully landing. “I would never deign to even touch one—”
“You’ve touched her plenty from what I gather.” He bared his teeth and pushed a palm against my face, scrambling free. “What’s the matter, Reid? Trouble in paradise? I could’ve told you it would never work, but you wouldn’t have listened. You’ve been completely obsessed with her—and still are, by the sound of it. Oh no, don’t try to deny it, and don’t get any ideas about you and Célie either. You made your choice. She’s moved on—”
I snorted and shot to my feet. “You’re pathetic. You think she belongs to you? You think you allowed her to come here? You don’t know her at all, do you?” When he seized my coat front, enraged, I broke his grip, resisting the urge to break his nose too. “She isn’t an object. She’s a person, and she’s changed since you last saw her. You better prepare yourself.”
“If you—”
I elbowed past him. “You don’t have to worry about me.” The truth in the words shocked me. Where once there had been attraction, even infatuation, when I thought of Célie now, I felt only a familial sort of affection. Frowning, I tried to pinpoint the source of the change, but I couldn’t. Though I’d tried to deny it, to rationalize it, something had clearly happened inside my head. Something unnatural. Something like witchcraft. I stormed north, determined to fix it no matter the cost. The witches would know. They’d probably cursed me themselves. Their last act on earth would be undoing it. “Worry about yourself, Jean. Célie won’t be happy to learn you’ve been following her. It implies a lack of trust. A lack of confidence.”
He grimaced and looked away. Good.
“Now,” I said, taking advantage of his silence, “we should strategize for when we meet them. I don’t have my Balisarda, but you do. You’ll need to incapacitate the freckled one.” I frowned. “Coco’s magic is different. She needs to touch us to inflict harm, so I’ll handle her. I should be able to disable her before she can draw blood.”
Jean Luc shook his head, nonplussed. “Why would we need to incapacitate either of them?”
“Because they’re witches.”
“So are you.”
It was my turn to grimace. “Just stick to the plan.”
He squared up to face me at last, straightening his shoulders. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said no.” Though he shrugged, old spitefulness glinted in his pale eyes. “I hate your plan. It’s a terrible plan, and I won’t be doing any of it. I’m only here to collect Célie. Why would I pick a fight with two witches, one who nearly killed me during our last encounter?”
“Because you’re a Chasseur,” I ground out. “You swore an oath to eradicate the occult.”
“Does that mean I should eradicate you?” He stepped closer, cocking his head. “When shall I do it, Reid? How? Would you prefer I drag you back to Cesarine, or shall I behead you here and now, burning your body to ash? It’d certainly be easier.” He took another step, nearly chest to chest with me. “How is that for a plan?”
Red washed over my vision—whether at him or at myself, I didn’t know. I inhaled deeply through my nose. Exhaled hard. I concentrated on each breath, counting to ten. Finally, forcing my voice to remain even, I said, “We can’t simply let them live. They—they did something to me, Jean. My head, it isn’t right. I think they’ve stolen my memories. Pieces of my life. And the freckled witch, she—”
“Lou,” he corrected me.
“Lou.” The
name tasted sour on my tongue. “I think she’s the one who did it.”
He rolled his eyes and started forward once more. “She’d die before she’d harm you. No, don’t”—he lifted a hand to stop my protest—“don’t start. Clearly, something is wrong, but killing Lou and Coco won’t solve it. It won’t, Reid. They’re the only people who like you. No, I said don’t interrupt. If you kill them and return to Cesarine, the huntsmen will inevitably find and execute you. You saw the wanted posters. You’re one of the most notorious outlaws in the entire kingdom, second only to Lou. It’s too dangerous for you to wander the countryside alone—a point you’ve just proven, by the way—which leaves only one option: you stay with the witches.”
“I don’t—”
“You stay with the witches,” he continued in a hard voice, “and they will protect you. Perhaps they’ll even help undo whatever has gone so critically wrong inside your head. Of course, you might need to conduct yourself with a bit more charm to persuade them. A near impossible task, I know—”
“They’ll undo it either way,” I growled.
He stopped again, turning to face me with an impatient sigh. “You still don’t seem to understand, so allow me to make this perfectly clear. You can’t kill them. Simply put, I won’t let you. You’re a dead man walking without them, and beyond that, you’ll hate yourself later if you do. Despite what you think now, those women are your friends. Your family. I’ve watched you all together, and I—” He broke off abruptly, eyes tightening, before turning to stomp through the snow once more. “You’re an idiot.”
I glared at the back of his head, but I no longer tried to argue. He’d painted a clear enough picture. Yes, perhaps I had nowhere else to go at present. Perhaps my brethren would kill me if they found me. Perhaps I did need these witches—to reverse the hex on my mind, to ensure Célie and the crown prince survived. But Jean Luc had been wrong about one thing: I could survive alone. I’d been unprepared before. It wouldn’t happen again.
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