Gods & Monsters

by Shelby Mahurin

Reid, Beau, and I could do nothing but scramble for hiding places, except the room held very little. As the smallest of the three, I dove beneath the bed. As the stupidest, Beau crouched behind the dressing table in plain sight. And Reid, unable to find another spot—not at all small but perhaps stupider than even Beau—rolled under the bed after me, snaking an arm around my waist to prevent me from spilling out the other side. The movement squashed my face against his chest, and I reared back, clutching his collar furiously. What the hell is wrong with you?

  He rolled to his back, glaring at me, as Monsieur Laurent strode into the room.

  “Oh, you can’t imagine how pleased Madame Laurent will be, Captain, to know you’re tasting our whiskey. She’ll be ever so pleased. Thank you, thank you.”

  Reid’s enormous body blocked my view of the room, so slowly, carefully, I leaned over his chest, peering out from across his shoulder. He held very still. He might’ve even stopped breathing.

  Monsieur Laurent was a tall, reedy fellow in his nightclothes and slippers, and he fussed with two tumblers at the dressing table. Jean Luc shifted covertly to hide Beau. “I am honored to taste it, monsieur. Thank you again for providing us lodging at such an untimely hour. My companion sleeps in the next room,” he added, accepting the proffered glass of amber liquid. He sipped it quickly.

  “I must say”—Monsieur Laurent sampled his own glass, leaning against the table with the air of a man getting comfortable—“I was quite shocked to see you on my doorstep, Captain.” He chuckled. “Well, I don’t have to tell you, do I? Apologies again for the less than warm welcome. One can never be too safe these days. The witches are getting bolder, and they’re thick in these parts. You should hear the ghastly sounds of the forest at night.” Shuddering, he readjusted his nightcap, revealing a high, balding forehead. Despite his casual tone, beads of nervous sweat gleamed there. He feared Jean Luc. No—my eyes narrowed shrewdly—he feared Jean’s blue coat. “Anyway, I assumed most Chasseurs would be in Cesarine with the conclave.” He took another hearty drink of whiskey. “I assume you heard news of the trials?”

  Jean Luc—who, to my knowledge, hadn’t heard news of any such thing—nodded and emptied his glass. “I’m forbidden to speak on such matters.”

  “Ah, of course, of course. Very good of you, sir.” When Monsieur Laurent moved to refill his glass, Jean Luc shook his head, and the innkeeper’s expression fell. He recovered from his disappointment almost immediately, however, perhaps a touch relieved, and downed the rest of his whiskey in a single swallow. “I shall leave you to it, then. Please accept the bottle as a mark of our thanks—it isn’t every day one houses a hero. We are honored, sir, just honored, to have you here.”

  Reid lay so still and so tense he might’ve grown roots beneath this bed. Jaw clenched, he glared at the slats overhead without blinking as Monsieur Laurent showed himself from the room, and Jean Luc closed the door once more. The key clicked in the lock.

  Reid didn’t move for a second, clearly grappling with his desire to flee from me and his desire to hide from Jean Luc forever. I studied his rigid profile in the backlight. I supposed it . . . hurt. To hear Monsieur Laurent’s reverence for the person he used to be, the person he could never be again. Jean Luc held that honor now, though truthfully, if he kept hiding witches under his bed, that privilege wouldn’t be his for much longer either. Unable to help it, I brushed a lock of copper hair from Reid’s forehead. “He doesn’t know.”

  “Who doesn’t know what?” he snapped.

  “The innkeeper. He doesn’t know who he has here.” When he shook his head, disgusted—at me, at himself, at the entire situation—I said firmly, “He doesn’t know what heroism means.”

  “And you do?” He turned to sneer at me. “Are you a hero, Louise le Blanc?”

  “No. But you are.”

  Though he pushed my hand away, he still didn’t move to leave. “I used to be. Now I’m hiding under a bed with a witch. Did you know I was found in the garbage?” When I said nothing, he scoffed, shaking his head again. “Of course you did. You know everything about me, don’t you?” His eyes blazed with emotion in this small, shadowed sanctuary—and a sanctuary it was. Here, cramped and hidden from the rest of the world, we could’ve been the only two people alive. “Then you know I grew up lost. I grew up alone. They called me trash boy, and I fought tooth and nail for respect—I bloodied noses and broke bones to get it—and I killed the one person who called me family. Does that sound like a hero to you?”

  A lump rose in my throat at his expression. He could’ve been that lost, lonely little boy all over again. “Reid—”

  Beau’s head popped under the bed. “What are you two whispering about under here?”

  As if I’d lit a match in his trousers, Reid surged away from me, up and out of sight. Beau watched him go with a startled expression before extending a hand to me. In his other, he held the neck of the whiskey bottle. “Any luck with the seduction?”

  “None, thanks to you.”

  “I have to protect my investment. But his memories . . . ?”

  I frowned. “Coco thinks—”

  “I know what Coco thinks.” He hooked an arm around my neck, pulling me closer. Reid watched us sullenly from the farthest corner of the room. “I want to know what you think. Wager aside, would you rather we focus on restoring his memories? I know we can’t force him to reverse the pattern, but perhaps we could help him along.”

  The weight of his words settled heavy in my chest. A choice. He’d offered me a choice. Free of judgment or disapproval, free of guidance, he’d led me to a fork in the road, and he now waited patiently for me to step left or right. He would follow whatever direction I chose. Except . . . I glanced at Reid. He’d already made a choice—a stupid choice, but a choice nonetheless. He’d stepped without consulting me, but he’d obviously thought it necessary. Had it been necessary? Morgane had forgotten me, yes, but she hadn’t forgotten her wrath against the Church and Crown. The kingdom was in more danger now than ever.

  I’ll find you, Lou. I promise.

  I feigned a smile and flicked Beau’s nose. “Don’t think you’re getting out of our wager.”

  “I’d never dream of it, sister mine.” Still speaking low, he released me with a wink and a grin of his own—our understanding implicit—and wagged the bottle of whiskey in my face. “Perhaps an olive branch, just for tonight? I don’t much feel like sleeping.”

  Snatching the bottle, I downed a gulp. The whiskey burned all those unspoken words from my tongue. All the fear and doubt and restlessness. I swallowed another. “Nor I.”

  “Now who’s whispering,” Reid grumbled.

  We both looked to Jean Luc, who’d thrown his coat on the dressing table. I lifted my voice and the bottle simultaneously. “What about you, dear captain? Can we tempt you?”

  “I’m going to bed. Poison yourselves all you’d like.”

  I lifted a hand to my mouth, addressing Beau in a mock whisper. “He doesn’t want to play.”

  Jean Luc paused in pulling back the quilt. “Play what?”

  “Truth or dare.” Batting my lashes, I took another long pull before handing the bottle to Beau. “Just a couple of questions to pass the time until we fall asleep.”

  “Until you pass out, you mean.” He flicked the quilt back and began to climb beneath it. “No, thank you.”

  “That’s probably for the best.” I leaned into Beau conspiratorially, my limbs already pleasantly warm. He chuckled in response, a sturdy and familiar presence at my side. An anchor against my riotous thoughts. You know everything about me, don’t you? They called me trash boy. “I’ve been spending lots of time with Célie lately, so I have all sorts of juicy secrets I might’ve let slip.”

  He lurched up instantly—then narrowed his eyes. Slowly, he sank back onto the bed. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know what you’re doing,” he repeated, voice emphatic, “and it isn’t the reason w
hy I’ve decided to humor you. Give me the bottle.” Beau slapped it in his outstretched hand, and his throat worked on an enormous swallow. Wiping his mouth, he handed it to Reid next. “You start.”

  Reid examined the bottle in distaste. “I’m not playing.”

  “Oh, come on, Chass.” I rose to my tiptoes, clasping my hands together at my chest and swaying. “Please? I promise I won’t make you measure your dick against Jean Luc’s.”

  Jean Luc smirked. “Now that is for the best. I wouldn’t want to embarrass anyone.”

  Spluttering, Reid’s knuckles whitened on the bottle. “You—you can’t—” He grimaced. “What are the rules?”

  “Rules are simple.” Beau plucked the bottle from his hand before draping himself across the end of the bed. I sank to the floor, still cackling with triumph, and curled my legs beneath me. “You choose a truth, or you a choose a dare. If you choose neither”—he lifted the whiskey meaningfully—“you drink. Sound fair?”

  Reid remained standing, crossing his arms and glaring down at us like some sort of pink-cheeked, vengeful god.

  I sort of liked it.

  “I’ll go first.” Jean Luc cleared his throat and rested his elbows on his knees. His light eyes found mine. “Lou: Truth or dare?”

  “Dare.”

  His shoulders slumped. Clearly, I hadn’t given the answer he’d wanted, and clearly, he hadn’t prepared a dare in advance. He waved a flippant hand. “I dare you to cut your hair with one of my knives.”

  I laughed and took a shot of whiskey without a word.

  “My turn.” Rubbing my hands together, I turned to Reid—then hesitated. This was my first real chance to woo him outside of our usual circumstances, outside of L’Eau Mélancolique, the heist, the rooftop. Outside of danger. I needed to make it count, yet every thought fled my mind as I stared at him. That suspicious gleam in his eyes—the clench of his jaw and the flex of his arms—he might as well have been impenetrable. Like Jean Luc, he knew my game, and he didn’t want to play.

  How had I wooed him in Cesarine?

  I wracked my brain, trying and failing to remember. Trapped in Chasseur Tower, surrounded by my enemies, I’d been jagged and sharp and guarded most days, lashing out at the slightest provocation. I’d tried to embarrass him, demean him. I’d mostly succeeded in that endeavor, yet still he’d softened toward me. Still I’d softened toward him. How? When? Already, the whiskey slurred my thoughts if not my words, eddying them into a single memory of warmth and nostalgia. There’d been a bathtub and a shared bed in Chasseur Tower, and there’d been books and plays and gowns—

  I fought a frustrated groan. Through the thin walls, Coco’s snores echoed. She hadn’t yet trained me in the subtle art of seduction—if such a thing existed. I hadn’t needed it before. He’d simply . . . loved me—despite everything—and that love had led him to this heinous choice, to forget me, to save me.

  I would honor it.

  It wasn’t as if I could reverse the pattern anyway. Even as La Dame des Sorcières. If he couldn’t remember our past, I would forge a new future, and I sealed the promise with another swig. “Truth or dare, Reid.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Dare.”

  Shrugging, I pointed the bottle at him. “I dare you to strip naked and dance the bourrée. While we watch,” I added swiftly when he moved toward the door. I couldn’t help my grin. He’d always been unexpectedly quick. “Not out in the hallway.”

  He scowled and halted mid-step. “Truth.”

  “Tell me how you’re feeling in this exact moment.”

  “Give me the bottle.” He seized it before I could protest, and I smothered my disappointment. Perhaps this was better. Alcohol was its own sort of truth. With a few more shots, he’d become a plethora of information.

  “Well, this is going to get ugly early,” Beau mused. “I should like to go next. Louise, darling”—he flashed me a charming smile—“truth or dare? And please pick truth.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Truth.”

  He gave a feline grin. “Who is the most attractive person here? Be honest, mind you, or it’s two drinks.”

  Winking lewdly, I extended my entire arm toward Reid, condemning him with a finger. “That man there. The copper-haired fellow. He’s the one.”

  Reid scowled and interrupted immediately. “My turn. Lou, what is your deepest fear?”

  “You didn’t ask truth or dare,” I pointed out.

  His scowl deepened. “Truth or dare.”

  “Dare.”

  “I dare you to answer my question.”

  I chuckled and sat back, crossing my feet at the ankles. Unexpectedly quick. Still, his question itself left much to be desired. Of course he’d try to weaponize a game. Of course he’d press every advantage to weaken me. Well, tough shit, buddy. “It used to be death,” I said conversationally, “but a quick chat with our dear friend Ansel changed that. He’s thriving, by the way.” All three of the men stared at me with slack jaws. Beau in particular seemed to blanch. “He spoke with me in L’Eau Mélancolique. He’d been following us the entire time, you know—”

  “What?” Beau asked incredulously. “How?”

  “He was a white dog.”

  “Oh, good Lord.” Beau fell back against the quilt, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You mean the white dog? I thought he was an ill omen.” At my snort, he exclaimed, “He was always there when calamity struck!”

  “Probably to warn you.”

  “I didn’t realize that he’d—I haven’t seen him since—” He swallowed hard. “What happened to him?”

  “He found peace.” The room fell silent at my gentle words, and I stared intently at my hands, knitting them together in my lap. “But he also made me realize I don’t fear death at all. Or at least, it isn’t the dying itself that I fear. It isn’t the pain. It’s the parting with my loved ones forever.” I looked up. “But I’ll see him again. We all will.”

  Reid looked as though I’d struck him across the face. He remembered Ansel too, then, if only as an initiate. He remembered his death. Perhaps he just hadn’t expected I would mourn, that I’d be capable of such deep feeling for another person—me, a witch. I cleared my throat. “I believe it’s your turn, Jean Luc.”

  He immediately looked to Beau. “Truth or dare.”

  “Truth.”

  “Did Célie mention me on your travels?”

  “Yes.” He turned to Reid without expounding on the answer, despite Jean Luc’s vehement protests. “Truth or dare.”

  “Dare.”

  Another grin. This one harder. “I dare you to magic that copper hair blue.”

  Reid’s face flushed puce. “I can’t—how dare you—”

  “Compartmentalization isn’t healthy, brother. You saw your face on that wanted poster with the naughty W-word, yet I don’t think you’ve acknowledged it.” He arched a brow in challenge. “Denial is the first stage of grief.”

  “Truth,” Reid said through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, it is.” Beau leaned forward earnestly. “Why can’t you stop looking at our lovely Louise?”

  If possible, Reid’s face flushed deeper. It looked physically uncomfortable now, the amount of blood in his cheeks. I started giggling. “Because I want to kill her—”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Beau wagged a reproving finger before tapping the bottle in Reid’s hand. “A lie means two.”

  When Reid furiously swallowed two shots—without hesitation, without denying his falsehood—an entirely different kind of warmth cracked open in my chest, flowing through my limbs. I sat up on my knees, bouncing with exhilaration. The room swirled with a lovely, rosy hue. “Truth or dare, Jean Luc.”

  He didn’t even pretend to be interested. “Truth.”

  “Do you regret what happened on Modraniht?”

  A beat of silence passed.

  Reluctantly, his eyes flicked to Reid, who looked downright murderous now. Or downright nauseous. Still, he didn’t interrupt the game, and the sudden sharpnes
s in his own eyes betrayed his interest. He wanted to know this truth. He wanted to know it very much. After a moment, Jean Luc scrubbed a hand down his face and muttered, “Yes and no. I don’t regret following orders. The rules exist for a reason. Without them, we have chaos. Anarchy.” He heaved a sigh, not looking at anyone now. “But I do regret the rules themselves.” Dropping his hand, he asked Reid, “Truth or dare?”

  “Truth.”

  “Is your heart still with the Chasseurs?”

  They stared at each other for another long moment. I leaned forward eagerly, holding my breath, while Beau pretended not to listen and hung on every word. Reid tore his gaze away first, breaking the silence. “Is yours?”

  Jean Luc leaned over and plucked the whiskey from his hand. After swallowing, he climbed to his feet and handed me the bottle on his way out. “I think I’m done for the night.”

  The door clicked shut behind him.

  “And then there were three,” Beau murmured, still toying with the edge of the quilt. He winked at me abruptly. “I dare you to lick the bottom of my shoe.”

  Another half hour of antics ensued. The dares from Beau and me grew more and more ridiculous—serenade us, do four cartwheels, curse like a sailor for twenty seconds straight—while the questions grew more personal—What’s the grossest thing you’ve ever had in your mouth? To come out of your body?—until Reid was good and thoroughly drunk. He staggered over to me at his next turn, crouching down and dropping a heavy hand on my shoulder. Grayish light tinged the window.

  His voice slurred. “What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?”

  I might’ve snorted whiskey from my nose. “I never told you I was a witch. In Chasseur Tower. You never knew.”

  “That’s stupid. How could I not have known?”

  “An excellent question—”

  “Lou, my darling sister”—Beau flung an arm over his face in a truly dramatic fashion, still lounging on the bed—“you must tell me: Do Coco and I stand a chance?”

  “Of course you do! She’s head over heels for you. Anyone can see that.”

  “Does she see that?” He peered at me through bleary eyes. The bottle in his hand held an alarming amount of whiskey now—which was to say, not much at all. “She called me Ansel, you know. The other day. She didn’t mean it, of course, but it just sort of slipped”—he began to tip the bottle over the quilt, but I crossed the room and snatched it from him just in time—“out. She’d been laughing at a joke I’d made.” He looked up at me suddenly, his gaze sharper and clearer. Calmer. “She has a lovely laugh, doesn’t she? I love her laugh.”