Josephine crouched beside Morgane, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Behind them, Nicholina smiled.
I hurtled toward the platform without a backward glance. My voice broke on Lou’s name. I remembered her. I remembered. The Doleur, the attic, the rooftop—the entire story she’d woven in the wooden cage. It’d all been true. It’d all been real.
I’ll find you again, I’d told her.
She’d taken the promise to heart. She hadn’t given up on me. Not when I’d insulted her, threatened her, envisioned a thousand different ways to kill her. I’d think of a thousand others to atone. I’d never leave her again. My voice gained strength. It gained hope. “Lou! LOU!”
She still didn’t answer. With the fire at last extinguished by Coco’s rain, the wreckage smoked gently. Diving into it, I tore through the charred boards, the ash, the remnants of the stake. Beau and Coco followed hot on my heels. “Where are you?” I asked under my breath, wresting aside plank after plank. “Come on. Where are you?”
Pale hands joined mine as I searched. Célie. Darker ones. Jean Luc. They met my gaze with determined expressions and terse nods. They didn’t falter, even as my own body shook. Please, please, please—
When a board to my right shifted, untouched, I wrenched it free. She had to be here. She had to be—
Lou exploded upward in a shower of light.
The Final Battle
Lou
Power flooded my limbs and lungs, and I burned not with fire, but light. It shone through my bloody chemise, through the wounds across my body, bursting outward in blinding rays of magic. Though Coco’s rain still fell thick and heavy around us, the drops didn’t soak me as the others—no, my skin and hair absorbed each one, and they healed me, strengthened me, soothed my aching heart. They tasted of hope. Of love.
I found her tearstained face amidst the wreckage, grinning and descending gently beside her.
She’d done it. Though the city still smoked around us, undulating softly—though she would always grieve for Ansel—the black fire had gone. She’d conquered it. She’d conquered herself.
Returning my grin, she clasped Beau’s hand and nodded.
“Lou.” Still crouched with a board in his hand, Reid looked up at me, his eyes brimming with tears. With love and relief and—and recognition. Awareness. It sparked between us like a living thing, as shining and bright as a pattern. He rose slowly to his feet. We stared at each other for a long moment.
“You found me,” I whispered.
“I promised.”
We moved at the same time, each staggering toward the other, our limbs tangling until I couldn’t tell where his ended and mine began. Breathless, laughing, he swept me into the air, and we whirled round and round again. I couldn’t stop kissing his smile. His cheeks. His nose. He didn’t protest, instead laughing louder, tipping his face toward the sky. The smoke cleared as Coco watched us—the rain clouds too—until only a crystal winter night remained. For the first time in weeks, the stars glittered overhead. The waning moon reigned supreme.
The beginning of the end.
When at last Reid placed me on my feet, I punched his shoulder. “You absolute ass. How could you?” I seized his face between my hands, near feverish with laughter. “Why didn’t you give me that sticky bun?”
His own cheeks remained flushed, his smile wide. “Because it wasn’t yours.”
A fresh wave of screams sounded behind us, and we turned simultaneously, our giddiness puncturing slightly. The scene returned in degrees. Chasseurs and loup garou still battled in the street—soaked to the skin, bleeding—while pedestrians fled or fought. Some sobbed and clung to fallen loved ones in the mud. Others pounded relentlessly on shop doors, seeking shelter for the injured. For themselves.
On either side of the street, witches had risen, barring all exits.
I recognized some of them from the Chateau, others from the blood camp. More of them than I’d ever believed existed. They must’ve crawled forth from every inch of the kingdom—perhaps the world. My skin dimmed as gooseflesh rose.
Worse still—across the street, Morgane climbed to her feet.
“Here.” Célie slung her bag from her shoulder and upended it. Reid’s bandolier spilled across the ground. His knives and seeds. Her own injection. Coco and Beau swooped to retrieve their daggers, and I followed suit, my magic pulsing with eagerness. It sensed the danger here. It yearned to attack, to protect, as Morgane squared her shoulders. As she lifted her chin and met my gaze.
Though the sounds of clanging steel and snapping teeth should’ve muted her voice, I still heard it crystal clear. Like she stood right beside me. “Hello, Daughter.”
My own words rose calmly. “Hello, Mother.”
I glanced at Reid’s bare feet. His sodden chest. My own pitiful chemise. Even the others wore only woolen garments—and Célie a gown, at that—leaving them woefully vulnerable to attack. Perhaps not from magic, but steel could cut just as deep. I took a deep breath. We couldn’t fight like this. Not yet.
Waving my hand, I scanned the white web of patterns for something more suitable, something defensive, something like—something like a web. I grinned anew as the idea took hold. Nicholina had spoken of a spider deep within La Fôret des Yeux. L’Enchanteresse, a cannibalistic creature with silk among the lightest and strongest materials in the natural world.
I searched for the spiders now, spreading my awareness north, east, toward the ancient trees around the city. Their homes. The patterns didn’t follow, however, instead plunging directly into the street. I hesitated. Trees didn’t live below. Perhaps—perhaps the spiders had burrowed underground for winter. I didn’t have time to speculate, however. Not with Morgane across the street, flanked on either side by Josephine and Nicholina. Not with witches closing in.
With another deep breath, I pulled six identical cords. The patterns stretched width-wise until myriad fibers appeared—as thin as webs—and knit themselves tightly into armor.
Dark and fitted, light and flexible, it replaced our clothing in a burst of glittering dust.
Somewhere below, six spiders withered.
Morgane clapped her hands in applause. “How clever you are, darling. How prettily you wear my magic. At last, you suit the company you keep—thieves, all.”
“I’ve stolen nothing from you, maman.”
“You have stolen everything.” Her emerald eyes glittered like broken glass. Jagged and sharp. The emotion within them transcended malice into raw, unadulterated hatred. “But do not question—I am here to reclaim what is mine, and I will butcher every last man, woman, and child who attempts to keep it from me.” She jerked her chin, and the witches advanced in earnest. “Kill them all.”
A mighty roar shook the city in response, and a dark wing shadowed the moon.
Zenna landed beside me a second later. The cobblestones cracked beneath the sheer weight of her. When she snorted derisively, flame spewed forth. Witch, werewolf, and huntsman alike leapt from its path. From atop Zenna’s back—dressed in armor of her own—Seraphine drew an ancient longsword.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed in delight.
Coco had told me of Toulouse’s and Thierry’s torture. She’d told me of Zenna’s promise to eat my mother. Leaning around Zenna’s haunch now, I asked her, “What about dragons?”
Zenna punctuated the challenge with a fresh bout of flame.
Snarling with rage, Morgane scrambled backward as Chasseurs and witches charged. Balisardas flashed. Magic erupted. Zenna snorted again, launching into the air, plucking them from the street one by one and—
And eating them.
“Oh, that is disgusting,” Beau said, grimacing. “The indigestion alone—”
Before he could finish, Morgane brought her palms together one last time. The sharp scent of magic flared.
The ground trembled in answer.
All across the fray, people fought to keep their footing. Even Philippe paused, staggering slightly, with hi
s Balisarda an inch from Terrance’s lupine throat. Reid tensed. His eyes narrowed. Then—
“Get down!” He tackled me from the platform, and we landed hard, whirling as branches shot forth from the very earth, splintering the church steps. They didn’t stop there. Dozens more surfaced rapidly, larger than life, growing trunks and roots, shattering the beautiful stained-glass windows. Growing through them. Stone rained down on our heads, forcing us to scatter into the crowd. I immediately lost sight of Coco and Beau, Célie and Jean Luc. Too short, too slight, I couldn’t navigate the tide of people. I couldn’t tell friend from foe.
Only Reid’s hand in mine kept a loup garou from knocking me back to the ground.
The trees kept growing. They crushed spires and mangled arches until Cathédral Saint-Cécile d’Cesarine crumbled in ruin. Until the forest reclaimed it.
That explained the spiders.
But it didn’t make sense. The forest belonged to Claud, not Morgane. How had she—?
The trees have mobilized, and we shall follow, striking hard and true.
The trees around the Chateau. My stomach twisted. She’d brought her own soldiers.
They didn’t stop there, however, fracturing the street now, their branches catching hair and cloaks as they stretched toward the sky. The woman next to me screamed as one hooked her skirt. As it lifted her higher and higher until the fabric tore. The branch snapped.
She plummeted toward the street.
My magic darted wildly. Panicked, I fought to calm it, to concentrate, but the woman fell too quickly—
Scant seconds before she hit the ground, the tree seemed to shudder. I stared incredulously as Claud Deveraux strolled into view. As he whistled a merry tune. As the tree itself bent—creaking and groaning—and its branches curled to catch the woman midair. To cradle her in a macabre embrace.
Claud winked at me. “Fancy meeting you here, poppet. How did you like my sister?”
I choked on a laugh while the woman shrieked, contorting her limbs to escape the tree. It had ceased moving. “I thought—I thought you couldn’t intervene?” And if not— “Where have you been all this time?”
He clicked his tongue playfully. His mere presence seemed to act as a shield; the crush of bodies waned around us, parted, as if all instinctively knew to change direction. “Tut, tut, Louise,” he said, “or I shall think you self-absorbed. Though it pains me to admit, you and your friends manage quite well without me, and I have an entire realm of the natural world to govern.”
“Like hell we can.” Bemused, I helped Reid untangle the woman from the tree. Self-absorbed. Pfft. “But again, I thought you couldn’t—”
“Oh, you thought correctly, peach.” Though Claud still smiled, the air around us thickened with the scent of rot. Of decay. Poisonous toadstools split open at his feet. The loup garou nearest us swelled with rage, snarling as if possessed, and attacked with newfound savagery. “I am not intervening. Indeed, I am governing said realm as we speak.” His smile darkened at the last, and he turned to search the street. His eyes flashed catlike. “And defending it from trespass.”
I knew without asking for whom he searched.
And Morgane had called me a thief.
“How does she control them?” Reid yielded a step as the woman shoved him and fled up the street, still screaming hysterically. “The trees?”
“They loved her once too.”
With those forbidding words, Claud’s frame nearly doubled in size, and he transformed in full: enormous stag antlers burst from his head. Cloven hooves shredded his shoes. And the trees—they bowed to him as he advanced up the street as the Woodwose.
Their king.
Their god.
“Wait!”
He paused at my shout, arching a brow over his shoulder. The gesture seemed too human on his animalistic features now. “My mother,” I continued with both anticipation and dread. “What will you do to her?”
Those yellow eyes blinked. His voice rumbled deep, like that of a bear’s roar. “She has invaded my realm. My being. I will punish her.”
Punish her.
He turned and disappeared in the trees without another word. Too late, I realized I should follow. He’d left little doubt of his intention—he was a god, and she had exploited him. Though he’d warned her—though the Triple Goddess herself had stripped her of power—she hadn’t listened. She hadn’t surrendered. My battle had become their battle. Claud would lead me straight to Morgane, and together, we could—
Reid pulled me in the opposite direction, where the crowd flowed thickest. “We need to evacuate these people.”
“What? No!” I shook my head, but without Claud to protect us, the crush resumed. “No, we need to find Morgane—”
“Look around, Lou.” He didn’t dare let go of my hand, even as those nearest us fled a Dame Rouge who’d torn the beating heart from a man’s chest. Though they hammered against shop windows—pleading for entry—the merchants barred their doors. On both ends of the street, blood witches had cut open their arms. Where their blood spilled, black vines twisted skyward, forming a thick hedge. A barricade. “These people—they have nowhere to run. They’re innocent. You heard Morgane. She won’t stop until all of them are dead.”
“But I—”
“Claud is a god. If he intends to kill Morgane, he’ll kill her. We have to mitigate the casualties.”
My magic pulsed beneath my skin, urging me to listen. To go with him. He was right. Yes. Of course, he was right.
With one last anxious glance at Claud’s back, I nodded, and we sprinted toward Father Achille and Gabrielle, Etienne’s sister, who’d been trapped in a circle of vines. A blood witch coaxed the thorns tighter around them. Behind, Célie rushed Violette and Victoire to safety in the nearest shop—a patisserie manned by none other than Johannes Pan.
At Gabrielle’s cry, he burst into the street with a rolling pin, shouting and swinging it wildly. It struck the blood witch’s head with a sickening crunch. When she crumpled, her thorns shriveled, and Father Achille and Gaby leapt free.
“Come, come!” Pan ushered Gaby toward him while Reid, Jean Luc, and Father Achille converged.
Other witches did too, their eyes intent on the three little girls.
It seemed they still planned to exterminate the Lyon line, regardless of Auguste.
Drawing a deep breath, I plucked a pattern, and it shimmered and expanded like a film over the patisserie. The same protection existed over Chateau le Blanc, over the door to the castle’s treasury. It was a piece of my magic itself—a piece of all Dames des Sorcières who’d come before me. As it left my body, the white patterns dimmed. Just a bit. My connection to them weakened. A worthy sacrifice.
None would enter the patisserie but those I permitted. I caught Gaby’s hand as she passed, squeezing fiercely. “Stay inside,” I told her. My eyes met those of Violette and Victoire. Beau’s sisters. Reid’s half sisters. “All of you.”
Though Gaby and Violette nodded fervently, I didn’t like the stubborn set of Victoire’s chin. Célie pushed all three into the shop before ushering a hysterical couple in after them.
“Cut down the barricades!” Father Achille pointed to the thorn hedges. A handful of Chasseurs fought to drive the witches back. “Anyone with a blade!”
“We have no blades,” a panicked man said, pushing forward.
Reid thrust his Balisarda at him in answer. “You do now. Go.” When more men clambered forward, hands outstretched, Reid tore another knife from his bandolier. Another and another until none remained.
“What are you doing?” I asked in alarm.
Voice grim, he lifted his hands. “I am a weapon.”
Each man turned and fled toward the vines, hacking at the thorns with all their might.
Without pause, Reid pointed at the neighboring shops. To Jean Luc, he said, “Break down the doors. Get these people inside every building. Lou and I will follow behind to enchant them locked—”
He broke off
as Philippe and a score of huntsmen blasted through the witches’ line, slaughtering them with brutal efficiency. Bite wounds bled freely on his leg. Leveling his Balisarda at Reid and me, he snarled, “Kill them.”
I lifted my own knife and stepped in front of Reid. We were weapons, yes—our magic sharper than any blade—but only as last resorts. If he’d taught me anything, it was not to cut myself. He wouldn’t either. Before I could strike at Philippe, however, Jean Luc planted his feet before both of us. To my surprise, his handful of Chasseurs did too. “Don’t be stupid, Philippe. These people are not our enemies.”
Philippe’s eyes bulged. “They’re witches.”
“They’re helping us,” another Chasseur snapped. I didn’t recognize him. I didn’t care. “Open your eyes before you kill us all. Do your duty.”
“Protect the kingdom,” the one beside him added.
“Children.” Achille pushed roughly between them. “We don’t have time for this, nor the forces to stand divided. Those with Balisardas must strike against our attackers.”
“He’s right.” Reid nodded, already scanning the street beyond. Huntsmen fought witch, fought werewolf, while both sides fought each other. Pandemonium reigned. “Chasseurs, if you cannot kill, aim for their hands. Dames Blanches cannot cast accurately without dexterity—cut them off at the wrist, but do not draw blood from a Dame Rouge under any circumstance. Unless dead, their blood will maim you.”
“How do we tell the difference?” the first Chasseur asked.
“Dames Rouges are heavily scarred. Strike quickly, and strike true. Leave the werewolves, and leave the trees.”
“Leave the—?” Philippe’s face flushed puce. He jerked his head back and forth. “We will not. Chasseurs—to me. Do not listen to these heretics. I am your captain, and we will strike fast and true.” To prove his point, he stabbed his Balisarda into the heart of the nearest tree. Claud’s roar reverberated from somewhere beyond the cathedral. Face twisting in delight, Philippe thrust deeper. “Cut them down! All of them! Tree, werewolf, and witch alike!”
“No.” I pushed past Jean Luc as Philippe’s huntsmen obeyed, goring the trees with brutal efficiency. Roots snapped upward like the crack of the whip to ensnare them. “No, stop—”
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