I woke the next morning with my face buried against Reid’s chest. His arms draped across my ribs, and his hands rested on my lower back. I arched into him sleepily, savoring the sensation of his skin against my own—then froze. My nightgown had pooled around my waist in the night, and my legs and belly were bare against him.
Shit, shit, shit.
I scrambled to pull down my nightgown, but he jerked awake at the movement. Instantly alert, he swept his eyes from my panicked expression to the empty room. The corner of his lips quirked, and a blush crept up his throat. “Good morning.”
“Is it?” I shoved away from him, my own cheeks treacherously warm. He grinned wider and grabbed his shirt from the floor before heading to the washroom. “Where are you going?” I asked.
“To train.”
“But—but it’s Saint Nicolas Day. We have to celebrate.”
He poked his head back out with a bemused expression. “Oh?”
“Oh,” I affirmed, sliding out of bed to join him. He stepped aside as I passed, though his hand snaked out to catch a strand of my hair. “We’re going to the festival.”
“We are?”
“Yes. The food is amazing. There are these ginger macarons—” I broke off, mouth already watering, and shook my head. “I can’t describe them properly. They must be experienced. Plus I need to buy you a present.”
He dropped my hair reluctantly and moved to the cabinet. “You don’t need to buy me anything, Lou.”
“Nonsense. I love buying presents almost as much as I love receiving them.”
An hour later, we strolled arm in arm through East End.
Though I’d attended the festival last year, I hadn’t been interested in decorating the evergreen trees with fruit and candy, or adding a log to the bonfire in the village center. No, I’d been much more invested in the dice games and stalls of cheap trinkets—and the food, of course.
The spice of cinnamon treats wafted through the air now, mingling with the ever-present stench of fish and smoke. I eyed the cart of cookies closest to us longingly. Sables, madeleines, and palmiers stared back at me. When I reached out to lift one—or three—Reid rolled his eyes and tugged me onward. My stomach gave an indignant growl.
“How can you still be hungry?” he asked, incredulous. “You ate three helpings at breakfast this morning.”
I made a face. “That was tuna. I have a second stomach for dessert.”
The streets bustled with revelers bundled in coats and scarves, and a light coating of snow dusted everything—the shops, the stalls, the carriages, the street. Wreaths with red bows hung from nearly every door. The wind caught at the ribbons and made the tails dance.
For Cesarine, it was beautiful.
The gauche flyers tacked to every building, however, were not:
YE OLDE SISTERS
TRAVELING COMPANY
invites you to honor our patriarch
HIS EMINENCE, FLORIN CARDINAL CLÉMENT,
ARCHBISHOP OF BELTERRA
by attending the performance of the century tomorrow morning,
the seventh day of December
at Cathédral Saint-Cécile d’Cesarine.
Joyeux Noël!
I thrust a flyer under Reid’s nose, laughing. “Florin? What a terrible name! No wonder he never uses it.”
He frowned at me. “Florin is my middle name.”
I crumpled it up and tossed it in a bin. “A true tragedy.” When he tried to lead me away, I slipped my arm from his, raising the hood of my cloak. “All right, time to split up.”
Still frowning, he scanned the crowded square. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I rolled my eyes. “You can trust me. I won’t run away. Besides, presents are supposed to be a surprise.”
“Lou—”
“We’ll meet up at Pan’s in an hour. Do get me something good.”
Ignoring his protests, I turned and wove through the shoppers toward the smithy at the end of the street. The blacksmith there, Abe, had always been friendly with East End’s underbelly. I’d purchased many knives from him—and stolen one or two more. Before Tremblay’s, Abe had shown me a beautiful copper-handled dagger. It matched Reid’s hair perfectly. I hoped he hadn’t sold it.
Pushing back my hood and mustering up a touch of my old swagger, I strode into the smithy. Embers smoldered in the forge, but beyond a barrel of water and bag of sand, there was nothing else in the earthen room. No swords. No knives. No customers. I frowned. The blacksmith was nowhere to be seen. “Abe? Are you here?”
A thickset, bearded man stepped through the side entrance, and I grinned. “There you are, old man! I thought you’d gone negligent for a moment.” My smile faltered at his furious scowl, and I glanced around. “Business booming?”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back here, Lou.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Rumor has it you sold out Andre and Grue. East End is crawling with constables thanks to you.” He took a step forward, fists clenched. “They’ve been here twice, asking questions they shouldn’t have known to ask. My customers are leery. No one wants to do business with the constabulary sniffing around.”
Yikes. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told the Chasseurs everything, after all.
I withdrew a pouch from my cloak with a flourish. “Ah, but I’ve brought an olive branch. See?” I shook the bag, and the coins inside clinked together in a jaunty tune. His dark eyes remained suspicious.
“How much?”
I tossed the pouch in the air with deliberate nonchalance. “Enough to purchase a beautiful copper dagger. A present for my husband.”
He spat on the floor in disgust. “Marrying a blue pig. I didn’t think even you could stoop that low.”
Anger pricked in my chest, but this wasn’t the time or the place to pick a fight over my husband’s honor. “I did what I had to. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I do understand.”
“Oh?”
“We all do what we have to.” He eyed the pouch in my hand with a hungry expression. “I remember the copper dagger. I’d rather saw off my fingers than see it with a huntsman, but gold is gold. Stay here. I’ll go and fetch it.”
I shifted uneasily in the silence that followed, running my fingers over the money pouch.
Marrying a blue pig. I didn’t think even you could stoop that low.
I wanted to tell Abe he could piss off, but a part of me remembered what it felt like to hate the Chasseurs. To hate Reid. I remembered fleeing to the shadows when they passed, ducking every time I caught a glimpse of blue.
The fear was still there, but to my surprise . . . the hatred had gone.
I nearly jumped out of my skin at a small noise against the door. Probably a mouse. Mentally shaking myself, I straightened my shoulders. I didn’t hate the Chasseurs any longer, but they had made me complacent. And that was inexcusable.
Standing in my old haunt and jumping at nothing, I realized just how far my edge had slipped. And where the hell was Abe?
Inexplicably furious—at Abe, at Reid, at the Archbishop and every other godforsaken man who’d ever stood in my way—I whirled and stomped toward the side door Abe had disappeared through.
Fifteen minutes was long enough. Abe could take my couronnes and shove them up his ass for all I cared. I made to wrench the door open, determined to tell him just that, but stopped short when my hand touched the knob. My stomach sank.
The door was locked.
Shit.
I took a deep breath. Then another. Perhaps Abe hadn’t wanted me to follow him into his inner chambers. Perhaps he’d locked the door to prevent me from sneaking in and pocketing something valuable. I’d done it before. Perhaps he was just being cautious.
Still, a shiver swept down my spine as I turned to try the main door. Though I couldn’t see through the soot and grime of the window, I knew few revelers ventured this far down the street. I twisted the knob.
Locked.
Backing away, I tried to assess my options. The window. I could break it, climb out before—
The side door clicked open, and for a single, glorious second, I fooled myself into believing it was Abe’s hulking form in the door.
“Hello, Lou Lou.” Grue stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “You’re a tricky little bitch to catch.”
Panic spiked through me as Andre appeared behind him, pulling a knife from his cloak. Abe’s dark eyes appeared over their shoulders. “You were right, Lou.” His lip curled. “We all do what we have to.” Then he turned and disappeared into the neighboring room, slamming the door behind him.
“Hello again, Grue. Andre, your eye healed nicely.” Forcing nonchalance despite my rising hysteria, I searched my peripheral vision for something I could use as a weapon: the barrel of water, the bag of sand, the rusted tongs by the forge. Or—or I could—
Gold flickered wildly in my periphery. My gaze flicked to the water, the bellows attached to the forge. We were in an enclosed space. No one would see me do it. No one would know I was here. I’d be gone long before Abe returned, and the chances of him alerting the constabulary or Chasseurs of my involvement were slim. He’d have to risk incriminating himself. He’d have to explain how two men were murdered in his smithy.
Because I would kill them if they touched me. One way or the other.
“You betrayed us,” Andre snarled. I inched toward the forge, turning my attention back to his knife. “We can’t hide anywhere. Those bastards know every one of our haunts. They almost killed us yesterday. Now we’re gonna kill you.”
A crazed gleam lit his eyes, and I knew better than to speak. Sweat coated my palms. One wrong move—one misstep, one mistake—and I’d be dead. The gold flared brighter, more urgent, snaking toward the hot coals in the forge.
Flame for flame. You know this pain. You know it fades. Burn him, the voice whispered.
I cringed away from it instinctively, remembering the agony of Estelle’s flames, and groped at another pattern. This one glittered innocently in the sand, hovered near Andre’s eyes—and my own. Blinding me.
An eye for an eye.
But I couldn’t surrender my vision for Andre’s. Not when there were two of them.
Think. Think, think, think.
I continued inching backward, patterns appearing and disappearing quicker than I could follow. Angelica’s Ring burned hot as I neared the forge. Of course. Cursing myself for not remembering it sooner, I slowly inched the band down my finger. Andre caught the movement, and his eyes narrowed when he saw the money pouch still clutched in my hand. Greedy bastard.
With a careful push of my thumb, I eased Angelica’s Ring over my knuckle—but it slid too quickly over the damp skin and clattered to the floor.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I watched in horror as Grue’s foot came down on it. Eyes gleaming, he bent to retrieve it, a nasty smile splitting his face. My mouth went dry.
“So this is your magic ring. All this trouble for a speck of gold.” He pocketed the ring with a sneer, stalking closer. Andre shadowed his movements. “I never liked you, Lou. You’ve always thought you’re better than us, smarter than us, but you’re not. And you’ve crossed us too many times.”
He lunged, but I moved quicker. Seizing the tongs—ignoring the blistering heat on my palms—I smashed them across his face. The sickening smell of cooked flesh filled the room, and Grue staggered back. Andre charged forward, but I thrust the tongs at him next. He lurched to a halt just in time, rage contorting his features.
“Stay back!” I jabbed the tongs at him again for good measure. “Don’t come any closer!”
“I’m going to cut you into fucking pieces.” Grue dove at me again, but I dodged, swinging the tongs wildly. Andre’s knife slashed past my face. I jerked backward, but Grue was already there. His hand caught the end of the tongs, and he ripped them from my grasp with brutal force.
I flung my hand toward the sand bag, desperately guiding the pattern to his eyes—and away from mine.
Andre screamed as the sand rose in a wave and pelted toward him. He stumbled back, hands flying to his face, tearing at his skin, attempting to scrub away the tiny knives in his eyes. I watched in wild fascination—my own eyes perfectly intact—until Grue moved beside me. A blur. I spun, lifting my hands in self-defense, but my mind turned sluggish and slow. He lifted his fist. I stared at it. Unable to comprehend what he meant to do with it. Unable to anticipate his next move. Then he struck.
Your vision for his.
Pain burst from my nose, and I staggered backward. He grinned, wrapping his hand around my throat and lifting me off my feet. I gasped and clawed at his hand, drawing blood, but his grip didn’t loosen.
“I’ve never killed a witch before. I should’ve known. You’ve always been a freak.” He leaned closer, his breath hot and foul against my cheek. “After I cut you up, I’m going to send you back to your blue pig, piece by fucking piece.”
I struggled harder, lights popping in my vision.
“Don’t kill her too quickly.” Tears and blood streamed from Andre’s ruined eyes. The sand had fallen now, mingling with the golden dust at his feet. The gold winked once more before vanishing. He bent to retrieve his knife. “I want to enjoy this.”
Grue’s grip loosened. I coughed and spluttered as his hand fisted in my hair instead, yanking my head back and exposing my throat.
Andre’s knife found the scar there. “Looks like somebody beat us to it.”
White dotted my vision, and I thrashed against them.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Grue jerked my hair, and pain radiated across my scalp. “Not again, Lou Lou.” He jerked his head toward the knife at my throat. “Not there. Too quick. Start on her face. Cut off an ear—no, wait.” He grinned down at me, eyes burning with true hatred. “Let’s carve out her heart instead. That’ll be the first piece we send to the pig.”
Andre dragged the knife down my throat to my chest. I focused on his revolting face, willing another pattern to emerge. Any pattern.
And there it came, glowing brighter than before. Taunting me.
I didn’t hesitate. Clenching my fingers, I jerked the cord sharply, and the coals in the forge careened toward us. I braced for the pain, elbowing Grue in the stomach and twisting away. When the coals struck their faces, my own skin burned. But I knew this pain. I could endure it. I had endured it.
Gritting my teeth, I seized Andre’s knife and plunged it into his throat, slashing through skin and tendon and bone. His scream ended in a gurgle. Grue lunged toward me blindly, bellowing with fury, but I used his momentum to drive the blade into his chest—and his stomach, and his shoulder, and his throat. His blood sprayed across my cheek.
When their bodies thudded to the floor, I collapsed right along with them, pawing at Grue’s corpse for Angelica’s Ring. I thrust it back on my finger as a knock sounded on the door.
“Is everything okay in there?”
I froze at the unfamiliar voice, panting and shaking. The doorknob rattled, and a new voice joined the first. “The key is broken off.”
“I heard shouting.” Another knock, louder this time. “Is anyone in there?”
The doorknob rattled again. “Hello? Can someone hear me?”
“What’s going on here?”
That voice I knew. Strong. Confident. Damnably inconvenient.
Leaping to my feet, I staggered to the water barrel, praying the door would hold against Reid’s strength. I cursed quietly. Of course Reid was here, now, with magic lingering in the air and two corpses burning on the floor. I slid a little in their blood as I tipped the barrel. The water cascaded over them, diluting the worst of the smell. The embers hissed at the contact, smoking slightly, and a sickening, charred scent swathed the room. I tilted the barrel and doused myself too.
The voices outside paused as the barrel slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. Then—
“Someone is in there.” Without waiting for confirmation, Reid kicked the door. It bowed under his weight. When he kicked again, the wood gave an ominous crack. I lunged toward the forge and pumped the bellows feverishly. Coal smoke poured into the room, thick and black. The door splintered, but I kept pumping. Kept pumping until my eyes watered and my throat burned. Until I couldn’t smell the magic. Until I couldn’t smell anything.
I dropped the bellows just as the door exploded.
Sunlight streamed in, illuminating Reid’s silhouette in the whorls of smoke. Massive. Tense. Waiting. He’d drawn his Balisarda, and the sapphire glinted through the shifting smoke. Two concerned citizens stood behind him. As the smoke cleared, I better saw his face. His eyes swept across the scene quickly, narrowing at the blood and bodies—and landing on me. He blanched. “Lou?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My knees gave way.
He moved forward quickly—ignoring the blood, water, and smoke—and dropped to his knees before me. “Are you all right?” He gripped my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. Pushed my wet hair from my face, tipped my chin, touched the marks on my throat. His fingers stilled on the thin scar there. The cold mask of fury cracked, leaving only the frantic man beneath. “Did they—did they hurt you?”
I winced and caught his hands, halting his assessment. My hands shook. “I’m fine, Reid.”
“What happened?”
Quickly, I recounted the nightmarish experience, omitting any mention of magic. The water and smoke had done their job—and the charred flesh. With each word, his face grew stonier, and by the time I finished, he trembled with rage. Exhaling heavily, he rested his forehead against our knotted hands. “I want to kill them for touching you.”
“Too late,” I said weakly.
“Lou, I— If they’d hurt you—” He lifted his gaze to mine, and once again, the vulnerability there pierced my chest.
“H-How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. I came to buy one of your Christmas gifts.” He paused, jerking his head to send the two citizens away. Terrified, they scuttled out the door without another word. “A knife.”
I stared at him. Perhaps it was the adrenaline still pounding through my body. Or his disobedience to the Archbishop. Or my own wretched realization that I was afraid. Truly afraid, this time.
And I needed help.
No. I needed him.
Whatever the reason, I didn’t care.
One second, we knelt together on that bloody floor, and the next, I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him. He pulled away for a fraction of a second, startled, but then he fisted the fabric at the back of my cloak and crushed me to him, mouth hard and unrelenting.
Control deserted me. As close as Reid held me, I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel every inch of him. Tightening my hold, I molded my body to the hard shape of him—to the broad expanse of his chest, his stomach, his legs.
With a low groan, he snaked his hands under my thighs and hitched me up against him. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he bore me to the floor, deepening the kiss.
Something warm seeped through the back of my dress, and I broke away abruptly, stiffening. I glanced over to Andre and Grue.
Blood.
I was lying in their blood.
Reid realized it the same second I did, and he vaulted to his feet, pulling me up with him. Spots of color rose on his cheeks, and his breathing sounded uneven. “We should go.”
I blinked, deflating slightly as the heat between us cooled and icy reality set in. I’d killed. Again. Sagging against his chest, I looked back to where Andre and Grue lay. Forced myself to stare into their cold, dead eyes. They gaped at the ceiling, unseeing. Blood still seeped from their wounds.
Revulsion coiled in my stomach.
Vaguely aware of Reid disentangling himself from my arms, I stared down at my cloak. The white velvet was ruined now—stained irrevocably red.
Two more deaths. Two more bodies left in my wake. Just how many would join them before all was said and done?
“Here.” Reid thrust something into my limp hand, and I wrapped my fingers around it instinctively. “An early Christmas present.”
It was Andre’s knife, still slick with its master’s blood.
