Blood & Honey

My heart beat a painful rhythm outside Léviathan. Though I could hear the others inside, I paused at the back entrance, hidden from the street beyond. Breathing heavily. Light-headed with words. They careened into my defenses like bats out of Hell, wings tipped with steel. With razors. Bit by bit, they sliced.

Lou is going to get worse before she gets better. Much, much worse.

Deeper now. They found each crack and cut deeper.

This will always be your life with her—running, hiding, fighting. You will never know peace.

We were supposed to be partners.

Louise has started her descent. You cannot stop it, and you cannot slow it down. It will consume you both if you try.

God, I’d tried.

She will not remain the girl with whom you fell in love.

My hands curled into fists.

I’ll don the teeth and claws to make it easier for you. I’ll get worse, if that justifies your twisted rhetoric. Much, much worse.

Tendrils of anger curled around the words now, charring them. Setting fire to their sharp tips. I welcomed each flame. Relished them. The smoke didn’t damage the fortress—it added to it. Swathed it in heat and darkness. Time and time again, I’d trusted her. And time and time again, she’d proven herself unworthy of my trust.

Did I not deserve her respect?

Did she truly think so little of me?

I’d given her everything. Everything. My protection, my love, my life. And she’d tossed each aside as if they meant nothing. She’d stripped me of my name, my identity. My family. Every word from her mouth since the day we’d met had been a lie—who she was, what she was, her relationship with Coco, with Bas. I’d thought I’d moved past them. I’d thought I’d forgiven her. But that hole . . . it hadn’t healed quite right. The skin had grown over infection. And hiding my siblings from me, preventing me from saving them . . .

She’d torn me back open.

I couldn’t trust her. She obviously didn’t trust me.

Our entire relationship had been built on lies.

The fury, the betrayal, burned up my throat. This anger was visceral, a living thing clawing from my chest—

I pounded a fist against the stone wall, sinking to my knees. The others—they couldn’t see me like this. Alliance or not, if they scented blood in the water, they’d attack. I had to master myself. I had to—to—

You are in control. Another voice—this one unbidden, still painful—echoed through my mind. This anger cannot govern you, Reid.

I’d—I’d killed the Archbishop to save her, for Christ’s sake. How could she say I’d scorned her?

Breathing deeply, I knelt in silence for another moment. The anger still burned. The betrayal still ached. But a deadly sense of purpose overpowered both of them. Lou no longer wanted me. She’d made that perfectly clear. I still loved her—I always would—but she’d been right: we could not continue as we were now. Though ironic, though cruel, we’d fit together as witch and witch hunter. As husband and wife. But she’d changed. I’d changed.

I wanted to help her. Desperately. But I couldn’t force her to help herself.

On steadier feet, I rose, pushing open the door to Léviathan.

What I could do was kill a witch. It’s what I knew. It’s what I’d trained for my entire life. At this very moment, Morgane hid within the city. She hunted my family. If I did nothing—if I sat in this alley and wept over things I could not change—Morgane would find them. She would torture them. She would kill them.

I would kill her first.

To do that, I needed to visit my father.

When I stepped over the threshold, Charles, Brigitte, and Absalon turned and fled upstairs. She was here, then. Lou. As if reading my thoughts, Madame Labelle touched my forearm and murmured, “She came in a few moments before you did. Coco and Ansel followed her up.”

Something in her eyes spoke further, but I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know.

Small and unremarkable—contrary to its namesake—Léviathan sat tucked within the farthest reach of Cesarine, overlooking the cemetery. Gaps in the floorboards. Cobwebs in the corners. Cauldron in the hearth.

No patrons beyond our own group.

At the bar, Deveraux sat with Toulouse and Thierry. Déjà vu swept through me at the sight of them together. Of another time and another place. Another tavern. That one hadn’t housed blood witches and werewolves, though. It’d caught fire instead. “There’s a joke here somewhere,” Beau muttered, nursing a pint at the table nearest me. His hood still shadowed his face. Beside him sat Nicholina and a woman I didn’t recognize. No—a woman I did. Tall and striking, she had Coco’s face. But her eyes gleamed with unfamiliar malice. She held her spine rigid. Her mouth pursed.

“Good evening, Captain.” She inclined her neck stiffly. “At last we meet.”

“La Voisin.”

At the name, Blaise and his children bared their teeth, snarling softly.

Heedless of the tense silence—of the palpable antagonism—Deveraux laughed and waved me over. “Reid, how splendid to see you again! Come hither, come hither!”

“What are you doing here?”

“La Mascarade des Cranes, dear boy! Surely you haven’t forgotten? One of the entrances lies below this very—”

I turned away, ignoring the rest of his words. I didn’t have time for a happy reunion. Didn’t have time to make peace between blood witches and werewolves. To entertain them.

“We’re lucky he’s here,” Madame Labelle murmured, though her voice held more strain than reproach. “After Auguste burned the Bellerose, my contacts in the city are too frightened to speak with me. I would’ve had a devil of a time procuring a safe place for us if Claud hadn’t stepped in. Apparently, the innkeeper owes him a favor. We’re the only patrons of Léviathan tonight.”

I didn’t care. Instead of answering, I nodded to Beau, who plunked his tankard down with a sigh. He joined Madame Labelle and me at the door. “If you’re still planning what I think you’re planning, you’re an idiot of the highest order—”

“What’s the timetable?” I asked brusquely.

He blinked at me. “I assume the priests are finishing preparation of the body now. They’ll administer last rites soon. Mass will commence in under an hour, and afterward, the Chasseurs will escort my family in the burial procession. They’ll lay it to rest around four o’clock this afternoon.”

It. The implication of the word stung. It. Not him.

I forced the thought away. “That gives us an hour to breach the castle. Where will Auguste be?”

Though Beau and Madame Labelle shared an anxious look, neither protested further. “The throne room,” he said. “He, my mother, and my sisters will be in the throne room. It’s tradition to hold court before ceremonial events.”

“Can you get us in?”

He nodded. “Like Claud said, there is a system of tunnels that span the entire city. I used to play in them as a child. They connect the castle, the catacombs, the cathedral—”

“The Bellerose,” Madame Labelle added, arching a wry brow. “This pub.”

Beau dipped his head with a chuckle. “There’s also a passage behind a tapestry in the throne room. You and your mother can hide while I approach my father. After Jean Luc’s explanation of events in Le Ventre—and your own rather unfortunate entrance to the city—I think it best I speak with him first. It’ll prevent him from arresting you on sight.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “But word will have spread, Reid. He’ll know you’re a witch now. They all will. I don’t know what he’ll do. Approaching him on the day of the Archbishop’s funeral is a huge risk, especially since you’re—” He broke off with an apologetic sigh. “Since you’re the one who killed him.”

Emotion choked my throat, but I swallowed it down. I could not dwell. I had to move forward. “I understand.”

“If I judge him to be amenable, I’ll summon you forth. If I don’t, you’ll run like hell.” He looked me in the eye then, squaring his shoulders. “I won’t concede that point, brother. If I tell you to run, you will run.”

“Perhaps you should have a code word for when things go wrong.” With a skeletal grin, Nicholina slipped her face between Beau’s and mine. “I suggest flibbertigibbet. Or bumfuzzle. Bumfuzzle, bumfuzzle, meaning to puzzle—”

Beau pushed her face away without hesitation. “If for some reason we’re separated, take the left-hand tunnel at each fork you meet. It’ll take you to La Mascarade des Cranes. Find Claud, and he’ll lead you back here.”

My brow furrowed. “Won’t taking the left-hand tunnel lead us in a circle?”

“Not underground it won’t. The left-hand tunnel is the only way to reach the Skull Masquerade.” He nodded again, this time to himself. “Right. The entrance is in the storeroom behind the bar, and the castle is a twenty-minute walk from here. If we’re going to do this, we need to leave now.”

“What’s this, then?” Nicholina’s brows wriggled as she circled us. Her girlish voice pitched higher. “To the castle, to the snare, you rush to save your lady fair—”

“Would you shut up, woman?” Beau whirled, incredulous, and tried to shoo her back toward La Voisin. “She’s been doing this since I arrived.” To her, he added, “Go on, now. Go. Back to your—your master, or whoever—”