Blood & Honey
“What are you going to do?” He laughed scornfully, and the sound was so sad, so unnatural, it cut me at my core. “Freeze my heart? Shatter my bones? Make me forget I ever knew you?”
I brushed the rosewood with my fingertips, deliberating. This magic would hurt us both, but at least he’d be hurt and alive. “If you make me.”
We stared at each other—him looking fiercer than I’d ever seen him—until something thumped beside us. We turned to look at Filippa’s coffin, and I closed my eyes in shame. I’d forgotten about Célie.
“Is someone—” Ansel’s lips parted on a horrified breath. “Is Célie in there? Alive?”
“Yes,” I whispered, the fight leaving me abruptly. Coco had said her visions were rarely what they seemed. Perhaps this one could still play out differently. The future was fickle. If I sent him away, he could meet his death in the tunnels instead. At my side, perhaps I could . . . protect him, somehow. “Stay close to me, Ansel.”
Between the two of us, we managed to slide Filippa’s coffin to the floor. Opening the lid was another story. It took magic to unseal it. But I knew all about breaking locks, however, and fortunately for me, I’d just broken a relationship.
Another round in Morgane’s game.
The lid opened easily after that.
When we saw Célie lying, unconscious, among her sister’s remains, Ansel promptly vomited up the contents of his stomach. I nearly joined him, pressing a fist to my mouth to stem the bile. Filippa’s corpse had not yet fully decomposed, and her rotted flesh oozed against Célie’s skin. And the smell, it—
I vomited on Monique Priscille Tremblay’s skull.
“She’ll never recover from this,” I said, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. “This—this is sick, even for Morgane.”
At the sound of my voice, Célie lurched upright at the waist, her eyes snapping open. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she turned to stare at me. “Célie,” I breathed, dropping down beside her. “I am so sorry—”
“You found me.”
I wiped the slime from her face and hair the best I could. “Of course I did.”
“I d-didn’t think you’d c-come. I’ve been down here for w-weeks.” Though she shivered violently, she didn’t rise from the coffin. I slipped my cloak around her shoulders. “She—she visited me sometimes. Taunted me. S-said that I’d d-d-die here. Said—said Reid had f-forgotten about me.”
“Shhh. You’re safe now. Reid is the one who sent me. We’ll get you out of here, and—”
“I can’t leave.” She sobbed harder when Ansel and I tried to lift her, but her body remained firmly in the coffin. We tugged harder. She didn’t budge. “I c-c-can’t m-move. Not unless I take you to—to her. She e-enchanted me.” I smelled it then, the magic, almost indiscernible beneath the stench of decay. “If I d-don’t, I’ll have to s-s-stay here with—with Filippa—” A keening wail rose from her throat, and I hugged her closer, wishing desperately Reid were here. He’d know what to do. He’d know how to comfort her—
No. I slammed the door shut on the thought.
I hoped Reid wasn’t here. Though I couldn’t lock Ansel away—not alone in the catacombs with only Filippa’s corpse for company—I could still prevent Reid from finding us, from following us to Morgane. In my mind, if I kept them separate, he’d be fine. I could still pray Coco’s vision had been wrong, and everyone would survive the night.
“Can you stand at all?” I asked.
“I d-don’t think so.”
“Can you try? Ansel and I will help you.”
She cringed away as if just realizing I’d been touching her. “N-No. You—you t-took Reid from me. She t-told me you enchanted him.”
I tried to remain calm. This wasn’t Célie’s fault. It was Morgane’s. If I knew my mother at all, everything she’d told Célie in their time together had been a lie. Once Célie’s shock wore off, it’d be impossible to persuade her into leaving with me. I was the enemy. I was the witch who’d stolen Reid’s heart. “We can’t sit on this floor forever, Célie. Eventually, we have to move.”
“Where’s Reid?” Her breathing hitched once more, and she looked around wildly. “Where is he? I want Reid!”
“I can take you to him,” I said patiently, motioning for Ansel to join me on the floor. She’d started keening again, rocking back and forth and clutching her face. “But I need you to step out of the coffin.”
As predicted, her wailing ceased when she spotted Ansel through her fingers. “You,” she whispered, clutching the edge of the casket. “I—I saw you in the Tower. You’re an initiate.”
Thank God Ansel had enough sense to lie. “Yes,” he said smoothly, taking her hand. “I am. And I need you to trust me. I won’t let anyone harm you, Célie, especially a witch.”
She leaned closer. “You don’t understand. I can f-feel her magic pulling at me. Right here.” She tapped her chest, the movement fitful, frantic. Blood caked beneath her fingernails, as if she’d tried to scratch her way through the rosewood. “If I get up, I won’t have a choice. S-She’s waiting for us.”
“Can you break the enchantment?” Ansel asked me.
“It doesn’t work like that. I don’t know how Reid did it at Modraniht, but it must’ve taken extraordinary focus, maybe a powerful surge of emotion while Morgane was distracted, and right now, I can’t—” Faint voices echoed down the tunnel. Though I couldn’t discern the words, the cadences, it wouldn’t do for anyone to find us here. Especially Reid.
“Get up,” I snapped to Célie. “Get up, and take us to Morgane before this night goes to complete hell.” When she stared, dumbfounded at my sudden outburst, I tugged fiercely on her hand. It was no use. I couldn’t break this bind. Célie would have to choose to rise herself. Which she did, after I grabbed her face and hissed, “If you don’t get up, Reid will die.”
La Mascarade Des Cranes
Lou
No longer in control of her body, Célie walked with mechanical footsteps down each left-hand tunnel, leading us into La Mascarade des Cranes. I nearly clipped her heels twice in my haste. Any second, Reid could march around the bend. I needed to deal with Morgane before that happened.
My mind raged against me, presenting fresh problems with each step—fresh problems and stale solutions. As usual, Morgane had played one move ahead. I’d gathered my allies—and snuck away to face Morgane without them, my mind sneered—persuaded powerful pieces onto the board, waited for her to strike. But she hadn’t struck. At least, not in the way I’d planned. I stared at Célie’s frail back, her soiled mourning gown. Now I was trapped like a rat in the sewers with only Ansel and Célie for help. Even if I hadn’t vowed to keep both out of the fray, my chances of walking away from this encounter were nonexistent.
This was a disaster.
The path widened as we crept onward, more lanterns illuminating this tunnel than the others. We’d walked for only a minute or so before voices echoed up the tunnel—many voices this time, carousing and loud. Unfamiliar. Some rose together in song, accompanied by the merry twang of mandolins, the dulcet chords of a harp, even the sharper notes of a rebec. When we rounded the corner, the first painted stalls rose to meet us. Here, masked merchants crooned to scandalously clad maidens, promising more than sweetmeat and pies, while others hawked wares such as bottled dreams and fairy dust. Bards wove through the shoppers. To the applause of passersby, a contortionist twisted his limbs into impossible shapes. Everywhere I looked, revelers danced, laughed, shouted, spilling wine on the tunnel floors. Coins spilled just as freely.
When a dirty-faced child—a cutpurse—slipped her hand into my pocket, I seized her wrist, clucking my tongue. “I think you’ll find better luck over there,” I whispered, pointing to a drunken couple who sat beside a cart of powdered bugne. The girl nodded appreciatively and crept toward them.
We couldn’t stop to enjoy the sights, however, as Célie marched onward, weaving through the revelers like a snake being charmed. We hurried to keep up.
She ignored the infinite side tunnels and their unknown delights, keeping instead to the main path. Others joined us, whispering excitedly, their faces obscured by elaborate costumes: lions and lionesses with thick fur headpieces and claws of diamond; horned dragons with painted-on scales that gleamed metallic in the torchlight; peacocks with teal, gold, and turquoise feathers, their glittering masks carved into fashionable beaks. Even the poorer attendants had spared no expense, donning their finest suits and painting their faces. The man nearest me resembled the devil with his red face and black horns.
Each glanced at our bare faces curiously, but none commented. My apprehension mounted with each step. Morgane was nearby. She had to be. I could almost feel her breath on my neck now, hear her voice calling my name.
Sensing my distress, Ansel slipped his hand into mine and squeezed. “I’m here, Lou.”
I returned the pressure with numb fingers. Perhaps I hadn’t broken our relationship beyond repair. The thought bolstered me enough to whisper, “I’m scared, Ansel.”