5.All guests must wash thoroughly before departure from the facilities. The guest inspection form is located in the washroom near the Western Entrance. Failure to pass inspection will result in permanent removal from the facilities.
Holy hell. This place was a prison.
“Of course, Father Orville.” Coco grabbed my hand and steered me away from the sign. “We’ll stay out of your hair. You won’t even notice we’re here. And you”—she glanced over her shoulder at Ansel—“run along and play. We don’t require further assistance.”
“But Reid—”
“Come now, Ansel.” Father Orville made to clasp Ansel’s shoulder and found his elbow instead. “Let the young ladies tend the sickbeds. You and I shall join in prayerful communion until they are done. I have accomplished all I can with the poor souls this morning. I regret two are heading for Feuillemort in the morning, as their souls are unresponsive to my healing hand. . . .”
His voice trailed off as he led Ansel down the corridor. Ansel threw a pleading look over his shoulder before disappearing around the bend.
“Feuillemort?” I asked curiously.
“Shh . . . not yet,” Coco whispered.
She opened a door at random and pushed me through. At the sound of our entrance, the man’s head twisted toward us—and kept twisting. We watched in horror, frozen, as he crept from the bed on inverted limbs, his joints bending and popping from their sockets unnaturally. An animalistic gleam lit his eyes, and he hissed, scuttling toward us like a spider.
“What in the—”
“Out, out, out!” Coco shoved me from the room and slammed the door shut. The man’s body thudded against it, and he let out a strange wail. She took a deep breath, smoothing her healer’s robes. “Okay, let’s try that again.”
I eyed the door apprehensively. “Must we?”
She cracked another door open and peered inside. “This one should be fine.”
I peeked over her shoulder and saw a woman reading quietly. When she looked up at us, I jerked back, lifting a fist to my mouth. Her skin moved—like thousands of tiny insects crawled just beneath the surface.
“No.” Shaking my head, I backed away quickly. “I can’t do bugs.”
The woman held up a pleading hand. “Stay, please—” A swarm of locusts burst from her open mouth, choking her, and tears of blood streamed down her cheeks.
We slammed the door on her sobs.
“I choose the next door.” Chest heaving inexplicably, I considered my options, but the doors were all identical. Who knew what fresh horrors lay beyond? Male voices drifted toward us from a door at the end of the corridor, joined by the gentle clinking of metal. Morbidly curious, I inched toward it, but Coco stilled me with a curt shake of her head. “What is this place, anyway?” I asked.
“Hell.” She guided me up the corridor, casting a furtive look over her shoulder. “You don’t want to go down there. It’s where the priests . . . experiment.”
“Experiment?”
“I stumbled in last night while they were dissecting the brain of a patient.” She opened another door, surveying the room carefully before pushing it open wider. “They’re trying to understand where magic comes from.”
Inside, an elderly gentleman lay chained to an iron bedpost. He stared blankly at the ceiling.
Clink.
Pause.
Clink.
Pause.
Clink.
I looked closer and gasped. His fingers were tipped with black, his nails elongated and sharpened into points. He tapped his forearm with his pointer finger rhythmically. With each tap, a bead of inky blood welled—too dark to be natural. Poisonous. Hundreds of other marks already discolored his entire body—even his face. None had healed over. All wept black blood.
Metallic rot mingled with the sweet scent of magic in the air.
Clink.
Pause.
Clink.
Bile rose in my throat. He looked less a man now, and more a creature of nightmares and shadows.
Coco closed the door behind us, and his milky eyes found mine. The hair on my neck stood up.
“It’s just Monsieur Bernard.” Coco crossed the room and scooped up one of the manacles. “He must’ve slipped his chains again.”
“Holy hell.” I drifted closer as she gently clasped the manacle back around the man’s free hand. He continued staring at me with those empty eyes. Unblinking. “What happened to him?”
“The same thing that happened to everyone else up here.” She smoothed his limp hair from his face. “Witches.”
I swallowed hard and walked to his bedside, where a Bible sat atop a lonely iron chair. Glancing at the door, I lowered my voice. “Perhaps we could help him.”
Coco sighed. “It’s no use. The Chasseurs brought him in early this morning. They found him wandering outside La Forêt des Yeux.” She touched the blood on his hand and lifted it to her nose, inhaling. “His nails are poisoned. He’ll be dead soon. That’s why the priests have kept him here instead of sending him to the asylum.”
Heaviness settled in my chest as I eyed the dying man. “And—and what was that torture device Father Orville was carrying?”
She grinned. “You mean the Bible?”
“Very funny. No—I meant the metal thing. It looked . . . sharp.”
Her grin faded. “It is sharp. It’s called a syringe. The priests use them for injections.”
“Injections?”
Coco leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. The white of her robes nearly blended into the pale stone, giving the illusion of a floating head staring at me across Monsieur Bernard’s body. I shuddered again. This place gave me the creeps.
“That’s what they’re calling them.” Her eyes darkened. “But I’ve seen what they can do. The priests have been tampering with poison. Hemlock, specifically. They’ve been testing it on the patients to perfect the dosage. I think they’re creating a weapon to use against the witches.”
Dread crept down my spine. “But the Church thinks only flame can truly kill a witch.”
“Though they might call us demons, they know we’re mortal. We bleed like humans. Feel pain like humans. But the injections aren’t meant to kill us. They cause paralysis. The Chasseurs will just have to get close enough to inject us, and we’re as good as dead.”
A moment passed as I tried to grasp this disturbing development. I glanced down at Monsieur Bernard, a bitter taste coating my mouth. Remembered the insects crawling beneath a woman’s skin only a few doors down, the bloody tears on her cheeks. Perhaps the priests weren’t the only ones to blame.
Paralysis—or even the stake—was preferable to some fates.
“What are you doing here, Mademoiselle Perrot?” I finally asked. At least she hadn’t used her real name. The Monvoisin family had a certain . . . notoriety. “You’re supposed to be hiding with your aunt.”
She actually had the gall to pout. “I could ask you the same question. How could you not invite me to your wedding?”
A bubble of laughter escaped my lips. It sounded eerie in the stillness. Monsieur Bernard’s nail tapped against his manacle now.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
I ignored him. “Trust me, if I would’ve had any say in the guest list, you would’ve been there.”
“Maid of honor?”
“Of course.”
Slightly appeased, Coco sighed and shook her head. “Married to a Chasseur . . . When I heard the news, I didn’t believe it.” A small grin touched her lips. “You’ve got balls the size of boulders.”
I laughed louder this time. “You are so depraved, Coco—”
“And what of your husband’s balls?” She waggled her eyebrows fiendishly. “How do they compare to Bas’s?”
“What do you know about Bas’s balls?” My cheeks hurt from smiling. I knew it was wrong—what with the cursed, dying Monsieur Bernard lying next to me—but the heaviness in my chest gradually eased as Co
co and I fell back into our easy banter. It felt good to see a friendly face after wading through a sea of hostile ones for two straight days—and to know she was safe. For now.
She sighed dramatically and refolded the blanket atop Monsieur Bernard. He didn’t stop clinking. “You talk in your sleep. I had to live vicariously.” Her smile faded when she looked back at me. She nodded to my bruises. “Did your husband do that?”
“Courtesy of Andre, unfortunately.”
“I wonder how Andre would fare without his balls. Perhaps I’ll pay him a little visit.”
“Don’t bother. I set the Chasseurs on him—on both of them.”
“What?” Her eyes widened in delight as I recounted the interrogation. “You fiendish little witch!” she crowed when I’d finished.
“Shhh!” I stole to the door and pressed my ear against the wood, listening for signs of movement outside. “Do you want them to catch us? Speaking of which . . .” I turned back to face her when I was sure no one hovered outside. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to rescue you, of course.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course.”
“One of the healers resigned her post to get married last week. The Fathers needed a replacement.”
I gave her a hard look. “And you know this how?”
“Easy.” She sank onto the end of the bed. Monsieur Bernard kept clinking away, though thankfully turned his disturbing stare to her now instead. “I waited for her replacement to show up early yesterday morning and convinced her I would be the better candidate.”
“What? How?”
“I asked her nicely, of course.” She fixed me with a pointed stare before rolling her eyes. “How do you think? I stole her letter of recommendation and bewitched her into forgetting her own name. The real Brie Perrot is currently vacationing in Amaris, and no one will ever know the difference.”
“Coco! What a stupid risk—”
“I’ve been trying to find a way to speak with you all day, but the priests are relentless. I’ve been in training.” She pursed her lips at the word before drawing a wrinkled piece of parchment from her robes. I didn’t recognize the spiked handwriting, but I did recognize the dark stain of blood. The sharp scent of blood magic. “I sent a letter to my aunt, and she’s agreed to protect you. You can come back with me. The coven is camped near the city, but they won’t remain there long. They’re heading north within the fortnight. We can sneak out of here before anyone knows you’re gone.”
My stomach sank. “Coco, I . . .” Sighing, I looked around the austere room for an explanation. I couldn’t tell her I didn’t trust her aunt—or anyone except for her, for that matter. Not really. “I think this might be the safest place for me right now. A Chasseur literally just took an oath to protect me.”
“I don’t like it.” She shook her head fervently and rose to her feet. “You’re playing with fire here, Lou. Sooner or later, you will get burnt.”
I grinned halfheartedly. “Let’s hope for later, then.”
She glared at me. “This isn’t funny. You’re leaving your safety—your life—up to men who’ll burn you if they discover what you are.”
My grin faded. “No, I’m not.” When she looked likely to argue, I spoke over her. “I’m not. I swear I’m not. It’s why I came up here today—why I’ll keep coming up here every day until she comes for me. Because she will come for me, Coco. I won’t be able to hide forever.”
I paused, taking a deep breath.
“And when she does, I’m going to be ready. No more depending on tricks and costumes. Or Babette’s reconnaissance or Bas’s lineage. Or you.” I gave her an apologetic smile and twisted Angelica’s Ring on my finger. “It’s time I start being proactive. If this ring hadn’t been in Tremblay’s vault, I would’ve been in serious shit. I’ve let myself grow weak. The risk of discovery outside this corridor is too great, but here . . . here I can practice, and no one will ever know.”
She smiled, slow and broad, and looped her arm through mine. “That’s more like it. Except you’re wrong about one thing. You’ll absolutely keep depending on me, because I’m not going anywhere. We’ll practice together.”
I frowned, torn between begging her to stay and forcing her to go. But it wasn’t my decision, and I already knew what she’d tell me if I tried to force her to do anything. I’d learned my favorite swear words from her, after all. “It’ll be dangerous. Even with the smell disguising the magic, the Chasseurs could still discover us.”
“In which case you’ll need me here,” she pointed out, “so I can drain all the blood from their bodies.”
I stared at her. “Can you do that?”
“I’m not sure.” She winked and bade goodbye to Monsieur Bernard. “Perhaps we should find out.”
The Escape
Lou
Lavender-scented bubbles and warm water were lapping around my ribs when my husband returned later that afternoon. His voice echoed through the walls. “Is she in there?”
“Yes, but—”
The tête carrée didn’t pause to listen or to question why Ansel stood in the corridor instead of in the bedroom. I grinned in anticipation. Though he was going to ruin my bath, the look on his face would make up for it.
Sure enough, he burst into the bedroom a second later. I watched as his eyes swept the room, searching for me.
Ansel had removed the washroom door in an attempt to patch the hole my husband had punched through it earlier, but I hadn’t waited for him to finish. The frame now stood gloriously empty, a perfect showcase for my soapy, naked skin. And his humiliation. It didn’t take long for him to find me. That same, wonderful choking noise burst from his throat, and his eyes widened.
I gave a cheery wave. “Hello there.”
“I—what are you—Ansel!” He nearly collided with the doorframe in his effort to flee. “I asked you to fix the door!”
Ansel’s voice rose hysterically. “There wasn’t time—”
With a growl of impatience, my husband slammed the bedroom door shut.
I imagined a bubble as his face and flicked it. Then another. And another. “You’re very rude to him, you know.”
He didn’t speak. Probably trying to control the blood rushing to his face. I could still see it, though. It crept up his neck and blended into his coppery hair. Leaning forward, I folded my arms over the edge of the tub. “Where have you been?”
His back stiffened, but he didn’t turn. “We didn’t catch them.”
“Andre and Grue?”
He nodded.
“So what happens now?”
“We have Chasseurs monitoring East End. With any luck, we’ll apprehend them soon, and they’ll each spend several years in prison for assault.”
“After they give you information on my friend.”
“After they give me information on the witch.”
I rolled my eyes, flinging water at the back of his head. It soaked his copper hair and cascaded down the collar of his shirt. He whirled indignantly, fists clenched—then stopped short, slamming his eyes shut.
“Can you put something on?” He waved a hand in my direction, the other firmly pressed against his eyes. “I can’t talk to you when you’re sitting there—sitting there—”
“Naked?”
His teeth clamped together with an audible snap. “Yes.”
“Sorry, but no. I haven’t finished washing my hair yet.” I slid back beneath the bubbles with an irritated sigh. Water lapped against my collarbone. “But you can look now. All my fun bits are covered.”
He cracked an eye open. Upon seeing me safely beneath the foam, he relaxed—or relaxed as much as someone like him was capable. He had a permanent stick up his ass, this husband of mine.
He moved closer cautiously and leaned against the empty doorframe. I ignored him, dumping more of the lavender soap in my palm. We were both silent as he watched me lather my hair.
“Where did you get those scars?” he asked.
I di
dn’t pause. Though mine were nothing compared to Coco’s and Babette’s, I still had quite a few. A hazard of a life on the streets. “Which ones?”
“All of them.”
I risked a glance at him then, and my heart plummeted when I realized he was staring at my throat. I directed him to my shoulder instead, pointing at the long, jagged line there. “Ran into the wrong end of a knife.” I held up my elbow to show him another speckling of scars. “Tangled with a barbed-wire fence.” Tapped beneath my collarbone. “Another knife. That one hurt like a bitch too.”
He ignored my language, eyes inscrutable as he stared at me. “Who did it?”
“Andre.” I dipped my hair back into the water, smiling when he averted his eyes. Hair clean, I wrapped my arms around my shins and rested my chin on my knees. “He got the jump on me when I first arrived in the city.”
He sighed heavily, as if he were suddenly weary. “I’m sorry we didn’t find them.”
“You will.”
“Oh?”
“They aren’t the brightest. They’ll probably show up here by morning, demanding to know why you’re searching for them.”
He chuckled and rubbed his neck, emphasizing the curve of his bicep. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves since the interrogation, and I couldn’t help but trace the long line of his forearm to his hand. To his callused fingers. To the fine, copper hair dusting his skin.
He cleared his throat and dropped his arm hastily. “I should go. We’re interrogating Madame Labelle soon. Then the other one—the thief at Tremblay’s. Bastien St. Pierre.”
My heart stopped, and I pitched forward, sloshing bubbles and water in every direction. “Not Bas?” He nodded, eyes narrowing. “But—but he escaped!”
“We found him skulking outside a back entrance to Soleil et Lune.” Disapproval radiated from him. “It’s just as well. The constabulary would’ve arrested him sooner or later. He killed one of Tremblay’s guards.”
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