Deveraux frowned. “And your men? They won’t reveal your involvement?”
“Which was what, exactly?” Jean Luc’s eyes narrowed. “I took advantage of a poor situation to rescue the daughter of an aristocrat.” He plunked his glass on the table and stood, straightening his coat. “Make no mistake—we are not allies. If you aren’t gone by the time I return, I will arrest all of you, and I will lose no sleep tonight.”
Deveraux looked down to conceal his grin. “Why not now? We are here. You are here.”
Jean Luc scowled, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “Do not make me regret this, old man. After what I saw down there, I could see you burned. It is the fate that awaits every witch. You are no different.”
“After what you saw down there,” Deveraux mused, still examining his fingernails, “I assume you have many questions.” When Jean Luc opened his mouth to argue, Deveraux spoke over him. “Your men certainly will. Make no mistake. Are you prepared to answer them? Are you prepared to paint us all with the same stroke as Morgane?”
“I—”
“Louise risked her life to save an innocent young woman last night, and she paid dearly for it.”
As one, they turned to look at Célie. She sat beside me at the table, pale and trembling. She hadn’t spoken since we’d left La Mascarade des Crânes. When I’d kindly suggested she return home, she’d broken down in tears. I hadn’t mentioned it since. Still, I didn’t know what to do with her. She couldn’t stay with us. Her parents must’ve been worried sick, and even if they weren’t . . . the road ahead would be dangerous. It was no place for someone like Célie.
She blushed under Deveraux’s and Jean Luc’s gazes, folding her hands in her lap. Dirt still stained her mourning dress. And something else. Something—putrid.
I still didn’t know what had happened to her down there. Lou had refused to tell me, and Ansel—
My mind viciously rejected the thought.
“Louise is the reason Célie was kidnapped,” Jean Luc said through gritted teeth. “And I cannot discuss the matter any further. I must go. Célie”—he extended a hand toward her, face softening—“can you stand? I will escort you home. Your parents are waiting.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes, but she wiped them away. Straightening her shoulders, she placed her trembling hand in his. Jean Luc moved to leave but stopped short, clutching my shoulder at the last second. His eyes were impenetrable. “I genuinely hope I don’t see you again, Reid. Leave the kingdom. Take Louise and Coco with you if you must. Take the prince. Just—” Sighing heavily, he turned away. “Take care of yourself.”
I watched the two of them walk out the door with a strange, pinching sensation. Though I no longer loved Célie romantically, it was . . . odd. Seeing her hand in Jean Luc’s. Uncomfortable. Still, I wished them every happiness. Someone should have it.
“How is she?” Deveraux said after a moment. No one asked who he meant. “Where is she?”
I took my time answering, contemplating my beer again. After one enormous swallow and another, I wiped my mouth. “She’s in the dining room with La Voisin and Nicholina. They’re . . . planning.”
“La Voisin? Nicholina?” Deveraux blinked between Coco and me, appalled. “These are the same women who abandoned us in the tunnels, are they not? What in the wilderness is Lou planning with them?”
Coco didn’t look up from her wine. “Lou wants to march on Chateau le Blanc. It’s all she’s talked about since we escaped. She says she needs to kill Morgane.”
“Oh dear.” Deveraux’s eyes widened, and he blew out a breath. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. I must admit, that is . . . troubling.”
Coco’s hand tightened around her glass. Her eyes snapped up, burning with unshed emotion. “Why? We all want vengeance. She’s taking the steps to get us there.”
Deveraux appeared to choose his next words carefully. “Thoughts such as these could invite something very dark into your lives, Cosette. Something very dark, indeed. Evil always seeks a foothold. We must not give it one.”
The stem of her glass snapped between her fingers, and a tear sizzled against the table. “She snuffed him out like a candle. You were there. You saw. And he—he—” She closed her eyes to regain her composure. When she opened them again, they were nearly black. Beau watched her with a wooden expression. Emotionless. Blank. “He was the best of us. Evil has more than a foothold here, Claud—thanks to you. You set it loose last night. You let it roam free. Now we all must suffer the consequences.”
The door to the dining room flew open, and Lou stepped out. When her eyes met mine, she grinned and started toward me. I frowned. I hadn’t seen her grin since—since—
Without a word, she swept me into a passionate kiss.
Acknowledgments
People warned me about second books. They said the sophomore novel, whether sequel or standalone, was an entirely different beast than a debut. After a rather intense revision period with Serpent & Dove, I thought I could handle whatever Blood & Honey threw at me. Life doesn’t come with voice-over narration, but if it did, my narrator would’ve laughed at this point—perhaps Jim would’ve deadpanned to the camera—and said, “How very wrong she was.” For whatever reason, this book demanded my blood and sweat and tears. It gave me nightmares; my first panic attack. I nearly had a psychotic break in the coffee aisle of the grocery store. (I don’t drink coffee. I started drinking coffee while rewriting this book.) Now, on the other side, I can’t help but feel proud of this story. It’s proof we’re capable of doing hard things, even if we need to ask for help with them sometimes—which I did while writing this book. A lot.
RJ, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for the airball reference, but also, like . . . you made me laugh when I wanted to cry. That’s a gift. It’s also why I married you. Thanks for being a single parent the last few months while I wrote and rewrote and revised and re-revised. I love you.
Beau, James, and Rose, I hope when you read this someday, you’ll know that while you don’t owe anyone unconditional love, you certainly have mine. Even when you argue. Even when you scream. Even when you paint the bathroom with my favorite lipstick on the morning of my 7 o’clock flight.
Mom and Dad, words don’t suffice when I think of how to thank you. Even as a writer, I can’t quite describe the swell of emotions in my chest at everything you’ve done for me, so I won’t even try. Just know I pretty much hero-worship both of you.
There’s a passage near the end of Blood & Honey where Lou describes her childhood paradise as being surrounded by family and laughter. Jacob, Brooke, Justin, Chelsy, and Lewie, you guys inspired that paradise. I lived it then, and I live it now.
Pattie and Beth, those days you spent with the kids were invaluable. You gave a lot of time and energy—and probably food—for me to write this book, and I appreciate it. Truly.
Jordan, Spencer, Meghan, Aaron, Courtney, Austin, Adrianne, Chelsea, Jake, Jillian, Riley, Jon, and Aaron, writing has become a large part of my life, but you’ve never begrudged me it. You’ve kept me grounded while simultaneously allowing me to grow, all without judgment. Even for the black lipstick. I couldn’t do life without you guys.
Jordan, if there’s a single person I need to thank for helping me write Blood & Honey, it’s you. The time and energy you’ve poured into both me and this story . . . honestly, it chokes me up a little. Thank you for listening as I cried in the coffee aisle of the grocery store. Thank you for talking me through my panic attack, for suggesting Beau’s next joke, for loving these characters like I do, for sending TikTok videos to make me laugh, for enduring hours upon hours of Voxer messages when I just couldn’t crack the plot. Most important, however, thank you for being so much more than my critique partner. I cherish our friendship.
Katie and Carolyn, your support through the years means more than you know. Buckle up. I’m never letting either of you go.
Isabel, thank you for welcoming me into your home—and life—with open arms. Also for feeding me deliciou
s food. Adalyn, you’ve become both the angel and the devil on my shoulders, whispering my worth in both ears. Your Instagram feed looks great too. Adrienne, your drive and work ethic and knowledge inspire me daily. Like, you literally inspired me to order a carrot stick for my eyes the other day. That doesn’t just happen. Kristin, you have great hair. And skin. And fierce, badger-like loyalty to the people you love. I’m so lucky to have you in my corner. Rachel, the support you’ve given me—someone you’ve never met who crashed the group chat on a random Tuesday—is overwhelming. I can’t wait to crash your next writing retreat, too.
Agent extraordinaire, Sarah, none of this would be possible without your knowledge, guidance, and warmth. Erica, your vision for this series remains unerring. Thank you for keeping Lou, Reid, and me in line, especially when we tend to stray in the middle. You have the patience of a saint. Louisa Currigan, Alison Donalty, Jessie Gang, Alexandra Rakaczki, Gwen Morton, Mitch Thorpe, Michael D’Angelo, Ebony LaDelle, Tyler Breitfeller, Jane Lee, and everyone else at HarperTeen, if someone would’ve asked what my dream team looked like before I sold Serpent & Dove, that team would’ve looked exactly like you. I can’t thank you enough for the time and energy you’ve given to this series.
About the Author
Courtesy Shelby Mahurin
SHELBY MAHURIN is the New York Times bestselling author of Serpent & Dove. She grew up on a small farm in rural Indiana, where sticks became wands and cows became dragons. Her rampant imagination didn’t fade with age, so she continues to play make-believe every day—with words now instead of cows. When not writing, Shelby watches The Office and reads voraciously. She still lives near that childhood farm with her very tall husband and semiferal children. Visit her online at www.shelbymahurin.com.
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HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
BLOOD & HONEY. Copyright © 2020 by Shelby Mahurin. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Map art © 2020 by Leo Hartas
Cover art © 2020 by Katt Phatt
Cover design by Jessie Gang
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020938964
Digital Edition JUNE 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-287810-6
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-287805-2 — ISBN 978-0-06-304602-3 (special edition)
ISBN 978-0-06-304117-2 (intl edition)
2021222324PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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