The ruins of a temple—pale, crumbling—opened up to the night sky in the middle of the clearing. Morgane sat there with a still unconscious Lou, overseeing minor sacrifices. A stone altar rose from the ground beside them. It shone pristine in the moonlight.
My mind and body warred. The former screamed to wait for Madame Labelle. The latter itched to throw itself between Lou and Morgane. I couldn’t stand to look upon her lifeless body any longer. To watch her drift along as if she were already a spirit of the mist.
And Morgane—never before had I longed to kill a witch as I did now, to plunge a knife into her throat and sever her pale head from her body. I didn’t need my Balisarda to kill her. She would bleed without it.
Not yet. Wait for the signal.
If only Madame Labelle had told us what the signal was.
The music played endlessly, but there were no musicians in sight. Elinor grudgingly passed me to Elaina, and I lost track of time. Lost track of everything but the panicked beat of my heart, the cold night air on my skin. How much longer would Madame Labelle expect me to wait? Where was she? Who was she expecting?
Too many questions and not enough answers. And still no sign of Madame Labelle.
Panic rapidly gave way to despair as the last sheep was slain, and the witches began presenting other tokens to Morgane. Wooden carvings. Bundled herbs. Hematite jewelry.
Morgane watched them place each gift at her feet without a word. She stroked Lou’s hair absently as the ebony witch approached from within the temple. I couldn’t hear their murmured conversation, but Morgane’s face lit up at whatever the witch said. I watched the witch return to the temple with a sense of foreboding.
If it made Morgane happy, it couldn’t be good for us.
Elaina and Elinor soon left me to add their gifts to the pile. I craned my neck to search for anything amiss, anything that might be construed as a signal, but there was nothing.
Ansel and Coco sidled up beside me, their distress nearly palpable. “We can’t wait much longer,” Ansel breathed. “It’s almost midnight.”
I nodded, remembering Morgane’s wicked smile. Something was coming. We couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Whether Madame Labelle gave the signal or not, the time had come to act. I looked to Coco. “We need a distraction. Something to draw Morgane’s attention away from Lou.”
“Something like a blood witch?” she asked, grim.
Ansel opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “It’ll be dangerous.”
She slit her wrist with a flick of her thumb. Dark blood welled, and a sharp, bitter stench pierced the cloying air. “Don’t worry about me.” She turned and wove through the mist out of sight.
I checked the bandolier of knives beneath my coat as inconspicuously as possible. “Ansel . . . before we do this . . . I—I just want to say that I’m”—I broke off, swallowing hard—“I’m sorry. About before. In the Tower. I shouldn’t have touched you.”
He blinked in surprise. “It’s fine, Reid. You were upset—”
“It’s not fine.” I coughed awkwardly, unable to meet his eyes. “Er, what weapons do you have?”
Before he could answer, the music stopped abruptly, and the clearing plunged into silence. Every eye turned to the temple. I watched in horror as Morgane stood, eyes shining with malicious intent.
This was it. We really were out of time.
I followed the witches as they moved closer, moths drawn to the flame. Gripping a knife under my coat, I maneuvered to the front of the crowd. Ansel shadowed my movements, and Beau soon joined him.
Good. They could protect each other. Though if I failed, they were as good as dead anyway.
Morgane was the target.
A blade in the chest would distract her just as well as Coco could. If I was lucky, it would kill her. If I wasn’t, it would at least buy enough time to grab Lou and run. I prayed the others would be able to slip away undetected.
“Many of you have traveled long and far to pay homage on this Modraniht.” Morgane’s voice was soft, but it carried clearly across the silence of the glade. The witches waited with bated breath. “I am honored by your presence. I am humbled by your gifts. Your revelry tonight has restored my spirit.” She searched each face carefully, her eyes seeming to linger on mine before continuing on. I released a slow breath.
“But you know this night is more than revelry,” she continued, voice softer still. “This is a night to honor our matriarchs. It is a night to worship and pay tribute to the Goddess—she who brings light and darkness, she who breathes life and death. She who is the one true Mother of us all.” Another pause, this one longer and more pronounced. “Our Mother is angry.” The anguish on her face had even me nearly convinced. “Suffering has plagued her children at the hand of man. We have been hunted.” Her voice rose steadily. “We have burned. We have lost sister and mother and daughter to their hatred and fear.”
The witches stirred restlessly. I gripped my knife tighter.
“Tonight,” she cried passionately, lifting her arms to the heavens, “the Goddess will answer our prayers!”
Then she brought them slashing down, and Lou—still floating, still insentient—tipped forward. Her feet dangled uselessly above the temple floor. “With my daughter’s sacrifice, the Goddess shall end our oppression!” Her hands clenched, and Lou’s head snapped upright. Nausea rolled in my gut. “In her death, we shall forge new life!”
The witches stomped and shouted.
“But first,” she crooned, barely audible. “A gift for my daughter.”
And with one last flick of her hand, Lou’s eyes finally opened.
I hesitated just long enough to see those blue-green eyes—beautiful, alive—widen in shock. Then I lunged forward.
Ansel grabbed my arms with surprising strength. “Reid.”
I faltered at his tone. In the next second, I understood: the ebony witch had reappeared, and now she dragged a second woman—limp and immobilized—out of the temple. A woman with strawberry blond hair and piercing blue eyes that searched the crowd desperately.
I stopped dead, stricken. Unable to move.
My mother.
“Behold this woman!” Morgane shouted over the sudden din of voices. “Behold the treacherous Helene!” She grabbed Madame Labelle by the hair and threw her down the temple steps. “This woman—once our sister, once my heart—conspires with the human king. She birthed his bastard child.” Shrieks of outrage rent the air. “Tonight, she was found attempting to force entry on the Chateau. She plots to steal our Mother’s precious gift by taking my daughter’s life herself. She would have us all burn under the tyrant king!”
The cries reached a deafening pitch, and Morgane’s eyes shone with triumph as she descended the steps. As she drew a wickedly sharp dagger from her belt. “Louise le Blanc, daughter and heir to La Dame des Sorcières, I shall honor you with her death.”
“No!” Lou’s body spasmed as she fought to move with her entire being. Tears poured down Madame Labelle’s cheeks.
I tore viciously from Ansel’s grasp and lunged forward, diving for the temple steps—desperate to reach them, desperate to save the two women I needed most—just as Morgane plunged the dagger into my mother’s chest.