Gods & Monsters (Serpent & Dove #3) by Shelby Mahurin

Her gap-toothed smile slipped. “Forgive me, but I’d rather not end the night with a knife in my back. You understand, I’m sure.” She wiggled her fingers in silent threat, motioning me forward.

Scowling, I followed Jean Luc. Though she’d been right in her suspicions—I did want to end her depraved existence—I had no choice but to obey. I’d lost my Balisarda. “I thought the door was guarded by a powerful enchantment.”

Her footsteps fell heavy and clumsy behind me, her breath growing louder with each tread. Labored. I didn’t offer assistance. If she insisted on this foul magic, she would reap the reward. “That was a door,” she panted. “It wasn’t the door. Did you really think my mother would protect her most treasured possessions with only a bookshelf?”

Her most treasured possessions. The words sent a thrill of anticipation through me. Surely, something beyond this door would be useful in eliminating her—in eliminating all of them. Perhaps if I liberated it, delivered it to the new Archbishop, I could renew my vows and rejoin my brotherhood. It was where I belonged.

As quickly as the thought materialized, however, I cast it aside. If this new Archbishop accepted me so readily—me, a man guilty of murder and conspiracy—he would be no leader at all. I could not follow him. No, from this point onward, I could seek only atonement. I would kill these witches, yes, but I expected no reward. If the wanted posters had been true, I deserved none.

I would kill them nonetheless.

At the top of the staircase, the others halted before a simple, nondescript door. Lou pushed past me, still wheezing. She clutched her chest with one hand and the door handle with another. “My god. I think my knees might’ve actually cracked.”

“My māmā rū’au can predict the weather with hers,” Beau offered.

“She sounds like a fascinating woman, and I mean that genuinely.” Straightening as much as possible, Lou twisted the golden handle experimentally. It didn’t move. At my derisive snort, she muttered, “No harm in checking.”

A beat of silence passed as she stared at the door, and we stared at her.

Impatience sharpened my tone. “Well?”

Flattening her palm on the handle, she cast me a cutting glance. “I was right. A nasty enchantment has been cast on this door, and it’ll take time to break—if I can break it at all.” She closed her eyes. “I can . . . feel it there. Like a sixth sense. The magic—it pulls at my chest even now.” She shook her head, opening her eyes once more. “But I don’t know if I can trust it.”

Coco’s voice turned grim. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

“It wants to protect this place, even from me.”

“You control the magic, Lou. It doesn’t control you.”

“But what if—”

“Shift your perspective.” The response startled even me, and it’d come from my own mouth. Beneath their startled gazes, I immediately regretted I’d spoken. Heat crept into my cheeks. Why had I spoken? I needed to get into this room, of course, but—no. That was the only explanation. I needed to get into this room. Looking each one of them directly in the eye, I continued, “This new magic, it wants to protect the Chateau. Why?”

Lou frowned. “Because it’s my home. My sisters’ home. It’s been ours for all of living memory.”

“That isn’t quite true,” Coco whispered.

Lou blinked at her. “What?”

“My aunt remembers differently.” Coco shifted in obvious discomfort. “She speaks of a time when Dames Rouges walked these halls instead of Dames Blanches.” At Lou’s bewildered expression, she hastened to add, “It doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.”

“But—”

“She’s right,” I interrupted, my voice hard. “What matters now is whether you—La Dame des Sorcières—still consider this place your home.” When she didn’t speak, only stared at me intently, I shrugged. Shoulders rigid. “If not, it stands to reason your magic won’t protect it anymore. It’ll shift to your new home. Wherever that is.”

She continued to stare at me. “Right.”

I crossed my arms and looked away, distinctly uncomfortable. “So? Is it?”

“No.” After another long, uncomfortable moment, she finally did the same, murmuring, “No, it isn’t.”

Then she closed her eyes and exhaled. Her entire body relaxed into the movement, shedding its withered skin until she no longer resembled the Crone but a young woman once more. A vibrant young woman. A witch, my mind chastised. A vibrant young witch. Still, with her eyes closed, I couldn’t help but study her. Long brown hair and elfin features. Sharp-cut eyes. Sun-kissed freckles. At her throat, a ring of thorns circled her golden skin. Roses too.

Why can’t I be both?

The inexplicable urge to touch her nearly overpowered me. To trace the delicate curve of her nose. The bold arch of brow. I resisted the mad impulse. Only fools coveted beautiful and deadly things. I wasn’t a fool. I didn’t covet. And I certainly didn’t want to touch a witch, regardless of how she looked at me.

She looked at me like I belonged to her and she belonged to me.

“It’s a lock,” she breathed eventually, her face contorting with strain. Sweat glistened on her brow. “The magic. I’m the key. La Dame des Sorcières cast the enchantment, and only she can break it. But I”—her eyes screwed tighter—“the webs, they’re all fixed—I can’t move them. They’re like iron.”