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

Part of me still can’t believe it, can’t process my shock at their betrayal. My humiliation. Josephine and Nicholina have allied with my mother. Though I didn’t like them, I never suspected them capable of such evil. They sacrificed members of their own coven to . . . what? Return to the Chateau?

Yes, Etienne whispers.

He knows because he saw it all happen through Nicholina’s eyes, even after the real Etienne had perished. He witnessed his own desecrated body propped against my tent. He watched helplessly as Morgane kidnapped Gabrielle for the same fate, as my mother tormented his little sister, as Gaby finally escaped from La Mascarade des Crânes.

Except . . .

I frown. There are noticeable gaps in his memory. A small hole here, a gaping one there. My own involvement in the skull masquerade, for example. The color of Gabrielle’s hair. Each gap fills as I think of it, however, as my memory supplements his own, until the timeline is mostly complete.

Despite being, well, dead, he witnessed it all as if he was there.

How? I ask warily. Etienne, you . . . you died. Why haven’t you passed on?

When Nicholina possessed me, I joined her consciousness, and I—I don’t think I ever left.

Holy shit. My shock spreads wildly into outright horror. Has Nicholina possessed all of you?

I can feel them sift through our memories once more, piecing together our collective knowledge of Nicholina, of La Voisin, of blood magic. The darkness seems to vibrate with agitation as they contemplate such a fantastical and impossible conclusion. And yet . . . how often did Nicholina speak of mice? Gabrielle claimed she and La Voisin ate hearts to remain eternally young. Others whispered of even blacker arts. Their understanding resolves as mine does.

Somehow, Nicholina has trapped their souls in this darkness with her forever.

Yours too, the prim one sniffs. You are one of us now.

No. The darkness seems to press closer as their words ring true, and for a moment, I can’t speak. No, I’m still alive. I’m in a church, and Reid—

Who says we’re all dead? the mischievous voice asks. Perhaps some of us are still alive, somewhere. Perhaps our souls are merely fragmented. Part here, part there. Part everywhere. Yours will shatter soon enough.

When the darkness shifts once more, heavier now—crushing me beneath its weight—the others sense my mounting hysteria. Their voices turn less amicable, less prim, less mischievous. We are sorry, Louise le Blanc. It is too late for you. For all of us.

NO. I lash against the darkness with all my might, repeating the word over and over again like a talisman. I search for a golden pattern. For anything. There is only darkness. No no no no no—

Only Nicholina’s chilling laughter answers.





The Lighthouse


Reid

The first light of dawn haloed Father Achille in the sanctuary doors. He waited as I roused the others. No one had slept well. Bags swelled beneath Célie’s eyes, though she did her best to pinch color into her pale cheeks. Coco yawned while Beau groaned and cracked his neck. My own ached, despite Lou’s fingers kneading the knotted muscle there. I shrugged away from her touch with an apologetic smile, motioning toward the door.

“The villagers won’t rouse for another hour or so,” Achille said, handing each of us an apple as we filed past. “Remember what I said—don’t let them see you. The Chasseurs have an outpost not far from here. You don’t want anyone following you to . . . wherever it is you’re going.”

“Thank you, Father.” I tucked the apple into my pocket. It wasn’t shiny. It wasn’t red. But it was more than he owed us. More than others would’ve given. “For everything.”

He eyed me steadily. “Don’t mention it.” When I nodded, moving to lead the others through the churchyard, he caught my arm. “Be careful. Cauchemars are heralded as harbingers of doom.” I lifted an incredulous brow, and he added, grudging, “They’re only seen before catastrophic events.”

“A mob isn’t a catastrophic event.”

“Never underestimate the power of a mob.” Beau draped his arm casually across Coco’s shoulders as they waited, leaning against a tree. Mist clung to the edges of their hoods. “People are capable of unspeakable evil en masse. I’ve seen it happen.”

Father Achille released my arm and stepped away. “As have I. Take care.”

Without another word, he disappeared into the foyer, closing the door firmly behind him.

A strange sensation twinged my chest as I watched him go. “I wonder if we’ll ever see him again.”

“Not likely,” Lou said. The thick mist nearly engulfed her slight frame. Behind her, a white shape slipped through a break in the haze, and amber eyes flashed. I scowled. The dog had returned. She hadn’t noticed, instead extending her arm down the hillside. “Shall we?”

The village of Fée Tombe had been named for its sea stacks of hematite. Black, sparkling, the rocks rose from the sea for miles on end in the disjointed shapes of faerie wings—some tall and thin with spiderlike webs of silver, others short and stout with veins of red. Even the smallest stacks towered over the sea like great, immortal beings. Waves crashed around the wreckage of ships below. From our path along the bluff, the broken masts and booms looked like teeth.

Célie shivered in the icy breeze, wincing as her foot caught and twisted between two rocks. Beau cast her a sympathetic look. “It isn’t too late to turn back, you know.”