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

“In the darkest parts of the forest,” she explained, arching a brow, “there lives a spider who hunts other spiders. L’Enchanteresse, we call her. The Enchantress. Isn’t that right, Coco?” When Coco didn’t respond, she continued undeterred. “L’Enchanteresse creeps into her enemies’ webs, plucking their silk strands, tricking them into believing they’ve ensnared their prey. When the spiders arrive to feast, she attacks, poisoning them slowly with her unique venom. She savors them for days. Indeed, she’s one of the few creatures in the animal kingdom who enjoy inflicting pain.”

We all stared at her. Even Coco. “That’s disturbing,” Beau finally said.

“It’s clever.”

“No.” He grimaced, face twisting. “It’s cannibalism.”

“We needed shelter,” I interjected a touch too loudly. Too desperately. The priest, who’d been watching them bicker with a disconcerted frown, returned his attention to me. “We didn’t realize the church was occupied. We’ll leave now.”

He continued to assess us in silence, his lip curling slightly. Gold swelled before me in response. Seeking. Probing. Protecting. I ignored its silent question. I wouldn’t need magic here. The priest wielded only a spoon. Even if he’d brandished a sword, the lines on his face marked him elderly. Wizened. Despite his tall frame, time seemed to have withered his musculature, leaving a spindly old man in its wake. We could outrun him. I seized Lou’s hand in preparation, cutting a glance to Coco and Beau. They both nodded once in understanding.

Scowling, the priest lifted his spoon as if to stop us, but at that moment, a fresh wave of hunger wracked my stomach. Its growl rumbled through the room like an earthquake. Impossible to ignore. Eyes tightening, the priest tore his gaze from me to glare at Saint Magdaleine in the silence that followed. After another beat, he grudgingly muttered, “When did you last eat?”

I didn’t answer. Heat pricked my cheeks. “We’ll leave now,” I repeated.

His eyes met mine. “That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s been . . . a few days.”

“How many days?”

Beau answered for me. “Four.”

Another rumble of my stomach rocked the silence. The priest shook his head. Looking as though he’d rather swallow the spoon whole, he asked, “And . . . when did you last sleep?”

Again, Beau couldn’t seem to stop himself. “We dozed in some fishermen’s boats two nights ago, but one of them caught us before sunrise. He tried to snare us in his net, the half-wit.”

The priest’s eyes flicked to the sanctuary doors. “Could he have followed you here?”

“I just said he was a half-wit. Reid snared him in the net instead.”

Those eyes found mine again. “You didn’t hurt him.” It wasn’t a question. I didn’t answer it. Instead I tightened my grip on Lou’s hand and prepared to run. This man—this holy man—would soon sound the alarm. We needed to put miles between us before Jean Luc arrived.

Lou didn’t seem to share my concern.

“What’s your name, cleric?” she asked curiously.

“Achille.” His scowl returned. “Achille Altier.”

Though the name sounded familiar, I couldn’t place it. Perhaps he’d once journeyed to Cathédral Saint-Cécile d’Cesarine. Perhaps I’d met him while under oath as a Chasseur. I eyed him with suspicion. “Why haven’t you summoned the huntsmen, Father Achille?”

He looked deeply uncomfortable. Shoulders radiating tension, he stared down at his spoon. “You should eat,” he said gruffly. “There’s stew in the back. Should be enough for everyone.”

Beau didn’t hesitate. “What kind?” When I shot a glare over my shoulder, he shrugged. “He could’ve woken the town the moment he recognized us—”

“He still could,” I reminded him, voice hard.

“—and my stomach is about to eat itself,” he finished. “Yours too, by the sound of it. We need food.” He sniffed and asked Father Achille, “Are there potatoes in your stew? I’m not partial to them. It’s a textural thing.”

The priest’s eyes narrowed, and he jabbed the spoon toward the scullery. “Get out of my sight, boy, before I change my mind.”

Beau inclined his head in defeat before scooting past us. Lou, Coco, and I didn’t move, however. We exchanged wary looks. After a long moment, Father Achille heaved a sigh. “You can sleep here too. Just for the day,” he added irritably, “so long as you don’t bother me.”

“It’s Sunday morning.” At last, Coco lowered her hood. Her lips were cracked, her face wan. “Shouldn’t villagers be attending service soon?”

He scoffed. “I haven’t held a service in years.”

A reclusive priest. Of course. The disrepair of the chapel made sense now. Once, I would’ve scorned this man for his failure as a religious leader. For his failure as a man. I would’ve reprimanded him for turning his back on his vocation. On God.

How times had changed.

Beau reappeared with an earthen bowl and leaned casually against the doorway. Steam from the stew curled around his face. When my stomach rumbled again, he smirked. I spoke through gritted teeth. “Why would you help us, Father?”