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

I glared at her.

“Fabulous. Now. Don’t move. You make an excellent shield.”

Jaw clenched, I crushed the leather in my fist, watching as she sauntered toward the pearls. When Nicholina moved to knock them aside with her elbow, I caught the rope, untying it from Coco with deft fingers. I wrapped it around my own wrist instead. When Coco glanced back at me, I nodded. This wasn’t right, but Lou wasn’t right, either. The world wasn’t right. After L’Eau Mélancolique, I would pay Madame Sauvage back with interest. I would find a dozen black pearls to replace these three, and—

Wait.

Only three?

“There are five of us,” I said.

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” Heart leaping to my throat, I whirled toward the new voice. Coco’s hand froze above the pearls. An elderly woman stepped around the cart, her shoulders stooped and her face deeply lined. She wore an olive scarf around her silver hair. Innumerable rings on her ears, her fingers, her toes. Her bare toes. An emerald cloak dragged on the ground behind. She grinned, revealing crooked teeth. “Humans can’t enter L’Eau Mélancolique. The waters drive them mad.”

Nicholina hissed beneath her hood, drawing into me.

I studied the woman. “Have we . . . met before, madame?”

“Perhaps? Then again, perhaps not. I have one of those faces, I fear. Le visage de beaucoup, le visage d’aucun. The face always seen—”

“—the face never remembered,” I finished the old adage by rote. But . . .

Her smile turned knowing. “Hello, dearies. Welcome to my cabinet of curiosities. How may I serve you today?”

Recognition finally dawned at her words, and different shelves rose in rapid succession, each a knife wound in my memory: dancing rats and glass beetles, pointed teeth and butterfly wings. An ugly marionette, a mother-of-pearl ring, and . . . an old woman.

An old woman who’d known more than she should.

Might I interest you in calla lilies? They’re said to symbolize humility and devotion. The perfect blooms to end any lovers’ quarrel.

Half-healed punctures, all. Still bleeding at the edges.

“Madame Sauvage,” I said, lip curling.

She smiled kindly. “Bonjour, Reid. What a pleasure it is to see you again.” Her smile faded as she took in Nicholina, whose face remained hidden. “Oh, dear.” The woman tittered. “I would greet our fair Louise, but it seems another has taken residence—” She stopped abruptly, tilting her head. “Well, well, well . . . more than one someone, I think, and a powerful one at that.” Her smile returned full measure, and she clapped her hands in delight. “Louise le Blanc, both cursed and blessed. How riveting.”

More than one someone? I frowned. She meant Nicholina, of course, but—blessed?

“You would know,” Nicholina snarled with something like fear. “Oh, yes, you would recognize—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” With a shake of Madame Sauvage’s finger, Nicholina’s voice ceased. Her body seemed to grow roots. “That is quite enough from you, Nicola. There shall be no blood or secrets spilled in my cart. Please, be still and observe.”

“How do you—?” I asked.

“You three know each other?” Célie interrupted, nonplussed.

Madame Sauvage winked. The gesture didn’t suit her withered face. “I suppose one could say that. Last we met, their quarreling nearly shattered my windows.” Though she adopted an air of careful indifference, curiosity sparkled in her dark eyes. “I trust our lovebirds have reconciled?”

Still incredulous, confused, I threw the leather pants on a nearby shelf. “It’s none of your business.”

She hmphed at my tone, but her impish smile didn’t waver. Her gaze flicked from me to Célie, lingering on where Beau and Coco hovered near the snake. “Just so, and yet . . . it seems you are once again in need of assistance.”

“How much for the pearls?” Coco asked.

“The pearls,” Madame Sauvage repeated softly. She looked positively spry. “Well, my dear, the pearls are nearly priceless. What are you willing to give for them?”

Anything.

Nicholina still hadn’t moved.

“We have coin,” I said automatically. “Lots of coin.”

“Oh dear.” Madame Sauvage tittered again and shook her head. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. That won’t do, will it? I don’t sully my hands with money.”

A flash of surprise crossed Coco’s face. “What do you want, then?”

“Whatever it is,” Beau muttered, “it can’t be good.”

Madame Sauvage’s entire face split into a grin. “Oh, no, Your Highness, you have entirely the wrong idea! Never fear, ’tis nothing nefarious. You see, I deal only in simple favors. Just tokens, really. Trifles.”

I scowled. “Nothing simple about a favor.”

“What favor?” Coco asked, part apprehensive and part impatient. “Just tell us, so we can do it.”

“Of course, of course.” If possible, Madame Sauvage’s smile widened. “As I said, it’s quite simple: one favor for one pearl. My apologies,” she added to Beau and Célie, inclining her head, “but truly, L’Eau Mélancolique is no place for humans. ’Tis dark and dangerous, dears. More than monsters lurk within its depths.”