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

“No.” I stared down at them. This didn’t make sense. I’d—I’d touched the wood in Chasseur Tower. I’d stabbed Nicholina, for Christ’s sake. “No.” At my vehement refusal, Claud’s eyes seemed to flicker in my direction before finding Morgane once more.

“We can’t change the past, little mouse, even in our memories. Not truly.” Nicholina pursed her lips in saccharine pity. Her silver eyes glittered. “We can’t save him, no. He is dead. He is dead, he is dead, with that knife in his head.” She inclined her chin to the knife, which remained firmly upon the ground. Nicholina sauntered forward as Morgane inched backward. “Such a pity.” When she reached out to stroke his cheek, I knocked her hand away, widening my stance between them. She grinned. “Such a pretty pity. He was your family, wasn’t he, Louise? The only one who never betrayed you.”

I scowled without looking at her. My attention remained on Morgane, who blithered about rules and games, still creeping backward. “Coco hasn’t—” But Nicholina held knowledge that I did not, secrets of Coco and—and her mother. Nicholina laughed at my wide-eyed expression, at my slack jaw, as those secrets became my own. “No.” I shook my head, a cold wave of shock washing over me. “Coco would have—”

Morgane lunged, and I could only stand there, immaterial between them, as she plunged her knife through me. My form rippled at the contact. Bone crunched. When Ansel crumpled to his knees, I went with him, trying and failing to catch his broken body, wrapping invisible arms around him to cushion his fall. Still stunned. Still numb. His blood soaked my dress, and my mind simply . . . fled. “Perhaps you didn’t deserve your mother’s ire,” Nicholina mused, circling us idly as Morgane darted into the tunnel, as my own screams shattered the night, “or your huntsman’s hate. But this”—she bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet—“this you earned, Louise.”

Cutting my own strings mercilessly, she repeated the words I’d told him.

“You wreck everything you touch, Ansel. It’s tragic how helpless you are.” Snip. Snip. “You say you’re not a child, Ansel, but you are.” Snip. “You’re a little boy playing pretend, dressing up with our coats and boots. We’ve let you tag along for laughs, but now the time for games is done. A woman’s life is in danger—my life is in danger. We can’t afford for you to mess this up.”

Snip, snip, snip.

As if my life had been worth more than his.

As if his life hadn’t been worth all of ours together.

I’d known it, even then. I’d known how much better he was than us. I stared down at his profile now, his eyes wide and unseeing. Blood matted his hair. It slicked down his graceful neck, stained the back of his coat. “Did you love him, Louise?” Nicholina echoed my mother’s jeer. “Did you watch as the light left those pretty brown eyes?”

Why hadn’t I told him? Why hadn’t I hugged him one last time?

Closing my own eyes, I crumpled to my knees, pressing my forehead against his cheek. I couldn’t feel him, of course. Couldn’t feel anything. Was this what it was to drown? How strange. I couldn’t even bring myself to cry—not when Coco wrenched the knife from his skull, not when Reid pried his lips apart. Not when Nicholina loomed over me, the discarded knife in hand.

She wouldn’t be changing the past by killing me.

Part of me had died here already.





What It Is to Swim


Reid

I didn’t pause to unlace my boots, unfasten my coat. When she hit the water, I moved to follow, already ankle-deep.

A low growl rumbled from behind.

Stiffening, I turned. Amber eyes reflected back at me. White fur gleamed in the moonlight.

I swore softly.

The fucking dog.

It paced along the path, hackles raised and teeth bared. Snorting, it shook its head before whining once. Twice. Its eyes bored into mine as if trying to . . . to communicate something. When it inched closer, I drew a knife. Unsettled. “Not another step,” I said darkly. Flattening its ears, it snarled again, louder now, vicious, and did just that. To Coco, I asked, “How did it get here? Where is Constantin?”

“Leave it.” She watched our standoff while hastily shucking off her own boots. “It isn’t harming anything.”

“Every time something catastrophic happens to us, that dog is there. It’s an ill omen—”

“Lou is probably drowning.” Her fingers moved to the laces of her bodice next. I looked away hastily. “Get your ass in there before—”

We both froze, scenting it at the same time: sharp yet sweet, barely there on the breeze. My nose still burned with its familiar scent.

Magic.

Not mine and not hers. Someone else’s. Which meant—

Célie’s scream split the night. The dog’s ears pricked forward in response, but instead of turning toward it, he stared fixedly at a point within the waters. My blood ran cold. Torn with indecision—rooted in fear—I didn’t move fast enough. I couldn’t block it.

With preternatural speed, the dog careened past me, straight into the heart of the Wistful Waters.

The decision came easily then.

I dove in after it.





The Final Verse