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

La Voisin loathed Morgane.

“The ends justify the means,” she finally murmured. “If we don’t stand together, we will fall.”

Coco stared at her aunt as if seeing her for the first time. “You’re right.” The Dames Rouges on the beach stilled at Coco’s unexpected response. I recognized a few of them from our time together in Léviathan. “I was a child,” she continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. Impassioned. “I was a child scared of my own birthright—of leading everyone, of failing anyone. Of disappointing you. I feared the responsibilities such a life would entail. Yes, I ran, and I am sorry for that.”

She looked to her kin then, bowing her head, accepting her culpability in their hardship. They regarded her with a mixture of suspicion and admiration. “I am no longer that child. You are my kin, and I want to protect you as much as my aunt does. But her life”—she pointed a finger in Lou’s direction—“is worth just as much as yours.” She turned back to her aunt. “Morgane has been hunting the king’s children. We found Etienne—the king’s son—butchered in our own camp, and Gabrielle disappeared shortly after. Morgane was responsible, tante. But you already know that, don’t you? Did you offer them up yourself? Your own people?” When Josephine said nothing, confirming her suspicions, Coco exhaled harshly, moving to stand between us and her aunt with deliberate care. “I’ve chosen my side.”

Lou went still at her words. The blood witches, however, stirred. Murmurs rose from a few of them. Whether in support or dissent, I couldn’t tell.

La Voisin’s expression didn’t change at her niece’s declaration. Instead, she jerked her head to the witches nearest her. “Take her.” When they hesitated, shooting anxious glances at Coco, La Voisin slowly turned to face them. Though I couldn’t see her expression, they hastened to obey this time.

Coco skittered backward as they approached, and the waters rippled again. Kept rippling.

The witches halted at the shore, reluctant to follow, until the bravest took a tentative step forward.

When her toe touched the waters, her entire body jolted, and—as if a spectral hand had reached forth to snatch her foot—she slipped, vanishing into their depths. They swallowed her scream without even a ripple. Sinister and still in the moonlight.

The witch might’ve never existed.

Morgane tsked as the other witches balked. Her voice rang out hard. Ruthless. “I suppose rules are rules, aren’t they? Dreadful things. As if any one of us had time to speak our truth. Never fear, though, tata,” she said to Josephine, whose jaw clenched at the diminutive epithet. “The poor dears will have to come out eventually, and we have all the time in the world.” She snapped her bloody fingers, and Beau and Célie dropped to their feet. “These two, however, don’t have much time at all. What say you, darling?” she called to Lou. “How shall I play with them?”

“You’re sick,” Beau snarled, the veins in his throat bulging as he fought to move.

She only smiled. It held no warmth. From her cloak, she extracted Célie’s injection, hurling the syringe into the water. “Though perhaps I tire of play altogether. Come here, Louise, or I shall kill them. Our game is done.”

Lou started forward instantly, but my fingers caught her chemise. I didn’t let her go. Couldn’t let her go.

“Reid, don’t—”

Baring her teeth, Morgane snapped her fingers again. Swords appeared in Beau’s and Célie’s hands. Another snap, and Beau lunged forward, his blade slicing through Célie’s side. Blood welled in its wake. With the flick of Morgane’s finger, Célie retaliated with a sob, her sword lodging deep in Beau’s shoulder. Toy soldiers. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, arms trembling as she attempted to combat Morgane’s magic. “I’m so sorry—”

“I’m fine.” Beau desperately strove to comfort her as he countered her strikes, teeth gritted. Breath shallow. “We’re going to be fine—”

Célie stabbed again, this time in his thigh.

Blood poured.

With a wild cry, Coco surged forward as Lou twisted in my arms. Morgane waved a hand, however, and when Coco cleared the water, a glass cage descended around her. She pounded against its walls, furious, and strings wrapped themselves around her wrists and ankles.

Baring her teeth, La Voisin darted forward to intervene.

“The ends, Josephine.” Morgane waved another hand, and the strings tightened, stretching Coco’s limbs taut to the point of pain. A doll in a box. “They justify the means. Is that not what you said?”

La Voisin stopped dead in her tracks. Her body quivered with fury. “My niece remains unharmed.”

“She is unharmed.” Those glittering emerald eyes found Lou. Beau and Célie continued battling behind her, their blood splattering the sand. “For now.”

“You have to let me go, Reid,” Lou pleaded. “She won’t stop—”

“No.” I kept my voice low, shook my head fervently. Tried to ignore my own mounting panic. There had to be another way. My eyes swept over the witches again, assessing. Thirteen in all—six Dames Rouges, judging from the scars on their skin, and seven Dames Blanches. The former would need physical contact to harm, but the latter could attack at any moment. My mind searched wildly for an advantage. Any advantage. Could L’Eau Mélancolique affect our magic? Repress it? If we could somehow lure Morgane into the waters . . . I tested my own patterns. The golden cords rose instantaneously. Shit.