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

She slid her arms around my torso. “Is this better?”

“How do I restore my memories?” I asked instead. Hideous shame tightened my chest. This physical response—I’d never felt it with such intensity. Worse, the ache didn’t ease. It only strengthened with each passing moment. My body felt . . . unfulfilled. Like it knew what came next. Like it craved it. But that was nonsense. It didn’t know anything, didn’t crave anything, and it certainly didn’t recognize that sweet smell.

“It’ll be painful. I’ve only done it once.”

“And?”

“And I just sort of . . . focused on the holes in the tapestry. I followed the loose threads.”

I scoffed. “Riddles.”

“No.” She squeezed me tighter, her wrist dangerously close to one of my knives. I didn’t warn her. “It isn’t a riddle at all. Think of a specific gap in your memory. Focus. Remember everything around it—the colors, the scents, the sounds. Logically, your mind will try to fill in the missing pieces, but subconsciously, each explanation will feel wrong.” She paused. “That’s when you move on to the illogical ones. The magical ones.”

Are you sure? Think hard, Reid. Please. Just think. I’m Lou, remember? I’m your wife.

Wanted dead or alive under suspicion of murder, conspiracy, and witchcraft.

I viciously rejected each thought. They simply weren’t true. And despite what this creature claimed, they didn’t feel right. They felt wrong in every way. Unnatural. I gripped the reins tighter, spurring our horse faster. I needed to recenter. To refocus. Plunging a knife in a witch’s heart should do the trick. A simple, logical solution.

Even better if she had freckles.





Winter Wonderland


Lou

I wasn’t prepared to return to Chateau le Blanc. A chill skittered down my spine at the familiarity of the wind here, the taste of the salt and pine and magic. Beyond the eerie mist of L’Eau Mélancolique, waves crashed and gulls cried. The former had lulled me to sleep every night as a child—and the latter had woken me each morning. My bedroom window had overlooked the sea.

“Stop.” Though I said the word quietly, Jean Luc pulled on the reins of his horse, turning to face me. “We should walk from here. My sisters stalk these trees at night.”

To my surprise, he nodded and complied without argument or scorn. Reid, however, stiffened and shook his head. “Your sisters.”

“Do you have any?” Sliding from the saddle, I voiced the question with casual nonchalance. I knew the answer, of course, but he didn’t know that. I’d spooked him before with talk of wives and magic. His physical response to me hadn’t helped. If I had any chance of rekindling what we’d once had, it would take more than seduction. More than pleas. I’d need to fall in love with him all over again—the person he was now—and he would need to fall in love with me. When he didn’t answer, I tried to clarify. “Sisters, I mean.”

“I knew what you meant,” he said shortly.

Right.

I’d forgotten he was now an ass.

Jean Luc and Coco worked on tying the horses to trees while Célie and Beau approached. Beau rubbed his hands together against the cold. “What’s the plan? We charge in, swords drawn, banners flying?”

“Morgane would kill us before we even crossed the bridge.” My eyes snagged on Célie’s hands. She’d clasped them at her waist, the picture of propriety—except for the needle sticking between them. “What is that?”

Slowly, she uncurled her fingers, revealing a crude metal syringe. She didn’t cower or flinch beneath my black gaze as she said, matter-of-fact, “An injection. I lost it at the beach, but Elvire returned it to me. I plan to stab it in your mother’s throat.”

“Ah.” Coco and I shared an incredulous glance. “Well, if that’s all.”

Reid’s eyes gleamed as he stepped forward, but Célie snatched it away before he could take it. “Don’t even think about it. It belongs to me.”

Jean Luc and Coco joined us now. “What is the plan?” the former asked. “Do we have any strategy at all?”

“How did you sneak in on Modraniht?” I asked Coco.

“Madame Labelle transformed our faces.” She shrugged helplessly. Reid, however, frowned at the name, his gaze turning inward, distant, as he found his mother in his memories. When his frown turned to a scowl, I knew he’d remembered her a witch. “Can you do the same? If witches have gathered from all over the kingdom, we could slip inside without suspicion.”

“It’s possible, but . . .” I shook my head with mounting apprehension. “Morgane might not remember me, but she’ll remember how you infiltrated the castle. Others will remember too. I doubt they’ll fall for such a trick again—especially after Zenna’s attack. Everyone will be on high alert. Every stranger in the castle will be counted.”

“How did you sneak in?” Coco asked Jean Luc. “You and the Chasseurs?”

“We waited on the beach until Madame Labelle led us through the enchantment. We had no need to disguise ourselves. We wanted the witches to see us approach—to know ours would be the last faces they ever saw.”

Célie wrinkled her nose at the gratuitous explanation. “Lovely.”