Gods & Monsters (Serpent & Dove, #3)

by Shelby Mahurin

Quand le chat n’est pas là, les souris dansent. When the cat is away, the mice will play. —French proverb

We’ll build new. New what? I’d asked warily. New everything.

To surrender and forget appeals more than to resist and remember. I am weak, and I do not like pain. The voice is so beautiful, so tempting, so strong, that I nearly let it consume me. And yet . . . I cannot. If I let go, I will lose something important. Someone important. I cannot remember who it is. I cannot remember who I am.

The fire rages with her grief. It will not stop until she does.

Fear makes people stupid.” With one last look between Célie and me, he shook his head. “But courage makes ’em stupid too.”

Fuck that. You’ve worked too hard and too long to give up now. Come on. You want more than oblivion. You want to live.

I loved Lou. I knew that. Felt it in my bones. I also couldn’t stand the sight of her. What was wrong with me?

Has he noticed I’m not myself? Has anyone? Do they realize what’s happened to me?

Coco continued to laugh wildly. When that laughter deepened into something darker. Crazed. Beau pulled her into his arms without hesitation. Her shoulders shook now for an entirely different reason, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, sobbing incoherently. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, the other across her back, and he held her tightly, fiercely, murmuring soft words in her ear.

I glanced up at Lou. We’d been wrong for each other too. And so, so right.

I’m sick with hope, but I can’t make it go away. It’s still here, even now. Poisoning me.

La nuit porte conseil. The night brings advice.

Hope matters most, I say fiercely. Hope isn’t the sickness. It’s the cure.

Hope isn’t the sickness. They hum their own litany now. Their own prayer. It’s the cure.

“Cosette and Louise wear trousers.” Beau spread his hands with a smirk. “And there it is.” Her eyes narrowed. “Your Majesty, please take no offense, but you are a good deal less pleasant than I would have liked to believe.” Still chuckling, he slung an arm over Coco’s shoulder. “None taken, I assure you.” Coco pushed him away. “He gets that a lot.”

Coco barely moved her lips as she mumbled, “I’m not lying about anything.” Beau snorted at that.

“Just do it,” she said. “Hurry up.” He grimaced at the words but took a small step forward, lowering his voice. “If I remember correctly, Cosette, you don’t like it hurried.” Another step. Coco’s fingers still trembled. She fisted them in her skirt. “Not with me.” “I don’t like anything with you.”

“Liar,” he whispered. Then he lowered his lips to hers.

“None know what the water will show them. Desires, fears, strengths, weaknesses, memories—it sees truth and demands truth in turn. All you must do is acknowledge it.”

Memory was a dangerous thing.

“We finish this now, Nicholina. Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. My. Wife.” She shrieked as I threw her headfirst into the waters.

Fear was inevitable. We all made our choices, and we all suffered our consequences. We all felt fear. The trick was learning to live with that fear, to continue forward in spite of it.

“You—Reid, you also made an oath to me.” I listened to my own impassioned plea with bitter regret. “You’re my husband, and I’m your wife.” His expression darkened, and my stomach rolled. An ache built at the back of my throat. “You are not my wife.”

She wouldn’t be changing the past by killing me. Part of me had died here already.

“You’ve never needed me, Lou. Not like I needed you.”

“Death isn’t a happy ending, Ansel. It’s sickness and rot and betrayal. It’s fire and pain and”—my voice cracked—“and never getting to say goodbye.”

“Death isn’t an ending at all, Lou. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s the beginning.” Quieter still, he added, “You’ve lived in fear too long.” “Fear has helped me survive,” I snapped. “Fear has kept you from living.”

“I don’t want you to go.” “I know.” “Will I ever see you again?” “Not for a long time, I hope.”

“I love you, Ansel.” My vision clouded as the waves truly descended, shocking and brutal. Though they pulled me away from him, I’d remember his smile until the day I died. Until the day I saw it again. His fingers slipped from mine, and he drifted backward, a beacon of light in the darkness. “I love you too.”

“I love you, Reid. I don’t say it often enough.” I blinked at her. Warmth cracked open in my chest at her words, spreading to the tips of my fingers and toes. “I love you too, Lou. I’ve always loved you.”

“I loved your god-awful suit and your ugly mustache and—” “Excuse you.” She leaned back in mock outrage. “My mustache was magnificent.” “I agree. You should wear it more often.” “Don’t tempt me.”

“Dreams are never dreams, Mademoiselle Célie. They are our deepest wishes and darkest secrets made true, whispered only under cloak of night. In them, we are free to know ourselves.”

“You should both show your scars,” she murmured. Célie dragged her braid across her shoulder to stare at it, fingering the tails of the ribbon in quiet wonder. Coco plopped her cheek atop my head, and her familiar scent—earthy yet sweet, like a freshly brewed cup of tea—engulfed me. “They mean you survived.”

“I do find you extraordinary. Perhaps not extraordinarily brave or just or true, but extraordinary nonetheless.” When I rolled my eyes, politely skeptical, he stepped in front of me, forcing us both to a halt. “Who else would have accepted the spoiled son of a king? The misused aristocrat? The sacrilegious huntsman? In the eyes of the kingdom, we are nothing.”

“You’ve given us all a place, a purpose, when before we didn’t have one. You are the reason we’re here, Lou. And I don’t care about the waters’ truth—you are my sister. Never forget it.”

Behind me, Célie gasped, Coco gasped—even Beau gasped—as I scrambled to my elbows, staring down at Reid’s face in shock. He blinked back at me, and those eyes—they were the most beautiful shade of blue. Giddy laughter bubbled up my throat at his frown. “Sleeping beauty awakes.” His hands landed lightly on my waist. “I beg your pardon?”

“I would never deign to even touch one—” “You’ve touched her plenty from what I gather.”

“I don’t see why not. He fell in love with you before.” She dropped her hand. “And I would argue it’s the most important thing.” “He didn’t know I was a witch then. He thought I was his wife.” “Nuance. Your souls are bound. Magic can’t change that.”

“You can’t really believe in soul mates?” “I believe in you.”

“And perhaps I’m willing to make an exception when it comes to the two of you. I’ve been here...

“I watched Reid take his forefather’s life to save yours. I watched him throw his entire belief system out the window and learn magic for your sake—and wear leather pants in a traveling troupe. I watched you sacrifice pieces of yourself to protect him. He fought an entire pack of werewolves to re...

“The two of you have something special, Louise. Something precious. How can you not fight for him? He has certainly fought for you.”

She merely shrugged, her hair tickling my face. Long and thick and brown. Wild. Against my better judgment, I inhaled its scent. She smelled sweet in a way I almost recognized—like vanilla and cinnamon. A warm coat on a cold winter day. Snow on my tongue. I shook my head, feeling thoroughly stupid.

“Is there a problem, Chass?” she murmured after another moment. “None,” I snapped. She said nothing for several seconds. Then— “You can tell me if there is.” She cleared her throat. It sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “It must be hard, riding with me like this.” I would have to kill her.

“Do I need to move?” The sudden earnestness in her expression startled me. As did the flush in her cheeks. The dilation of her pupils. “I can sit behind you.”

She smelled sweet. Too sweet. Swiftly, I wrapped an arm around her waist, propelling her behind me. She clutched my shoulders for balance. Her thighs cradled mine. I held back a groan. At least her breasts weren’t in my face anymore—they were pressed into my back. God was trying to kill me.

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.

“We go where you go,” he said with dark resolve. My heart twisted with the words, and I turned away, closing my eyes.

The woman would drive me mad until I did it. “You’re lucky,” I said darkly, sheathing my knife. “Funny. I don’t feel lucky at all.”

Ask me no questions, mon amour, and I’ll tell you no lies. Another half-formed memory. Useless. Broken. Like a witch hunter who couldn’t kill a witch.