“I will bring this city to its knees, Marie Laveau,” he continued. “And I want you standing at my side.”
A shivering thrill passed through her at his invitation. Warm. Unbidden. In many ways the Quarter Queen dismissed her. But not him. With those few words, he’d invited her to be his equal.
A little black bird circled above him, cawing as it arced across the sky, wheeling through the moon’s silver light. Screams tore through the courtyard now, rippling into a vicious chorus. People were dying all around her, tipping right over like fragile baubles Jon had gleefully pushed from their shelves. Cold terror permeated the air.
Marie found Jon’s gaze. He tipped his hat at her, and in the next breath, he ruptured into a flurry of screaming black birds—every bit of him breaking away into a hundred fluttering wings that lashed the air, then shot skyward in a trail of darkness.
Marie stood frozen. Sanite had sent her here to make peace with Jon. Not war. But she could see now there would be no peace with Jon returned. Surely it would be only a matter of minutes before the tide turned against her and all the Voodoos. This was exactly what Jon wanted. The city in a mindless terror, and the Voodoos caught in between, ready for the taking. But that would be only the beginning.
Marie hurriedly scanned the crowd. There were some already still as stone over the cobbled ground, too far gone for help, and others writhing in invisible agony, wildly gasping. A mixture of blood and wine splattered from their mouths. But of course—she could have guessed.
“The wine!” she cried. “It’s beenspelled!”
A woman beside her hastily dropped her glass, the shards scattering at her feet. A rumble of panic seized the party. Mayor Corbin was being whisked away by a flock of Brotherhood alchemists he’d paid for additional guard.
There was no way Marie could heal everyone on her own. She’d need more time for preparation, more potions than she could make in just a few spare minutes.
Marie turned her eyes back to the man clawing at his own throat. He writhed and bucked on the blood-splattered stone, as useless as a worm beneath her feet. In a few seconds he would die if she did nothing.
Then do nothing. Let him die. Let them all die.
Jon was right; there were no innocents here tonight. And yet…Sanite had not sent her here to cause more chaos, only to find the source of it. And indeed, she had. This had been a mission of peace, nothing more. If she let this man die, what fresh horrors would await the Voodoos come morning? What would the papers say? The city-goers with their aurum rifles and pitchforks and collars and chains at the ready…
Marie knelt beside the man. His wild eyes found hers, reeling from the panic of Jon’s hex.
His hand flew up to Marie’s face, cradling her cheek with clammy fingers, smearing a bright red handprint. “Merci, priestess. Merci!” His brows drew together, confused, when Marie made no move to assist him. “Help me!Please!”
Marie opened her mouth, readying a healing incantation on her tongue, then remembered that day ten years ago again: Jon’s beaten and lashed body chained to that post, arms stretched like some sort of messiah, the heat of those golden eyes on her, challenging her, coaxing her. Those circling black birds overhead, the scream of their crow-song in her head. What had he said about the gods?They punish.
“No,” Marie said softly, surprised at the grim resolution she had come to. How easy it was. She pushed that bloody hand from her cheek. “I cannot.”
She could. She could heal him now, suck the poison from hisveins. But she would not. She was done serving selfish men. She was done serving this city.Let them bear the mark of their sins.Because death had marked them. Marie cast her gaze toward the darkening sky, where the black birds circled the moon, singing. Death was coming.
Drenched in blood and bile, Marie hurried down the garden path that led away from Chateau Corbin’s inner courtyard, eager to put the night’s horrors behind her.
“ ’Tis a real pity. All that magic, Laveau, and you could not spare a drop.”
Marie whirled to find Silas Favreau leaning against a stone fountain that was spewing water from a marbled goblet. He held a chalice of wine to his own lips and drank deeply fromit.
“Wait! That’s—”
“Do not fret. It is not poisoned.” His dark blue eyes danced behind a silver viper mask. “I checked.”
“How curious that you did not check the rest an hour ago.”
“Who says I didn’t?” The alchemist’s lips twisted in a sneer. “You misunderstand the Brotherhood’s aims, priestess. And here I thought you an exceptionally quick study.”
Irritation spiked her blood. She was in no mood to humor the likes of the Brotherhood any longer. “Out with it, alchemist.”
“It is true what they say. You are as formidable as you are lovely.”
“Careful, now, Silas. We wouldn’t want any of your kind to hear you bestow such flatteries on the enemy.”
“There is no harm in speaking the truth, witch.” He leaned in, dark eyes glittering. “Only in acting on it.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game. Keep away from me. I want no part of it.”
“As you wish.” He finished the last of his drink. His long hair fell about his collar in ruddy gold waves. “Oh, and Marie? If tonight is any indication of the coming days, your friend Jon poses a threat to us all. The Brotherhood might be willing to overlook certain…differencesto accommodate a mutual goal.”
