There were signs too—official mandates warning of earlier curfews and fines and fees for those who did not abide. One readBy sundown negroes and coloreds to their rooms. Lest they meet the hangman’s doom. Another one hung above her on a streetlamp, parchment flapping in a gust of warm wind:Magicks Must Be Managed.
Did the Brotherhood of the White Hand face such trivialities? She had it on good authority that Gailon and his lot could be pettier than even Sanite Dede and had a bad habit of transfiguring thosewho ran debts with the guild—turning men into toads, whores into one-eyed crones, and whatever else struck their fancies.
A cold wind swept into the road. Marie glanced up—one by one the streetlamps extinguished themselves like candles snuffed out, plunging the path ahead into darkness.
Three alchemists stepped into her path. They all bore the same milky-white hair, marking their status as the Brotherhood’s ascended, those who’d climbed its higher ranks. And if there were any doubt, there was the Brotherhood’s mark on their cloaks, a moonstone brooch in the shape of that infamous pale handprint.
“I imagine,” started the tallest of the three, “that these new rules make you feel safe, don’t they?” His attention turned, briefly, to the signpost warning of curfew for Les Magiques. “So why aren’t you following them?”
Marie held herself still. She would not be so easily cowed, especially by lesser mages. “Rules have never made my kind feel safe.”
This drew a laugh from the tall one, their leader. “Gailon said you had more sass than a house slave on a holiday. You delight me, Marie Laveau. Which is why it will pain me to dothis.” He drew a black wand from the blue folds of his cloak and pointed it directly at her. “Mutatio.”
At the alchemist’s command, a pile of ropes meant for tethering horses uncoiled into six great snakes, slithering toward her, hissing at her from the shadows.
Marie narrowed her eyes and called upon the strength of Ogoun. God of metalsmithing and the sacred forge, his flame could eat through the skies in one breath.Great Ogoun,Marie prayed.Lend me the flames from your forge.
It was quiet, but then came a sound like heavy iron chains, the hiss and pop of fire rising, the sounds of Ogoun tending his swords over his searing forge. His mighty voice in her ear, fervently mocking.Marie Laveau. My altars have gone unlit too long. A lesser god might take offense. But a good priestess knows to only light the candle, should you find yourself in darkness. Let it be so, child.
Marie drew in a great breath and blew it out, releasing a cloud of orange-gold flame from her mouth. Ogoun’s flames devoured the tangle of snakes at her feet, disintegrating them in one sweep. Allthree alchemists pointed their wands in the air, holding a warding spell together. But Marie was satisfied to see that, despite their shield, the hems of their cloaks were charred, the ground around their feet scorched to dust.
Marie sneered, enlivened with rage now. Ogoun’s power fed on such emotions, and she could feel it thrumming in her veins like drum-song, a white-hot pain that made it hard for her to keep conscious. But she did. She would kill them all for daring to attack her. She would scorch their bones to dust and scatter their ashes upon the Brotherhood’s halls in retribution.
But Ogoun’s power was leaving her. Her next realization hurt worse than the blistering agony of summoning his sacred fire: She simply wasn’t strong enough to contain him. She heard the god of fire’s voice in her ear, speaking a searing promise:Do not take so long to light my candles, priestess. Lest I burn your flesh as tribute instead.If she were in a better mood, she might have laughed at his fickleness. But Ogoun was like all loa, swift in their rewards, so petty in their vengeances. It was a wonder she served them at all.
Exhausted, Marie flung out a hand, and the smallest of the alchemists flew back into the alley wall, then hit the ground, unconscious. The last two rounded on her, sending bright sparks from the tips of their wands.
“You are more powerful than Gailon warned,” said the tallest. “But this was never a battle of wills, witch.”
With a swish of their cloaks, the two alchemists vanished, leaving their third brother behind. He couldn’t return to the Brotherhood’s halls if he wanted to. As far as Gailon was concerned, he’d been bested by lesser ilk. And that was as good a death sentence as any.
Gailon.
Had she really offended the Grand Wizard so when she’d mended Felix Corbin all those days ago? No, Marie thought quickly, thinking back to the night of Mardi Gras. This was no petty revenge. Gailon was seeking a foothold over Sanite. And what better time to usurp power than when public goodwill for the Voodoos was so thin? Attacking Sanite would prove difficult. The old woman’s paranoia meant she rarely left the bayou without a guard, her time in theQuarter only for rituals on Sunday nights. But Marie? She was easier prey.
The bells of the St. Louis Cathedral were tolling now, thundering across the sky. Over and over again. It was a signal meant only to be used when Les Magiques were causing unrest.
At last, Marie understood. It was a signal meant forher.The Brotherhood had not intended to kill her. No, they intended worse. To have her arrested, then publicly charged. Hanged before all the city as warning of what would happen to any Voodoo who might follow in her footsteps.
A bright stab of pain at the side of her neck. Marie clasped a hand to the wound, and it came back covered in blood and something else. A thick, dark gold substance, strangely alchemical.Venom.Horror flooded her. She’d been bitten. On the ground, a yellow-and-black serpent reeled back, hissing, scaled head raised, its eyes bright with a preternatural yellow glow, the glow of alchemy. She’d missed one. The serpent slithered on and away. But the burn of its bite remained. Marie could feel it slowly spreading in her blood like a smear…
No,thought Marie. She could not flee in time, drained as she was.Reckless,Sanite Dede would have spat.Why conjure one as powerful as Ogoun? A lesser spirit would have done just as well. Your pride hinders your magic as always, Marie.
Marie steadied herself upon a railing, struggling to breathe. At the end of the road, men on horseback approached. Snatchers by the looks of them, ready to collect their bounties. A trap. The whole thing had been a fucking trap.
Suddenly a crow cawed above her and landed on the post across from her, staring at her, its gaze dark and unblinking. Jon stepped from the shadows, as if he had been there all the while. His gaze swept over her haggard form, narrowing when he noticed the glowing embers still licking the ravaged road, remnants of Ogoun’s breath, and the oozing wound at her neck.
Her vision darkened. “Jon…” She didn’t have the strength to say much more. What would Sanite think? What would the others say if they knew she was with him?
But the bells still tolled. Her enemies pressed closer. She did not have long.
The poison made her unsteady on her feet, and the world was spinning until the whole of it seemed upside down, and she was falling—
Jon caught her, pressing her close into the circle of his arms, a great crow enfolding her in its wings.
“You can’t…you can’t…” She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t remember the rules anymore.
“Come now, love. I can,” he said, lips turning into a wicked smile. “And Iwill.”
