Silence. The wind changed direction. Her dark curls fell to one side of her neck. And then a cold whisper at her ear.Hello, priestess.
Ree could smell the warm spice of rum on his breath, the syrupy sweetness of hot pralines. Papa Legba was fond of her mother, she knew. He’d come to Ree in flashes and spurts before and seemed to like her mischief well enough. It made her wonder what he saw in her mother, her endless virtue.
Open the path before me,Ree silently prayed.
The wind whispered coldly,Whatever for?
Ree kept her eyes closed, forcing herself to concentrate. The alchemist was rocking back and forth, making ugly groaning sounds.To spare one of your own,she said.
You dare to use your magic for more than yourself, child?Papa made a sound of startled amusement. A tickle of laughter at her ear.As you wish.
Henryk circled the pyre, pouring oil upon the logs arranged at its base.
Ree glanced down. The alchemist was crying fat, ugly tears that she was certain his own Grand Wizard would have little patience for. Silas would not take kindly to her mishandling one of his own. Trouble for another day.
Henryk faced Anabelle, quivering on the stake. In one sweep of his gloved hands, he removed the cover from her head, revealing her tear-streaked face. He removed the old cloth stuffed into her mouth.
“I’ve done nothing wrong! I’ve done nothing,” Anabelle sobbed.
Henryk remained unmoved, face like chiseled marble, carefullyblank. “You were caught practicing magic outside of your sanctioned time and place. You are directly linked to a magical insurrection that left innocent people dead.” His lips twisted. “So, you’ve done plenty wrong.”
Henryk brushed a dark coil from Anabelle’s cheek. She recoiled, eyes bright with fear. Perhaps Ree was wrong. He might still have some compassion in him yet.
She knew that she should be focused on Anabelle, on seeing this task done so that she could return to the work of saving her mother. But her heart shattered at the sight of Henryk preparing a witch to burn, mechanical and rote in his manner, as if all the feeling had been bled from him. How easily he could do this to a young woman who’d never chosen her magic, or her station in life.And how easily he might do this tome.
Had he forgotten that he’d grown up friends with a witch, and that it was a witch who’d brought him back from the cusp of death? Was becoming an Inquisitor some sick revenge for leaving him alone on that bridge, the same as Anabelle had done to her? Beautiful as he’d grown to be, he was unrecognizable to her. In his cruelty, he’d become a terrible kind of monster. She found herself doubting everything. Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe he’d never tried to warn her about Anabelle. And maybe, just maybe, the monster might want her next.
Father Antoine hobbled from the crowd, dressed in his black friar robes, the heavy crucifix at his neck catching the fading sunlight. He made a solemn cross in the air before Anabelle, speaking quietly, performing her last rites.
But Anabelle would not need them. Not today. Not ever, if Ree had her way.
Henryk lowered the torch upon the kindle. Anabelle went slack in shock, the fire hissing as it took on the logs and caught to roaring flame.
Ree cast her eyes on the space in Congo Square she’d traced with the matching veve that she’d marked the alchemist with.Now,she murmured to the air.
In the passing of one breath, Anabelle was screaming, a sound that tore the air, and in the next, she was gone before the fire couldtouch her. There was apop!,and in her place the alchemist appeared. Anotherpop!,and a shaking Anabelle landed beside Ree. The crowd gasped.
“Ree—” Anabelle sobbed, but Ree put a finger to her lips.
Onlookers crossed themselves, followed by cries of witchcraft, of devilry afoot.
The wind shifted.Perhaps your mother was right about you.Papa Legba laughed, a sound that sent a cold shiver down her back. His voice was preternaturally deep, eerily resonant—everywhere all at once.You are learning yet, Marie Laveau.And then he was gone.
The fire ate quickly along the alchemist’s feet first, traveling higher and higher. His screams came rippling from his throat, wild and undone. Henryk stood back in shock, but there was nothing to be done. The fire consumed the alchemist whole.
Anabelle stared up at Ree in shock. Ree’s heart stammered in her chest at the sight of the fresh bruises along Anabelle’s dark skin, the charred marks where the aurum had burned her. Her arms were still bound, thankfully in rope. Ree cut it with the knife and waited for the moment Anabelle might strike her, might lash out like she did in Congo Square some days ago. But she did nothing, tears pouring down her cheeks. She flung her arms around Ree and wept. Ree pulled her trembling body close, at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry,” Anabelle sobbed into the crook of Ree’s neck.
But there was no time for apologies, not when the air itself burned, thick with the rancid odor of curdling flesh. Black smoke rose from the flames, past the cottages and gallery houses, rising into the darkened sky. Ree saw Henryk’s eyes dart around the square, then higher, to the buildings with a vantage, before finally landing on her.
The Inquisitor, shrouded in harsh, swirling smoke, stood still. Gray eyes locked onto hers.
And for that one moment, she saw someone else standing in his place. The face of the man he might have been. Or maybe, perhaps, who he truly was deep down.
The moment passed as quickly as it had come. Henryk’s face hardened over, cool stone sealing itself into place. He’d seen her, it was true. But it was too late.
For the space of just one heartbeat, she’d seen him too.
