In the center of the room, Lamour hangs weightlessly, upside down and naked, held by nothing. There are several wounds slashed into his skin, all bleeding fast and glowing bright.
Constellations, Claudia realizes. Celestial spells.
His head hangs back, making the slit on his throat yawn like a mouth. Blood gushes from the wound, pooling beneath him in the center of a chalk-drawn pentagram. Six candles pulse around him, and there, standing in the corner with the grimoire in his hand and blood on his face, is High Sage Triche.
The faraway clock tower tolls twelve times for midnight.
Triche looks at her with a crazed smile, flashing bloodstained teeth. “Miss Jolicoeur, you are right on time.” With a wave of his hand, the door slams behind her. She hears the lock click.
“No” is all Claudia can say.No, no, no, no.
It feels as though the floor is tilting beneath her. She sees Triche’s lips moving, but the words are just noise. She can’t hear, can’t think, can’t even move.
The rest of Lamour’s life spills out of this throat, and a plume of white, shimmering smoke erupts from his mouth.
All too late, Claudia realizes what she is witnessing.
This is an ascension ritual, and the white smoke is Lamour’s soul.
Triche tosses the grimoire and claps. “Finally.” He then stretches his arms out and opens his palms, curling his fingers inward and commanding the white smoke. It moves like a snaketoward him. When it’s close, he opens his mouth and breathes it in. Loud, wet choking sounds erupt from his mouth while he forces more of the specter between his jaws.
Claudia skirts the edge of the circular room, getting as far away from Triche as she can. The backs of her legs meet the edge of Lamour’s desk. Never taking her eyes off the High Sage, she reaches back, feeling for anything that could be a weapon.
Once Triche has swallowed all the smoke, Lamour’s body shrivels and shrinks, smaller and smaller until it implodes into nothing but ash and dust. His blood, thick and unmoving, steams on the ground. His remains fall into it like snow melting into the sea.
Triche stands tall. Proud. His wild eyes find her, and he motions her forward. “Come here, dear.”
She doesn’t move. “You—you killed him.”
“Professor Lamour’s death was a necessary part of a divine plan for the good of celestial magic. Now come here, else let him die in vain like the others.”
“The others…” Her voice cracks when she realizes the truth. It’s been him all along. It wasn’t Sidarphion who killed all the celestial witches.
It was Triche.
Her knees nearly give out. She leans back against the desk, and Lamour’s needle pokes into her palm. “Why?”
Her brain feels white-hot while she draws Orion behind her back.
“You know as well as I do that Sidarphion is a dangerous and malevolent being. I had to remove him, and now, I will replace him.Finally.It took me far too long to realize that I can’t become a god until Sidarphion is dead, and it took me even longer to know how to kill him. I tried everything, tested every theory. Every type of kill, every method for consuming the soul of another celestial witch. I tried drinking their blood. With some, I ate their eyes. Others, I wore their skin. Nothing worked, until tonight with Lamour.”
The smell of hot, unmoving blood wafts up. Claudia swallows a gag. Acidic anger burns in her eyes.
“Now, I’ve done it. Everything is in place,” Triche continues. “The last piece is you.”
“If you kill me, Cassius will never forgive you.” She needs to keep him talking while she finishes the spell; only a few more stars until Sagitta is complete.
“Cassius will understand. I’ve done all this to avenge his family from the one who destroyed their legacy, and I will do anything to protect him now.” Leaning close, Triche sniffs the air. “I can smell Sidarphion on you. He’s tasked you with killing Cassius, hasn’t he? He’s given you the bargain that Odette failed to complete.” He tilts his head. “I can’t allow that to happen.”
“I would never hurt Cassius. I’d let the bargain take me before that ever happened.”
Triche smiles. “So you’ve accepted that you’re going to die, then. Good.” He lunges for her, but he’s not fast enough.
“Orion, Sagitta,” she screams.
Orion’s sword glows in her hand. Triche crashes into Sagitta’s impenetrable protection. When he stumbles back, Claudia charges him, knowing she has only seconds to land a killing blow. She swings the heavy, unwieldy sword across his body, but all it does is slice open his robes and reveal his naked chest. His skin is pure white, as if absent of all blood, and thin as paper over his ancient bones. Covering his torso are hundreds of harsh, messy wounds that look like cigarette burns. Closer, Claudia realizes that they’re all constellations in combinations she’s never even dreamed of. She can’t imagine what they all can do when paired in these strange ways.
But she’s about to find out.
