“You okay, babycakes?” the witch asked, giving me an appraising once-over.
“I will be. Once we get this weapon.”
She nodded, then held out her hand. “Come on, then. Let’s go see what the nerd herd has for us.”
Chapter
Thirty-One
SIN
Pressing my fingers to my temples, I sighed in pure frustration as Asher and Gavin went over all the possible avenues for finding the weapon tied to my mantle. Nothing felt right. In theory, they made sense. Dirt from mass graves after infamous famines would be the typical instinct for anyone, but each time one was presented, I knew it was wrong.
My brothers had made it look so easy. Except Grim, since Lucifer practically handed him the weapon on a silver platter, but still. The whole point of famine was the absence of something. It was pretty fucking impossible to have something leftover from nothing.
“You guys are being too literal. We have to look at this another way.” Asher tapped his bottom lip, his eyes unfocused as his attention turned inward. “If it can’t be a literal famine, it has to be a metaphorical one.”
“What, pray tell, is a ‘metaphorical’ famine?” Gavin asked, skepticism heavy in his voice.
“A time of significant disparity. Where a small percentage of people seemingly have everything while the majority have nothing.” Asher was simply talking out loud, his words moresuggestion than statement. Groaning in frustration, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Which is basically every time ever.”
He wasn’t wrong, but the moment his theory hit my ears, the answer came to me like a damn bolt of lightning.
“Let them eat cake,” I mused, my words soft and mostly for myself.
“What was that?” Asher asked.
Gavin, thanks to his vampiric hearing, didn't require clarification and smirked. “Brilliant.”
“I don’t know why it didn’t come to me sooner.”
Asher sighed. “I’d love to agree with you if someone would fucking share with the rest of us who don’t have bionic ears.”
“The French Revolution. Marie Antoinette. The most notorious and lasting memory of rulers who dismissed the plight of their people and paid for it with their lives.” Gavin’s tone made it clear he thought Asher needed to get with the program.
“Exactly. ‘Let them eat cake,’” I repeated.
“Oh, fuck, the guillotine!” Asher shouted.
Moira popped her head in through the partially open door. “That sounded like good news shouting. Was it good news shouting? Which, between us squirrel friends, is my second favorite kind of ejaculation.”
Asher and Gavin made faces while I laughed. “There was definitely none of the first kind happening.”
“Is that a yes?” Moira pressed.
I nodded. “Yeah, I think we did it. Wanna rally the troops for us?”
She gave a little two-fingered salute and clicked her heels together. “On it!”
Excitement hummed in my veins. This felt right. “The blade of the guillotine that killed the French monarchy in 1793. That’s what we need. I know it in my bones.”
Asher was already nodding his agreement. “I think so too. Not only is there a literal weapon associated with it, but the notoriety surrounding the time is basically unparalleled. They even have a fucking musical about it.”
“Do you hear the people sing?” I sang the lyric beneath my breath, doing a slow march in place, moving my arms in time with my steps.
Asher and Gavin watched me with comically wide eyes.
“What? I would have made an excellent Jean Valjean. I never got my time to shine.”
