“That’s not true. You know that’s not true—”

But with one realization came another. This one bit deeper, its thorns drawing blood. “You’re never going to accept me.” I stared up at him. “No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I wish it weren’t so . . . you’re not my husband, and I’m not your wife. Our marriage—our entire relationship—it was a lie. A hoax. A trick. We’re natural enemies, Reid. You’ll always be a witch hunter. I’ll always be a witch. And we’ll always bring each other pain.”

A beat of silence passed, as deep and dark as the pit opening in my chest. The mother-of-pearl ring burned a circle of fire into my finger, and I tore at the golden band, desperately trying to remove it—to return it. It wasn’t mine. It’d never been mine. Reid hadn’t been the only one playing pretend.

He marched forward, ignoring my struggle and gripping my face between his hands. “Stop this. Stop. You need to listen to me.”

“Stop telling me what I need to do.” Why wouldn’t he just admit it? Why couldn’t he say the words that would set me free? That would set him free? It wasn’t fair to either of us to continue this way, aching and yearning and pining after something that could never be. Not like this.

“You’re doing it again.” His thumbs stroked my cheeks anxiously, desperately, as my hysteria built. “Don’t make a rash decision. Stop and think, Lou. Feel the truth in my words. I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

My gaze sharpened on his face, and I reached deep, searching for something—anything—that’d force him to admit he thought me a monster. To admit the truth. I thrust the ring into his pocket. “You wanted to know about the man. Gilles.” Though somewhere inside that pit a voice warned me to stop, I couldn’t. It hurt. That revulsion in his eyes when he’d seen me in La Ventre—I could never forget it. I’d done everything for him, and now I—I was scared. Scared he was right. Scared he wasn’t.

Scared I’d get worse before I got better. Much, much worse.

Reid’s thumbs stilled on my cheeks. I forced myself to meet his eyes, to speak each word to them.

“He was your brother, Reid. Gilles was your brother. Morgane has been hunting your siblings, torturing them to send me a message. She murdered two more at the blood camp while I was there—Etienne and Gabrielle Gilly. That is why La Voisin joined us—because Morgane murdered your brother and sister. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to distract you from our plan. I didn’t want you to feel pain—guilt—for two people you’ve never known. I stopped you from saving Gilles because it didn’t matter if he died, so long as you lived. I did it for the greater good—my greater good. Do you understand now? Does that make me a monster?”

He stared at me for a long moment, white-faced and trembling. At last, he dropped his hands and stepped back. The anguish in his eyes cleaved my chest in two, and fresh tears trickled down my cheeks. “No,” he finally murmured, brushing them away one last time. A farewell. “It makes you your mother.”

I waited several minutes after Reid left the shop to break down. To sob and scream and smash the glass beetles from their shelves, crush the calla lilies beneath my boot. When I finally cracked the door open a half hour later, the shadows of the alley had vanished in the afternoon sun, and he was nowhere in sight. Instead, Charles waited at the threshold. I breathed a sigh of relief—then stopped short.

A small piece of paper had been tacked to the door. It fluttered in the breeze.

Pretty porcelain, pretty doll, forgotten and alone,

Trapped within a mirrored grave, she wears a mask of bone.

I tore it from the door with shaking fingers, peering down the alley behind me. Whoever had left this here had done it while I was still inside the shop—either when Reid and I had argued or after Reid had left. Perhaps Manon had found me, after all. I didn’t question why she hadn’t attacked, however. I didn’t question the morbid words of her riddle. It didn’t matter. They didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered at all.

..................................................................

A Change of Plans

Reid

My heart beat a painful rhythm outside Léviathan. Though I could hear the others inside, I paused at the back entrance, hidden from the street beyond. Breathing heavily. Light-headed with words. They careened into my defenses like bats out of Hell, wings tipped with steel. With razors. Bit by bit, they sliced.

Lou is going to get worse before she gets better. Much, much worse.

Deeper now. They found each crack and cut deeper.

This will always be your life with her—running, hiding, fighting. You will never know peace.

We were supposed to be partners.

Louise has started her descent. You cannot stop it, and you cannot slow it down. It will consume you both if you try.

God, I’d tried.

She will not remain the girl with whom you fell in love.

My hands curled into fists.

I’ll don the teeth and claws to make it easier for you. I’ll get worse, if that justifies your twisted rhetoric. Much, much worse.

Tendrils of anger curled around the words now, charring them. Setting fire to their sharp tips. I welcomed each flame. Relished them. The smoke didn’t damage the fortress—it added to it. Swathed it in heat and darkness. Time and time again, I’d trusted her. And time and time again, she’d proven herself unworthy of my trust.

Did I not deserve her respect?

Did she truly think so little of me?

I’d given her everything. Everything. My protection, my love, my life. And she’d tossed each aside as if they meant nothing. She’d stripped me of my name, my identity. My family. Every word from her mouth since the day we’d met had been a lie—who she was, what she was, her relationship with Coco, with Bas. I’d thought I’d moved past them. I’d thought I’d forgiven her. But that hole . . . it hadn’t healed quite right. The skin had grown over infection. And hiding my siblings from me, preventing me from saving them . . .

She’d torn me back open.

I couldn’t trust her. She obviously didn’t trust me.

Our entire relationship had been built on lies.

The fury, the betrayal, burned up my throat. This anger was visceral, a living thing clawing from my chest—

I pounded a fist against the stone wall, sinking to my knees. The others—they couldn’t see me like this. Alliance or not, if they scented blood in the water, they’d attack. I had to master myself. I had to—to—

You are in control. Another voice—this one unbidden, still painful—echoed through my mind. This anger cannot govern you, Reid.

I’d—I’d killed the Archbishop to save her, for Christ’s sake. How could she say I’d scorned her?

Breathing deeply, I knelt in silence for another moment. The anger still burned. The betrayal still ached. But a deadly sense of purpose overpowered both of them. Lou no longer wanted me. She’d made that perfectly clear. I still loved her—I always would—but she’d been right: we could not continue as we were now. Though ironic, though cruel, we’d fit together as witch and witch hunter. As husband and wife. But she’d changed. I’d changed.