Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(17)

She slipped and caught herself again. This time, her wig tumbled to the ground, revealing long brown hair. Inexplicably furious, I lurched forward. “Come down RIGHT NOW—”

The man managed to work the gag from his mouth. “LOU, HELP ME—”

A constable wrestled to gag him once more. The woman paused at his voice, perching in a window, and glanced down at us. Her face lit with recognition when she saw me, and she lifted her good hand to her forehead in mock salute.

I stared at her, dumbfounded.

She’d actually saluted.

My hands curled into fists. “Go up and get her.”

Jean Luc scowled at the command, but he still nodded. “Chasseurs—with me.” My brethren surged forward, drawing their Balisardas. “Constables—on the ground. Don’t let her escape.”

If the other Chasseurs questioned why I remained on the ground, they said nothing. Wisely. But that didn’t stop the constabulary’s curious stares.

“What?” I snapped, glaring at them. They hastily resumed staring at the roof. “Was anyone else inside?”

After several long seconds, one of them stepped forward. I vaguely recognized him. Dennis. No—Davide. “Yes, Captain. Geoffrey and I found someone in the kitchen.”

“And?”

Another constable—presumably Geoffrey—cleared his throat. The two shared an anxious look, and Geoffrey swallowed hard. “She escaped.”

I expelled a harsh breath.

“We think she’s your witch, though,” Davide added hopefully. “She smelled like magic, sort of, and—and she poisoned the dogs. They had blood on their maws, and they smelled . . . strange.”

“If it helps, she was, well—scarred,” Geoffrey said. Davide nodded earnestly.

I turned toward the roof without another word, forcing myself to unclench my fists. To breathe.

It wasn’t Davide or Geoffrey’s fault. They weren’t trained to handle witches. And yet—perhaps they could explain their incompetence to the Archbishop. Perhaps they could accept the punishment. The shame. Another witch free. Another witch left to plague the innocent people of Belterra. To plague Célie.

Through a haze of red, I trained my eyes on the thief.

Lou.

She would tell me where the witch went. I would force the information from her, no matter what it took. I would fix this.

Even with her injured hand, she still managed to outclimb the Chasseurs. She reached the roofline before the others had even cleared the first story. “Spread out!” I roared to the constabulary. They scattered at my command. “She has to come down somewhere! That tree—cover it! And the drainpipes! Find anything she could use to make an escape!”

I waited, pacing and seething, as my brethren scaled steadily higher. Their voices drifted down to me. Threatening her. Good. She consorted with witches. She deserved to fear us.

“Any sign?” I called to the constabulary.

“Not here, Captain!”

“Not here either!”

“None, sir!”

I bit back an impatient growl. Finally—after what seemed an eternity—Jean Luc hoisted himself over the rooftop after her. Three of my brethren followed. I waited. And waited.

And waited.

Davide shouted behind me, and I whirled to see the bound thief halfway to the road. He’d somehow worked the ropes from his feet. Though the constables sprinted toward him, they’d spread themselves too far across the yard on my orders. Biting back a curse, I leapt after him, but Jean Luc’s shout made me falter.

“She’s not here!” He appeared back at the roofline, chest heaving. Even from a distance, I could see the anger in his eyes. It matched my own. “She’s gone!”

With a snarl of frustration, I scanned the street for the man.

But he too had disappeared.





Angelica’s Ring


Lou


I could still hear the Chasseurs as I sprinted down the street, staring at the place where my feet—and my legs and my body—should’ve been. They couldn’t understand where I’d gone. I hardly understood it myself.

One second, I’d been trapped on the roof, and the next, Angelica’s Ring had burned hot on my finger. Of course. In my panic, I’d forgotten what the ring could do. Without stopping to think, I’d slid the ring off my finger and stuck it in my mouth.

My body had vanished.

Climbing up the townhouse with an audience and two broken fingers had been difficult. Climbing down with an audience, two broken fingers, and a ring clenched between my teeth—invisible—had been almost impossible. Twice I’d almost swallowed the thing, and once I’d been certain a Chasseur heard me when I torqued my broken fingers.

Still, I’d done it.

If the Chasseurs hadn’t thought I was a witch before—if by some miracle, the guards hadn’t squealed—they certainly suspected it now. I’d need to be careful. The copper-haired Chass knew my face, and thanks to Bas’s idiocy, he also knew my name. He would search for me.

Others far more dangerous might hear and begin searching for me too.

When I was far enough away to feel relatively safe, I spat the ring from my mouth. My body immediately reappeared as I slid it back on my finger.

“Neat trick,” Coco mused.