Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(36)

A grim smile tugged at Jean Luc’s mouth. “It would be in your best interests to cooperate, madame. Indeed, it is only by the Archbishop’s intervention that you are here, intact, rather than scattered across the kingdom as ash. Aiding and abetting a witch is illegal.”

Tense silence descended as she looked from face to face, clearly deciding whether she agreed. I’d just opened my mouth to prod her in the right direction when she sighed. “What do you want to know?”

I blinked, shocked at her sudden prudence, but Jean Luc didn’t pause to savor the moment. Instead, he pounced.

“Where are they located?”

“As if she would’ve told me.”

“Who is she?”

She smirked. “A witch.”

“Her name.”

“Alexandra.”

“Her surname?”

“I don’t know. We operate with secrecy in East End, even amongst friends.”

I recoiled at the word, disgust seeping through me. “You—you truly consider the witch a friend?”

“I do.”

“What happened?” Jean Luc asked.

She glanced around, suddenly mutinous. “You did.”

“Explain.”

“When you busted us at Tremblay’s, we all fled,” she snapped at him. “I don’t know where she went. I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.”

Jean Luc and I shared a look. If she was telling the truth, this was a dead end. From the little time I’d spent with her, however, I knew she didn’t tell the truth. Probably wasn’t even capable of it. But perhaps there was another way to procure the information we needed. I knew better than to ask about the man of their trio—the one who’d escaped, the one the constabulary searched for even now—but these enemies of hers . . .

If they knew my wife, they might also know the witch. And anyone who knew the witch was worth interrogating.

“Your enemies,” I said carefully. “Are they her enemies too?”

“Maybe.”

“Who are they?”

She glared down at the map. “They don’t know she’s a witch, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’d still have their names.”

“Fine.” She shrugged—immediately bored—and began ticking names off on her fingers. “There’s Andre and Grue, Madame Labelle—”

“Madame Labelle?” I frowned, remembering the woman’s familiarity with Tremblay the night of the robbery. She’d claimed her presence had been coincidental, but . . . I tensed in realization.

The seal on the Archbishop’s tip—the letter he’d thrown in the fire—had been shaped like a rose. And Ansel’s stammered description of the informant had been clear: She had bright red hair and was very—very beautiful.

Perhaps Madame Labelle’s presence hadn’t been coincidental after all. Perhaps she had known the witch would be there. And if so . . .

I shared a meaningful look with Jean Luc, who pursed his lips and nodded as he too drew the connection. We’d be speaking with Madame Labelle very soon.

“Yes.” The heathen paused to scratch out Morgane le Blanc’s eyes with a fingernail. I was surprised she didn’t trace a mustache in the charcoal. “She tries to lure us into indentures with the Bellerose every few weeks. We keep refusing her. Drives her mad.”

Jean Luc broke the shocked silence, sounding genuinely amused. “So you really are a whore.”

Too far.

“Don’t,” I growled, voice low, “call my wife a whore.”

He held up his hands in apology. “Of course. How crass of me. Do continue the interrogation, Captain—unless you think we’ll need the thumbscrews?”

She fixed him with a steely smile. “That won’t be necessary.”

I gave her a pointed look. “It won’t?”

She reached up and patted my cheek. “I’ll be more than happy to continue . . . as long as you say please.”

If I hadn’t known better, the gesture would’ve felt affectionate. But I did know better. And this wasn’t affection. This was patronization. Even here, now—surrounded by my brethren—she dared to goad me. To humiliate me. My wife.

No—Lou. I could no longer deny the name suited her. A man’s name. Short. Strong. Ridiculous.

I caught her hand and squeezed—a warning mitigated by my burning cheeks. “We’ll dispatch men to interrogate these enemies, but first, we need to know everything that happened that night.” I paused despite myself, ignoring my brothers’ furious mutters. “Please.”

A truly frightening grin split her face.





The Forbidden Infirmary


Lou


My tongue was thick and heavy from talking when my darling husband escorted me back to our room. I’d given them an abbreviated version of the tale—how Coco and I had eavesdropped on Tremblay and Madame Labelle, how we’d planned to rob him that night. How we’d stolen from his vault, but Bas—I hadn’t bothered concealing his name, as the idiot hadn’t bothered concealing mine—had pocketed everything when the Chasseurs arrived. How Andre and Grue had jumped me in that alley. How they’d almost killed me.