The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(49)
TWENTY
DINAH THREW AN empty jar at the back wall of the Mortar & Pestle’s storeroom, where it shattered into thin shards of amber glass.
She had one day left to pay off her late husband’s debts, and she still didn’t have the means to do it. The stupid girl had tried no fewer than seventeen times in the past two days to turn metal into gold, and each time she’d failed.
Dinah’s gamble had failed.
She’d killed Pierre de la Cour and moved herself and her daughters into that old, drafty farmhouse far from her quarter, lived like a peasant, and checked on the alchemy shop like a common merchant day after day, just waiting for a chance to catch Blue working on the one experiment that really mattered. But Blue hadn’t returned to work on the gold, and Dinah had grown desperate. It was clear that the girl wasn’t motivated by coin. She wanted to stay in her simple little house with her quiet life.
What she cared about was rescuing others. So when Mr. Dubois, the collector who held the notes to all her husband’s debts, came calling unexpectedly at the farmhouse to deliver the news that her time to pay off the remaining balance was nearly up, she’d insisted that they talk on the porch. And she’d raised her voice, which encouraged him to raise his, hoping Blue, out harvesting in her little garden, would be drawn in.
Grabbing another empty jar, Dinah slung it against the wall, her teeth clenched as the glass shattered.
Her plan to gain Blue’s sympathy had worked. But even though the girl was working frantically to help Dinah, she couldn’t seem to get it right. Maybe the true talent had died out with her mother. Blue was still trying, but Dinah was out of time. Tomorrow, Dubois would deliver a record of her husband’s debts and the signed documents that listed all of the Chauveau properties and coin as collateral against them to the royal magistrate.
Dinah could break every jar in the shop, and it wouldn’t do a thing to help her. If she didn’t stop Dubois tonight, everything she’d worked for would be ruined. She would be ruined. Without the authority of the throne at her beck and call, the true power she craved more than the breath in her lungs would be lost to her.
Abandoning the shelf of spare jars, Dinah grabbed a broom and stalked toward the pile of broken glass. A thread of white-hot anger sparked along her nerves as she quickly swept up the mess.
Maybe Blue had failed to create gold. And maybe Dinah had failed to find a creditor willing to loan her anything. But Dubois had made a critical error in coming to see her personally. He’d been heavily guarded, of course, but when he saw that it was just her on the porch, he’d come close enough to discuss things with her face-to-face.
Close enough for her to reach out as he turned to walk away and pluck a single loose hair from the back of his cloak.
He’d known he was dealing with a cunning, ruthless woman. He had no idea he was dealing with a witch. How could he? She’d stopped practicing when the law against magic went into effect. With everyone so sure another Marielle might rise to wreak havoc, Dinah had found it prudent to become one of the most vocal proponents of the law. What better way to hide one’s true nature than to campaign viciously against it?
Baring her teeth, she threw the glass into the trash.
She’d had a taste of her true nature a few nights ago, when she’d created the fire spells to cause chaos across the city, and already she hungered for more. If magic could solve one problem, it could solve another.
And Mr. Dubois’s strand of hair gave Dinah the perfect opportunity to craft the spell that would destroy him.
The cathedral bells tolled midnight as she slipped into the storeroom of the Mortar & Pestle, locking the door behind her and lighting a lamp. She had to give Blue credit: the girl kept her shelves well stocked. Quickly gathering her ingredients, she combined them in a pot on the stove, added the strand of hair, and whispered the incantation that would be the death of Mr. Dubois.
The mixture bubbled and hissed, sending a puff of dark green smoke into the air where it writhed like a snake. Dinah held a small glass vial up to the smoke, focused on her purpose, and said, “Scrios.”
The smoke drifted into the vial, where it coiled and churned. She capped the vial, cleaned the pot, and made sure the storeroom looked undisturbed. And then she left the shop and moved briskly toward the Aubert quarter, where Mr. Dubois lived.
When she reached the corner closest to his home, she stopped. Any closer, and his guards might see her. Uncorking the vial, she focused once more on her desperate wish for Dubois to die in agony, and then set the smoke free.
It burst from the vial, whirled in place, a tiny dust devil spinning in the midnight air, and then it arrowed toward the distant redbrick home that sat a comfortable distance from the cobblestoned street.
Dinah didn’t wait. Nothing could stop the spell she’d put in motion, and she couldn’t be seen anywhere close to the home when his body was discovered.
He was as good as dead, and once the spell had finished killing him, it would utterly destroy everything within his home. Including the Chauveau estate debts her fool of a husband had signed.
She was free.
TWENTY-ONE
“WE HAVE TO do something!” Senet Aubert paced the castle’s east receiving parlor, where an emergency meeting of the royal council had gathered. The ends of her red headscarf trailed in the air behind her as she moved. “Another magical attack happened in my quarter last night. The Dubois house and everyone inside it were destroyed. Disintegrated into dust! People are terrified they’ll be killed in their own homes while they sleep, and I certainly don’t know how to convince them they’re safe.”