The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(49)
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.”
“They aren’t safe,” Georgiana Faure said flatly, her mouth pursed as she turned to face the prince. “None of us are. You told us you were investigating the source of the first spell’s ingredients, but you have nothing to show for it, and now we have another attack.”
“We’ve had less than a week to investigate,” Kellan said. “We have an expert helping us identify the ingredients used—”
“An alchemist?” Martin Roche’s lip curled. “Seems to me that’s the same as asking another witch to turn on their own kind.”
“It’s not the same, Lord Roche,” Kellan said firmly. “One is science. The other is magic. We need all the help we can get, including any alchemists willing to identify the spell’s components so that we can trace them to their source.”
He turned to Senet. “I appreciate the awful position you’re in, Lady Aubert. I’m certainly open to other ideas, but short of finding another witch willing and able to ferret out the one causing us problems—”
“The last thing we need to do is invite more use of magic,” Dinah Chauveau snapped.