Page 116 of The Scarlet Veil

She repeats the words softly. “A Bride of Death. How... romantic.” Her hands tremble slightly as she extends her cup of tea toward me. “Would you like some?”

I frown at it. “Er—no, thank you.”

She doesn’t lower the cup. “I apologize for the lavender. It was a cheap trick, but I didn’t have much time to prepare. When Pennelope warned me of your arrival, I had to make a quick decision. I could’ve fled, of course, but you would’ve realized my rooms have been inhabited almost instantly. And the Necromancer—he would’ve been furious with me. He thought he would need to wait until All Hallows’ Eve to take you, Célie—surrounded by your very powerful friends—but instead, here you are with the vampire king. The circumstances... they’re just too neat. Too perfect. I can’t possibly let you go now.” Silver liquid fills her overbright eyes, and they look suspiciously like tears. Swallowing hard, she blinks them away. “When they find your body drained of blood, everyone will know he killed you.”

Michal’s arm around me tightens, and he seems torn between lunging for Babette and whisking me out the door. “Find someone else,” he says in that same dark voice. From any other creature, it might sound like a plea, but Michal has never been prey. He is the predator, even here, faced with witchcraft and silver.

Babette, however, does not cower. “There is no one else.”

“Célie cannot be the only Bride of Death in this realm. Find another to resurrect your sister, or I will hunt her when she wakes. I will inflict such pain that she’ll long for sickness once more, and Death will come to her in kindness. When you try to follow, I will turn you into a vampire, so you must live forever apart as an undead creature, never again to look upon your sister’s face. Do you understand?”

Babette’s pale skin mottles at the threat—no, thepromise—and the regret in her eyes flashes to fury. “We both know vampires can die, mon roi. You may threaten my sister all you like, but it was silver he used onyoursister to drain every drop of blood from her body.” Michal’s body shudders with the physical effort not to move. Her silver knife joins the teacup between us. Her hands no longer shake. “I have no doubt that you’re faster than me. Stronger than me. In all likelihood, this knife will prove useless against you.”

Michal speaks through his teeth. “Shall we find out?”

He still doesn’t release me, however.

“Which is why,” Babette continues with the ringing air of finality, “I broke my mother’s mirror and ground the shards into powder.”

It all happens very fast then.

In the same instant my eyes dart to her mantel, to the shattered mirror there, she flings the cup of tea in Michal’s face. Despite her prediction, he doesn’t move fast enough—hecan’tmove fast enough with one arm still locked around my waist—instead half turning to brace against me. Toprotectme. The cold tea douses his entire right side. The skin of his face and throat hisses on contact, bubbling with angry red blisters, but it’s so much worsethan when I scratched him in the aviary. My eyes widen in horror. Babette’s blood must’ve been in that tea too, because his flesh—it seems to be burning,melting, and actual flames leap from his face now, crackling with wicked laughter. Though I seize his cloak to smother them, the flames only grow higher, and he collapses against me. One of his knees hits the floor. “Célie,” he groans. “Upstairs—run.”

“Michal!” I crumple under his weight, hooking my arms beneath his shoulders. Because I can’t just leave him here. Iwon’t. Though I try to heave him back to his feet, Babette stalks toward us with a determined expression. My mouth goes dry at the glint of her silver blade. “No!” I seize him with frantic, clumsy hands, trying to roll, trying to rise, but there’s nothing I can do except scream, “Babette, don’t,please!”

She plunges the knife deep into his side.

“Stop it!” Half-buried beneath Michal, half sobbing now, I lunge at her, swiping at the knife, but it disappears between his ribs again, and again, and again until his breath rattles frighteningly in his chest. “Babette,stop!”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Célie. I never wanted to hurt anyone.” Dropping the knife, she draws great, shuddering breaths—in tears again herself—and kicks him away from me. His head strikes the wooden floor with a dull thud, and the flames go out at last. “I’m so sorry. I wish it could be anyone but you.” Dragging a finger through the wound at her elbow, she kneels beside me and raises that finger to my lips.No.My mouth clamps shut in realization. A Dame Rouge’s magic resides within their blood; if I ingest hers, she’ll be able to control me, much like a vampire’s compulsion. Under her influence, I’ll leave Michal to die without a secondthought, and I’ll walk straight into the Necromancer’s arms.

No. No nono—

Snarling, I seize her wrist and push her away with all my strength. My arms shake with the effort. My chest heaves. I’ve never been very strong, however, and soon I can smell the sharp tang of her blood beneath my nose. The tang of her tears. “You don’t have to do this, Babette—”

“I’m sorry, Célie.” Her voice actually breaks on my name, and I almost believe her now. She repeats the words until they blend together, echoing deliriously in my ears.I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, Célie, I’m so sorry.When she pushes harder, I fall backward, landing heavy on the carpet near Michal. His beautiful black eyes stare at me without seeing. I clench my teeth and shake my head with more bitter, hopeless tears. They trickle into my hair and blur my vision until the spiral stairs overhead bleed into the ceiling, which bleeds into the door, which bursts open unexpectedly.

Babette whirls, incredulous, as two identical faces appear in the room above.

We always notice when night children come to call, Pennelope said.Two more just arrived upstairs.

Dimitri and Odessa.

Though I want to cry out in hideous relief—because they’re here, they’re here,they’re here—I dare not open my mouth. Above me, Babette’s eyes bulge in genuine fear. “No,” she breathes.

Her strength falters as Dimitri and Odessa blur forward, and I take full advantage, driving my knee into her stomach. She screams when Dimitri seizes her, nearly ripping her arm out of its socket and throwing her across the room. Still shrieking, she slams into a floral armchair, which cracks ominously beneath her.Odessa crouches beside Michal. Her hands flutter over his injuries for half a second—her eyes shocked, wide—before she scoops him up and darts back up the staircase. Fresh relief surges through me as they disappear, as I struggle to my feet and snatch the silver knife from the floor. Tears still pour freely down my cheeks.

Odessa will help him.He’s safe now.

“Are you hurt?” Dimitri asks without looking at me.

“I—I think I’m fine, but—”

“You should follow the others.” His hands curl into fists as he stares at Babette’s prone body. “It’s almost daybreak.”

I eye his back nervously, the rigid line of his neck. Babette wants to kill me, yes—she did her best to kill Michal—but—but— “She has silver in her bloodstream,” I tell him quickly. “It was in the tea.”

He says nothing.

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