Page 109 of The Shadow Bride

Craning my neck, I peer around Dimitri and the bishop to seewhat he carries, but Dimitri thrusts me behind him again with a surreptitious shake of his head. It matters little, however, as Ivan raises his hand higher in the next second, revealing La Voisin’s tattered grimoire between his fingers. The pages have been haphazardly sewn back together.

Ivan stares directly across the chessboard at me.

“Shit,” Dimitri snarls, but I’ve already ducked out beneath his arm and darted toward Michal, toward Odessa, toward Pasha and Ivan and his gift from Death—because only Death could’ve done this to them. Only Death would’ve tried to make the grimoire whole again.

“What do you want?” I lurch to a halt between Odessa and Michal with Dimitri hot on my heels, his fingers fisting in the back of my nightgown. Though Michal looks likely to eviscerate both of us, I cannot bring myself to care; Ivan and Pasha have not come to attack, or they would’ve done it already. No, this reeks of something else—something altogether more sinister. I jerk my chin toward the evil black book. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Gesture—of—friendship.” Blood has congealed in Pasha’s long black hair, but he doesn’t seem to notice; he doesn’t seem to recognize any of us either. From his pocket, he extracts a matchbox. My sense of foreboding deepens, and cold fingers of dread trail down my spine, raising gooseflesh in their wake.

“Don’t take it, Célie.” Dimitri’s fingers tighten, contorting in the fabric at my back. “That book—nothing good can come of it.”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

Slowly, I reach for the grimoire as Michal and Odessa brace, as Dimitri inches so close I can scarcely move for the wall of vampires all around me. I am a vampire now too, however, andwith a pointed step forward, I tug the grimoire from Ivan’s rigid fingers. Extending my other hand to Pasha, I add, “The matchbox too, if you please. I—I think your master would want me to have it.”

Pasha and Ivan both shake their heads in unison, and another wave of that peculiar scent washes over me with the movement. It burns my nose, my throat, and triggers memories of caskets in the belly of a ship, of Michal’s silhouette in the grotto as he told me about his transition. And the split second before Pasha pulls out a match, striking it against the flint, I finally place it.

Absinthe.

Without a word, he sets himself and Ivan ablaze, and I can do nothing but watch—horrified—as they erupt, the fire licking up their clothes, their skin, before they collapse to the floor in twin pillars of flame. Michal seizes my elbows when I leap backward, spinning me away from them, while Odessa snatches wildly at her propagated cuttings. Though she dumps water from the half-filled jars over their bodies, it isn’t enough. The fire only blazes hotter,higher, until Dimitri shouts and throws a blanket over the two, diving atop it to smother the flames. After another moment, he jumps away too—searching wildly for another means to save them—before sick realization descends, twining through the smoke and screams.

Ivan and Pasha are revenants now. If we douse this fire, we must light another; they cannot be allowed to live.

Do not fret at our parting, my sweet. I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.

Death’s message has been received.

“Fuck,” Michal says.

Part Four

Le loup retourne toujours au bois.

One always goes back to one’s roots.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The Devil and the Sun

An hour later, Michal and I stare at each other atop his emerald duvet.

“We don’t need to do this if you’re uncomfortable,” he says. “My blood will heal your hand, yes, but there is no reason for you to reciprocate. I can strengthen myself in other ways.”

His low voice reverberates up my spine, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, but after Death’s thinly veiled threat, I shouldn’t be shivering at the sound of Michal’s voice. After poring over the grimoire and finding nothing—not a single spell to help Filippa—I shouldn’t be this keenly aware of his body either. We have other things, critical things,apocalypticthings, to focus on now. Indeed, Odessa and Dimitri are helping my mother pack at this very moment. Without Pasha and Ivan as protection, she can longer remain in my room. When Michal offered this grotto as an alternative, she accepted with a suspicious lack of protest, her eyes narrowed on the scant distance between us.

Even now—despite my throbbing palm—I cannot seem to think beyond the long lines of his thighs as they stretch out beside me; I cannotseebeyond the sheer breadth of his shoulders as he leans against the headboard. Have I ever truly appreciated his shoulders until this moment? Surely I have, yet my mouth feels rather dry at the sight of them. Ofhim.

My mother has never spoken a kind word to Michal, yet he still opened his chambers to her. He removed the kittens from her presence, adopting all seven for both her and for me. I can still hear the ringing finality with which he defended my sister to Odessa, can stillfeelhis staunch presence at my back.

Just as it always is.

“Célie?” he asks quietly.

We should’ve picked somewhere else to do this. Like a cold bathtub.

Shaking myself mentally, I drag myself back to the present and say, “You saw Pasha and Ivan. Death isn’t going to stop, and until we’ve decided just how to lure him here, it would be... beneficial for you to feed too. To keep up your strength,” I clarify, “and to—to see the veil as well. It might be useful. We have no idea what Death might do next.”

“This is a risk too, Célie.” Though Michal speaks in that cool, dispassionate way of his, I can sense the tension radiating beneath the facade. His entire body has clenched tighter than a bow, and instinctively, I know one stroke of my fingers will loose—somethingbetween us. “You’ve been lucky thus far, but if I drink from you again, the bond might form. Are you willing to risk eternity with someone like me?”

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