A crow of triumph sounded behind us, and the men finally turned.

Standing behind the bar—holding a lit match—Deveraux grinned. “Good evening, messieurs. I do hate to interrupt, but I believe it’s in poor taste to discuss beheading a lady in front of her.”

He flicked the match toward us, and the entire building exploded.

..................................................................

White Shadows

Lou

Fire is such bullshit.

I’d already burned once—burned and burned on a metaphysical stake until I was nothing but a husk—but it seemed the flames hadn’t gotten enough of me. They wanted another taste.

Well, too fucking bad.

I dove toward Reid as the pub detonated around us, flinging a hand toward the pattern that shimmered between us and the flames. The golden cord siphoned the icy fear from my chest—wrapping a protective barrier around us in cold, glittering crystals—before bursting into dust. We clung to each other, untouched, as the fire raged.

The bounty hunters weren’t so lucky.

I tried not to enjoy watching them burn to a crisp. Really, I did. Without the fear I’d just sacrificed, however, there was only rage—a rage that burned hotter and brighter than even the flames around us. Blood from Reid’s throat still trickled onto his collar, staining it. Even amidst our heinous trek through the wilderness—our week-long stay in the Hollow—he’d managed to keep his clothing immaculate. But not now. A couple of bounty hunters would’ve bested us if not for Claud Deveraux.

Speaking of which . . . where was Claud Deveraux?

Still fuming, I scanned the blazing pub for any sign of him, but he was gone.

Reid clutched me tighter as the bottles of whiskey behind the bar exploded. Glass pelted against our melting shield, and black, noxious smoke began to curl beneath it. I coughed, tugging his ear to my mouth. “We need to move! The shield won’t hold much longer!”

Nodding swiftly, his eyes darted to the exit. “Will the shield move with us?”

“I don’t know!”

He grabbed my hand, bolting through the flames toward the door. I hurtled after him—scooping up his Balisarda as I went—and forced myself to breathe. One thready gasp after another. My chest ached from earlier, and my head still pounded. My vision quickly blurred. Smoke burned my nose and throat, and I choked, the first tendril of heat licking up my spine. It razed my shoulders and neck, and my panic finally returned as the last of the shield melted.

Memory of another fire razed through me.

“Reid!” I shoved his back with all my might, and he tumbled out the door, sprawling in a heap on the ground outside. I collapsed beside him and buried myself in the frigid mud, heedless of decorum, rolling side to side like a pig wallowing in a sty. A sob tore from my throat.

“We have to move!” Reid’s hands seized my own, and he wrenched me to my feet. Already, more men had surrounded us, drawing makeshift weapons. Pitchforks. Hammers. The flames of the pub reflected in their hateful eyes as they loomed above me, and their shouts echoed through the fog steadily clouding my mind.

Witch!

Hold her!

Fetch the Chasseurs!

A heavy weight settled in my limbs. Groaning, I stumbled into Reid’s side and stayed there, trusting him to support my weight. He didn’t disappoint. My voice sounded muffled as I said, “My back hurts.”

He didn’t answer, instead prying his Balisarda from me and swinging it at the men, clearing a path. The world began to drift in a pleasant, distracting sort of way, like one’s thoughts the moment before one falls asleep. Was that Claud watching us from the crowd? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized perhaps I’d caught on fire. But the realization was quiet and far away, and the only thing that mattered were Reid’s arms around me, the weight of his body against mine . . .

“Lou.” His eyes appeared directly in front of me, wide and anxious and perfectly blue. Except—there shouldn’t have been four of them, should there? I chuckled, though it came out a rasp, and reached up to smooth the furrow between his brows. He caught my hands. His voice drifted in and out of focus. “Stay awake . . . back to camp . . . the Chasseurs . . . coming.”

Coming.

I’m coming for you, darling.

Panic punched through my stomach, and my laughter died abruptly. Shuddering against him, I tried to wrap my arms around his waist, but my limbs wouldn’t cooperate. They dangled limply at my sides, heavy and useless, as I collapsed against him. “She’s coming for me, Reid.”

Vaguely aware of him hoisting me upward—of his mouth moving reassuringly against my ear—I struggled to collect my nonsensical thoughts, to banish the shadows in my vision.

But shadows weren’t white—and this shadow was blinding, incandescent, as it tore through my throat and feasted on my blood—

“I won’t let her hurt you again.”

“I wish I was your wife.”

He stiffened at the unexpected confession, but I’d already forgotten I’d spoken. With one last drowsy inhalation—of pine and smoke and him—I slipped into darkness.

..................................................................

Crosses to Bear

Lou

I woke to voices arguing. Though the pain in my back had miraculously vanished, my chest still felt tight, heavy. Honey coated my tongue, so I almost missed the sharper, coppery taste hiding amidst its sweetness. I should’ve been apologetic, but exhaustion made it difficult to muster anything but apathy. As such, I didn’t open my eyes right away, content to feign sleep and cherish the breath in my lungs.

They’d laid me on my stomach, and night air caressed the skin of my back. The bare skin of my back. I almost laughed and gave myself away.

The deviants had cut open my shirt.

“Why isn’t it working?” Reid snapped. A hot presence beside me, he clenched my hand in his own. “Shouldn’t she have woken up by now?”

“Use your eyes, Diggory.” Coco’s voice cut equally sharp. “Her burns have obviously healed. Give her internal injuries time to do the same.”

“Internal injuries?”

I imagined his face turning puce.

Coco sighed impatiently. “It isn’t humanly possible to move a knife—let alone throw one—with only the air in our lungs. She compensated by using the air from her blood, her tissues—”

“She did what?” His voice was dangerously soft now. Deceptively soft. It did little to hide his ire, however, as his grip nearly broke my fingers. “That could’ve killed her.”

“There’s always a cost.”

Reid scoffed. It was an ugly, unfamiliar sound. “Except for you, it seems.”

“Excuse me?”

I fought a groan, resisting the urge to insert myself between them. Reid was an idiot, but today, he would learn.

“You heard me,” he said, undeterred by Coco’s proximity to his arteries. “Lou is different when she uses magic. Her emotions, her judgment—she’s been erratic since the pool yesterday. Tonight was worse. Yet you use magic without consequence.”