The Rift

Lou

The mist enveloped us later that afternoon.

We dismounted into it at the edge of the path, glancing around for signs of life. Constantin had died; did that mean the waters held no guardian? Could we simply . . . walk to shore? Should we?

“Beau, Célie, and Jean Luc, you should all stay here, just in case,” I whispered. “Isla’s magic protected you before, but we don’t know if she’ll extend the same courtesy this time. I’ll take the ring to her.” I looked to Coco. “Will you come too?”

Without a word, she looped her arm through mine in an admirable effort of normalcy. But there was nothing normal about this place. Nothing normal about how we simultaneously bent to draw knives from our boots. Despite the daylight hour, smoke still clouded the sun, and mist darkened the land to perpetual twilight. The latter clung to us as we stepped forward, dense as water, and limited our visibility—which was why we both shrieked when Reid’s hand snaked out and caught my elbow. “Don’t even think about it.”

I shook him off with an indignant cry. “Don’t do that! If you want to tag along, fine, but announce yourself next time. I could’ve chopped off your hand!”

Coco’s eyes narrowed. “He might plan worse.”

He glared at her, the fog undulating around his towering frame. “I don’t trust either of you. You aren’t leaving my sight.”

“You aren’t exactly endearing yourself to us,” Coco said, poisonously sweet.

“I have a Balisarda. There could be witches here.”

“Oh, there are witches here.”

He gritted his teeth. “Manon could’ve told them what we stole. They could be waiting.”

She pretended to consider this for a moment before shrugging. “Fine. As long as you don’t stick that Balisarda into me instead.” It was a mark of how far they’d both come that she turned her back on him, pulling me forward. He followed without comment.

We walked the path as quietly as possible, listening for any sound, but there were none. Not the rustle of leaves or the crash of waves or the cries of gulls. No, this silence was a living creature all its own, unnatural and thick and oppressive. When we stepped onto the beach, we hesitated, blinking into the abrupt sunlight and standing closer together than we normally would’ve.

“Do we just throw the ring in, or—?”

As if my whisper had broken some sort of spell, Angelica materialized from the water like a specter, silent and ethereal, water streaming from her gown of pure silver. When her eyes landed on Coco, her tranquil face broke into a breathtaking smile. “Cosette. You’ve returned.”

“I told you I would.”

Tugging the golden ring from my hand, I hastily extended it to her. “Here. It’s yours.”

“Thank you, Louise.” Her smile faded as she examined the simple band in her palm. Though it sparkled innocently in the sun, we both knew better. Its history had been forged in death and magic until the two had become one. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen this ring.” Regretfully, her eyes lifted to Coco. “Almost twenty years, in fact.”

“Does this mean Isla agrees to help us?” I asked.

She ignored me, instead moving to clasp Coco’s hands. “Daughter. Events have been set in motion. I fear this is the last opportunity we shall have to speak.”

Coco pulled away halfheartedly. “I told you I don’t want to talk.”

“You must.”

“No—”

Angelica dropped her voice to a fervent whisper, drawing closer, but in the silence, her voice still carried. We heard every word. “Please understand. I never wanted to leave you, but the thought of you trapped underwater for your entire life—like a fish in a bowl, examined and admired and wooed—I couldn’t bear it. You deserved so much more. Believe me. I have watched you always, desperate to join you on the surface.”

Now Coco did tear her hands away. “So why didn’t you?”

“You know that answer.”

“I know you’re afraid.”

“You’re right,” Angelica continued to whisper, “I abandoned you to a cruel woman in hopes that she would love you, that she would give you the tools to chart your own path—and she did. You outgrew her. You’ve outgrown us both.”

“Talk to me, Chass,” I hissed, wishing desperately that Beau hadn’t thieved my earplugs.

He regarded me with open suspicion. “About what?”

“Anything. Whatever comes to—”

“You can try to justify it all you’d like.” Coco didn’t bother to lower her voice. “How many times did I visit this beach, crying for you? How many times did you ignore me?”

“You would’ve lived a half life with me, Cosette. I wanted more for you.”

Unable to help myself, I glanced behind to see Coco staring at her mother incredulously. “What about what I wanted, maman? You and tante—all either of you have ever cared about is this stupid feud. I’m the collateral damage, aren’t I? I’m the one who suffers.”

“We all have suffered,” Angelica said sharply. “Do not mistake me, Cosette. Your aunt and I were among the very first of witchkind. Yes”—she nodded at Coco’s dumbfound expression—“I have lived a hundred lives. Perhaps more, even. Time passed differently then.” To me, she lifted an impatient hand. “Come, Louise le Blanc. You should hear this too. A battle brews on the horizon more catastrophic than this world has ever seen, and we must all play our parts. This is mine.”

I crept closer tentatively. “We really don’t have time for this. Morgane has already started for Cesarine—”

“If you wish to defeat your mother—and my sister—you will make time.”

Her tone brooked no argument, and in the next second, she’d drawn a thin blade from her sleeve, slicing it across the palm of each hand. Her blood spilled thick upon the sand, and from it, black vines curled upward into the shape of chairs. She pointed to them, blood still trickling down her wrists. Tiny blooms of purple aconite sprouted where it dripped to the beach. “Sit. Now. I will not ask again.”

Aconite meant caution.

I grabbed Reid’s sleeve and forced him to sit, sinking into my own chair without further argument. Opposite me, Coco did the same, and Angelica stood in the center of our macabre little circle. She pivoted slowly to look each of us directly in the eyes. “This is your story—all of yours—so listen now and listen well. In the beginning, magic lived within all witches. Yes, you heard me correctly, Louise,” she added when I tried to interrupt. “Though you call us Dames Rouges now, your ancestors’ magic was closer to ours than to yours. It coursed through their blood, hummed in their veins. They lived in harmony with nature, never taking more than they gave and never defying the natural way. They lived. They died. They thrived.” She bowed her head. “I was one of these original witches, as was my twin sister, Josephine.”

“What happened?” Coco whispered.

Angelica sighed. “What always happens? In time, some among us desired more—more power, more freedom, more life. When a sect of my kin began experimenting with death, a great rift rose between us.” Angelica knelt before Coco now, clasping her hands once more. “Your aunt was among them. I pleaded with Josephine to turn back, to forget this obsession with immortality, but when I caught her eating an infant’s heart, I could ignore her sickness no longer. I had to act.” A new vine crept up Coco’s chair from Angelica’s tears. Like the aconite, its petals bloomed purple, but this wasn’t aconite at all. It was deadly nightshade. “I forbade my sister from returning to Chateau le Blanc.”