Page 20

DULCE

Dulce broke away from Reed and whirled around as the screaming grew louder. Thick smoke filled the air in gusts of black, accompanied by yellow flashes of light streaking within the night, illuminating faces, their skeletons visible through their skin before their bodies collapsed to the ground.

“Don’t tell me the world’s ending now ,” Reed said, his eyes wide.

“I should hope not.” Yet Dulce had no idea—there was nothing she’d read in her mother’s book that illustrated this, whatever this horror was.

A woman near a collection of rose bushes shrieked in pain when crimson flames shot from the smoke and caressed her flesh, leaving boils bubbling across her arm.

Dulce struggled to think of a conjuration to help dispel this nightmare, but she didn’t have anything in her satchel that could combat this.

“Why is this happening?” a bald man screamed in confusion as the wind snapped like a whip around them, snuffing out the row of lanterns and overturning a table of food.

Lightning cracked, its veiny glowing web illuminating the fright across the crowd’s faces. Reed grasped Dulce by the hand and drew her out of harm’s way when a large branch snapped and fell from a gnarled oak.

The Duke stepped forward to stand before the ailing Tree of Life and held up his arms, a stone glowing an iridescent hue at his throat within a glass orb on a golden chain.

He closed his eyes, moving his lips, and the stray magic stilled.

Soon, the crowd quieted except for the sounds of heavy breathing and a few cries.

“All is well,” the Duke bellowed, lowering his arms to his sides. “As you can see, I have been granted the power to protect Alder Bay.”

Dulce gasped, and Reed pulled her close, his gaze full of concern.

“La Bisou Morte isn’t working for the Duke,” she whisper-shouted at him.

“The Duke works for her!” She recalled one of the passages in her mother’s book about stones of pearlescent crystals and how only witches could produce them.

A wearer who wasn’t a witch—such as the Duke—meant they belonged to the maker.

“Does it matter who works for who?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “It means the witch is much more dangerous and powerful than we thought. ”

Reed frowned. “And so I imagine that he most definitely will not tell us where she is.”

“We don’t need him to tell us.” Dulce smiled. Finally, they would have a clear plan. “If we can get that necklace, we can locate the witch ourselves.”

He arched a brow. “Locate her … how?”

“With the help of alchemy in my mother’s book,” she explained.

“Mm, so should you or I flirt with the Duke to steal it?” He smirked. “With so many enforcers lingering around his lumpish loutness, this could be challenging...”

The ground shook suddenly, the oak’s roots lifting with an ear-splitting crack as the trunk smashed to the earth.

A creak then stirred from a conifer as the flowers along the Tree of Life’s bark moved, its gray-speckled roots slithering from the ground like tentacles.

The crowd turned frantic once more. Fear stormed through Dulce at the thought that soon her mother’s tree, if it hadn’t already, could turn into this if she didn’t find La Bisou Morte and make her undo her wretched spell.

A woman wearing lacy layers of sapphire fabric shoved into Dulce, tearing her away from Reed, and she fell to the ground hard.

She gasped, trying to rise through the stampede of running guests, but there were too many.

A pudgy man nearly stomped on her stomach in his clumsy panic before she was finally able to scurry back, her hands stinging with the effort, her dress unraveling, and she staggered to her feet.

Securing her gown around her, Dulce pushed through the sea of costumes, shoved helplessly along with the current of terror-struck bodies, her thoughts too jumbled to think clearly. Only one thought repeated in her mind. Find Reed .

“Mrs. Jones Taylor!” Reed yelled off to her right, using her false name, and she sighed in relief.

Just as she opened her mouth to call for him, a callused hand grabbed Dulce’s arm and yanked her backward.

“Unhand me!” she seethed, slapping blindly, and the grip on her slackened.

“You’re not my wife.” A middle-aged man realized, removing his arm from her, his expression dazed. “Apologies, she has hair just like yours.” His eyes were frantic as he searched for his wife.

Dulce turned, a flash of golden hair near the stone bird baths catching her eye, where a woman stood alone, holding her middle, trembling in apparent fear. “Is that her?” she shouted, pointing in the woman’s direction.

He didn’t answer, only dodged through the fleeing throng of partygoers to reach the woman.

Dulce focused on finding Reed, wishing he still had his ivory hair so he’d be easier to locate.

No more wild magic erupted, but the crowd continued to depart, shaken, taking the injured along, and leaving the dead.

While the garden emptied of guests and the Tree of Life became still once more, Dulce’s gaze settled on Reed, kneeling in the center of the garden near the fallen oak. And he wasn’t alone.

Her heart sank as two enforcers held him up by the arms, three more standing guard proudly at his back. A bruise was already forming along one cheek.

She’d had a dreadful feeling that they’d recognized him.

One she certainly now recognized—he was the same man who’d visited her manor to inspect her grave, the same enforcer she’d met when she’d disguised herself as her dead husband.

Dulce ducked behind a stone pillar just as Enoch barked at Reed, “Who knew I’d discover a coveted prize at the Duke’s party.”

“Why, thank you.” Reed grinned, and Dulce stared bug-eyed. How could he remain so calm? “But that’s not the first time I’ve been called a prize.” He leaned forward, turning his head to look the man up and down slowly.

Enoch narrowed his eyes and started to kick Reed, but the other enforcer raised a hand, stopping him.

He seethed in frustration as he sputtered, “You’ll answer to the Duke for your crimes, filthy swamp maggot.”

The enforcers hauled Reed toward where the Duke lingered, not the least bit phased by the pandemonium of magic, the scattered dead bodies on the ground, the guests that had fled his gardens in terror, the fallen oak before him, or the Tree of Life’s hysteria.

In fact, he appeared positively thrilled, seeming to relish the chaos.

Not fighting back, Reed instead smirked at the Duke. “So we meet at last. The Grand Duke of Putrefied Pompousness, and the, what was it again? Oh, yes. The Coveted Prize of the Glen.”

Dulce palmed her forehead, hoping Reed would keep quiet before someone ran him through with a blade. But she had to admit a part of her admired the way he didn’t cower as most surely would’ve.

The Duke cocked his head, his crown of curled horns making him appear like a king instead of a witch’s servant. Gray streaks peppered his deep auburn hair, and while Reed was taller than the Duke, the man was much wider as his costume hugged his muscular form.

“Meet the criminal who started the fire at the prison,” Enoch ground out, his hand still clamped around Reed’s arm. “And stole your property.”

“The fire wasn’t me,” Reed clarified. “One never takes credit for another man’s work.”

The Duke sneered, raking his icy gaze down Reed. “Why, he’s nothing but a foul dog who can’t stop barking.”

“I take that as a compliment,” Reed drawled, looking genuinely smug. “Hardly any compare to the dog in loyalty and affection.”

“A sharp tongue,” the Duke grunted. “I will enjoy cutting it out.”

“How about a duel to make things even more entertaining?”

Be quiet, Reed . Dulce knew what he was doing—he was distracting the Duke so she could escape if she hadn’t already.

Dulce’s heart thundered against her ribs—she couldn’t remain hiding uselessly and watch the Duke end Reed’s life on this fateful night.

She’d brought Reed into this, she’d been the one to give him her jewelry, then convinced him to come with her on this journey.

He’d even given her back her beloved ring when he could’ve kept it.

And then, all at once, Dulce knew precisely what she must do.

To alter her appearance further, she didn’t need a new batch of elixir, not when she’d consumed enough of the previous one for it to feed through her veins for days.

This would only take a toll on the magic thrumming inside her already, lessening its effects so her disguise would need the next batch of elixir sooner rather than later.

It was a very small price to pay for saving Reed’s life.

“I think we should start with removing a hand.” The Duke unsheathed the sword at his waist. “See how that mouth of yours sounds with pretty screams coming out of it instead of impertinence. There’s no need to inform me of which hand you use the most—we’ll slice off both, as is the fitting punishment for thieving. How does that sound, yapping dog?”

Dulce slammed her eyes shut, focusing on the alchemy alight within her.

She instructed her body’s flesh to turn translucent, and she opened her eyes, observing as every fiber of her body became ghostly alabaster.

Cuffs of vines wrapped around her wrists like bracelets that she could release as whips, and large blooms of spiky hellebores gnashed their razor-sharp teeth.

It wasn’t just any ghost she chose to mirror, but the one who children and adults alike would fear, a spirit that had haunted the bedtime stories of every town near and far.

Centuries ago, the story went, the ghost of the hanged widow Leski had returned from the grave to murder half of Alder Bay with her carnivorous flowers, taking all the children to her cave and feasting on them, before a witch banished her to the bottom of the sea.

Once Dulce’s transformation was complete, she stepped from behind the pillar.

“Your magic called to me, Duke,” Dulce cooed in a low voice, gliding her feet against the ground in his direction. She kept her gaze trained on him, showing no interest in Reed. “The magic here called to me, and I am here to answer it.”

The Duke’s wicked expression faltered, and he paled as his gaze fell upon her. “Who are you?”

“Don’t be coy. You know my name,” she purred and motioned him with a finger. “Come closer, or I’ll devour all who live in your village.”

The Duke did as told, inching toward her on quaking legs. Out of the corner of her eye, Enoch had released Reed, and she noticed the brute had even soiled himself.

When the Duke reached her, Dulce continued, “Speak. Say my name.”

“Leski,” he rasped, his shoulders tense, his demeanor more like that of a boy than a man.

“If you want to save your town, I will need a sacrifice. Just one,” she crooned. “Give me that, and I will return to the depths of the sea. My flowers have gone hungry for much too long. They thirst for blood.” One of her flowers drew forward and snapped its teeth near his cheek.

“Take him!” The Duke’s throat bobbed as he gestured one shaking hand toward Reed, now kneeling in exaggerated fear.

“No!” Reed shouted, but when she glanced at him, Dulce discovered his eyes dancing with laughter for an instant just before he fell to theatrical sobs while the enforcers fled en masse. He clearly knew it was a farce. “Please! I’ll do anything! Don’t let her take me!”

“He is mine then.” Dulce wrapped her fingers one by one around the Duke’s neck and leaned forward. With her other hand, she reached behind him, undoing the clasp of his necklace as she whispered in his ear, “Do sleep well tonight, Duke. And remember, I know all your secrets.”

The tactic was the one Reed had taught her, only now she discovered that fear worked just as well as flirtation to distract.

Dulce released the Duke, and he stumbled backward, his eyes widening.

Now released from La Bisou Morte’s spell, he appeared to comprehend fully the mayhem around him for the first time.

He then fled through his garden toward the palace steps, taking them three at a time, his crown falling with a clank against the marble before he disappeared behind its doors.

No one remained in the garden now. Only Reed.

His gaze met hers, and he clapped his hands as he approached her with a grin. “Beautiful theatrics, Majesty . You put those other ghosts to shame, truly. They should take lessons from you.”

“To my prison in the sea, shall we?”