Page 11 of Song of the Hell Witch

She was afraid if she pushed him, he’d throw her out onto the street. But morning was only a few hours away, and without the cover of darkness, she would never escape the city walls. “I know where I need to go next, if that helps.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then why are you—”

She plunged her hand into her cloak pocket and drew out the card. It was damp, but the writing, embossed in burnished amber, was still legible. He took it, squinting at the letters.

“The Stormlash Hamlet for Leoran Women,” he said. “What’s that, some kind of safe house?”

“I don’t know. There was a woman in Vivichi. She was … like me.”

“She had wings?”

“No, but she was a Hell Witch. A vampiress.” She was too tired, too frazzled to explain beyond that. “She talked about a sisterhood in the Wild Fangs. It’s been twelve years, but someone here obviously wants me dead, so it’s worth a—”

“Hang on, you want me to take you to the Wild Fangs ?” Puck cackled. “You’re not serious.”

“Not all the way! I just need you to get me out of Talonsbury. After that, you’ll never have to think of me again, I swear.”

He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you understand the risk you’re asking me to take?”

“Since when does Puck Reed care about risks?”

His face darkened and he opened his mouth, ready to retort, but he bit his lip instead. “Get dressed. Call when you’re decent.”

He ducked back under the arch, leaving her alone again.

The rain pattered like pebbles against the window, and she fell into its rhythm as she threw off her cloak and slid out of what was left of her nightgown.

The ruined satin pooled around her ankles.

She kicked the gown away and stepped into the trousers, a rich burgundy with wide-cut legs.

Puck had been right about the hips, but the bow around the waist knotted tight enough to hold them up.

She shrugged the shirt on, rolling the sleeves up to her elbows. She’d nearly fastened the buttons when a hinge creaked behind her, and gooseflesh erupted up her arms. Someone had opened a door, a door she didn’t know was there.

Her wings, still folded up, flexed and shifted on both sides of her spine, preparing for release. Breathing to drive away the fear, she whipped around.

Prudence and the girl both startled. She was small, maybe eight or nine, with fox-red curls and bare feet that stuck out beneath a tartan nightgown.

The bookshelf behind her swung wide, revealing a wooden staircase running up a brick wall.

Candlelight trickled down the steps. Beyond the girl’s calves, Prudence spied another set of stairs descending the opposite wall.

The faint stench of mildew wafted into the sitting room.

Below, she could hear water slapping against stone.

Standish’s secret passageway. She’d forgotten about it.

The little girl relaxed, the familiar tilt of her head too eerie for Prudence’s nerves to take.

“Um …” Prudence began. She found the girl’s silence startling. “Are you looking for Puck?”

The girl blinked at her. Prudence’s palms beaded with sweat.

So many of the Silk ladies she knew said motherhood was a blessing, considered their children gifts from the Lightbringer.

But she’d never had the desire to surrender her body to another human being, to risk her life or sacrifice her freedom for the chance to bring someone new into the world.

And she wasn’t particularly comfortable around kids either.

“Puck!” Prudence didn’t shout, afraid of the thin walls and the open window. She prayed he could hear her.

He strolled into the room, then froze midstep. “Oh fuck.”

The girl’s brows stitched tight, and she crossed her arms and glowered at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Puck said to her. “I was gonna tell you in the morning; I just wanted you to get some sleep.”

The girl sighed, her body wilting with her breath. Puck walked over and crouched down, crooning “Hey” as he took her little hands in his.

Prudence’s stomach lurched as a new suspicion began to flower.

“Was it a nightmare or a fit?” Puck asked the girl, and when she flashed two fingers, Prudence finally understood.

The girl was mute. Her hair clung to her glistening forehead, and the more she looked at her, the more she noticed the blue tint to her fingers, the gray circles under her eyes. “How’d it start this time?”

The girl’s stare was cold, dead. A vein tensed in Puck’s neck.

“Right. Sorry, I should’ve guessed.” His hands found her shoulders. “Helena said your fever came down a bit; you still feeling better?”

The girl shook her head, and as Puck stiffened, Prudence’s suspicion cemented into certainty. There was no denying the way he looked at her, how gentle he was as he tucked her hair behind her ear.

The girl pointed at Prudence, and all she wanted was to melt into the wall, break through the window and take off.

“Right. So.” Puck stood, adopting the posture of a man poised before a firing squad.

“Bea, this is Prudence Merriweather, the Duchess of Talonsbury. She’s an old …

uh … friend .” He forced the last word out and shrugged at Prudence, and this time, she knew exactly what he was saying: You were gone for twelve years.

What did you expect? “Pru, this is Beatrice Emery Reed.” He paused long enough to let her heart tear. “My daughter.”