Page 32 of Song of the Hell Witch

“This isn’t about you, darling. This is about him coming in here, making demands of me.” She shook her head, took another sip of wine. “I won’t stand for it, regardless of who his friends are.”

It was less reaction and more instinct. Prudence pulled her own tune into her center, then sent it exploding outward. The power and rage consumed her from the inside, and the bloodlust was iron on her tongue. Slowly, her talons curled over her nails.

“Let.” Prudence, her mind begged, but she was well past listening. “Him.” Prudence, don’t. “ Go. ”

Even before her wings broke free, she flew across the table.

Seizing Florence by the shoulders, she used her strength and momentum to force her out of the booth.

Marigold grabbed Bea by the waist, dragging her out of the way right before the two of them hit the floor.

The guests in the restaurant leapt out of their tables, most of them racing out of the room like the hotel was on fire.

The succubus’s face changed as she crashed into the tiles.

A film slid over her eyes, the whites suddenly gone, replaced by a burnished gold.

Except for the pupils. The pupils were snake slits, slicing her eye into perfect halves.

Suddenly, Prudence was staring at a viper, this time with human skin and supernatural strength.

Hooked fangs dripping with venom descended from the roof of the succubus’s mouth, accompanied by a horrific squelching noise, and something primal surged up Prudence’s spine.

For the space of two heartbeats, guilt, fear, doubt fled and she transformed into fury and violence, her single desire— survive, survive, survive —now a raw, inescapable need.

She couldn’t hear the caw tearing out of her as the succubus struck at her neck.

She sank her talons into Florence’s side, the blood running hot over her knuckles.

Florence whipped her head back in pain, the fangs receding into her skull.

Prudence’s thoughts returned all at once, a cluster of move faster and run and you have to save them .

Without many choices left, she grabbed hold of the woman’s other side, crushed her legs against her, and rolled with everything she had.

But where Prudence was a rusty, retired street rat, the succubus moved like a skilled warrior, trained for real battles and surprise attacks. Using Prudence’s momentum against her, she forced herself back on top, pinning Pru to the floor.

Prudence kicked at Florence, trying to break free. The wings pressed against her skin, but the pressure of the floor locked them in. Then, before she could do anything about it, the woman grabbed both sides of her head and slammed her skull into the tiles.

Pain punched at the back of her eyes, and sick climbed up her throat. The restaurant’s black wood, the succubus’s crimson gown and golden hair blurred together. Black rings pushed in, promising relief, and she knew she couldn’t give in, but Spheres, she wanted the throbbing to end.

“ Let her go! ” someone screamed beyond the beckoning black. A grunt, a crash, and whoever was putting up the fight fell silent.

Mari. Mari, I’m sorry …

“It’s against my code to kill a fellow Witch,” the succubus said, drawing her back to the fight. “Even some feral Scrape so eagerly defending an oppressor. But when a man commands me after I’ve said no, he doesn’t get a chance to ask again. So, if you’ll let me get back to it …”

She rose, spun around. Prudence clawed at the floor, grabbing for her ankles, anything to keep her away from Puck.

“Please …” she tried one last time, but her vision was failing, and her arms were out of strength, and …

On the passage to Belacanto, a storm had hit the ship hard and fast. The passengers huddled belowdecks, clutching each other, praying they could ride it out.

Prudence hadn’t been able to risk flight, not in weather so severe.

All she’d been able to do was hug her knees and listen as the waves slammed against the hull.

If she hadn’t been so scared, perhaps she’d have marveled at how something as fluid as water could feel so solid, like a thousand battering rams hitting all at once.

That feeling came back as a solid pulse erupted out of nowhere, knocking her backward.

She hit the bar, the wood giving at her back.

Before she could open her eyes, pull the room into focus, another force slammed into her.

The succubus. Pru could feel her shoulder in the hollow of her sternum, stealing the air from her lungs.

“What … are … you … doing?” Prudence forced between her teeth.

“It isn’t …” The succubus’s voice failed her.

That was when Prudence’s mind finally caught up with her ears.

It wasn’t a windstorm or a wave of water that threw them against the bar.

It was a scream, a wail that pulverized her eardrums until she was certain they’d burst. It couldn’t be human.

No, this was the braying of a hundred foxes cornered by a ravenous wolf, thousands of war widows and mothers in Leora crying out for their dead, a storm long trapped inside a hollow, unleashed at last.

She searched the room for the source of the sound, trying to keep hold of her thoughts long enough to formulate some kind of plan to stop it.

Then she saw Marigold, writhing on the ground, caught in the throes of a seizure.

Beside her, a banshee pressed its knuckles into the tiles. Her bottom jaw was unhinged from her face, her mouth thrown wide open. The pink in her cheeks had disappeared; she was corpse white, with black veins spidering out from her temples and something dark as ink devouring the red in her hair.

Her eyes were what scared Prudence the most: jet stones rimmed in deep bruises, cut in half by milky, catlike slits.

The stained glass shattered in the windows. Shards sliced at Prudence’s cheeks, but she couldn’t shield her eyes.

All she could do was watch as Beatrice Reed screamed the world into oblivion.