Page 34 of Song of the Hell Witch

It was quaint and cozy, with an armchair nestled up against the fireplace, candles on the mantel, and a tin tub for bathing.

An oak wardrobe sat up against the left-hand wall.

The bed was positioned between two large windows, and after they heaved Puck up onto the mattress, Prudence threw them open to let the fresh air in.

She had no idea where they were in the hotel, though it was far enough away that the shouts from the street were mere echoes, a faint undercurrent of sound cut by shouts she knew had to be the Watch arriving.

Just below the window was a small courtyard hedged in rosebushes.

A fountain stood at the center, anchored by a woman with her arms stretched to the sky, water dribbling down her body before pooling at her feet.

Prudence stared at the fountain for a long time, listening to the bubbling water, its rhythm drawing her into a kind of trance. She left her body for a moment and her thoughts, cataclysmic and determined to ruin her, went blissfully quiet.

Until Florence’s voice forced her right back into the fray.

“I am sorry. Truly.” She wandered over to the hearth, perching her elbow up on the mantel. “I … I’ve never seen Subversal before. The other Sisters have, but I didn’t know what it looked like. If I’d known there was a Subversed banshee in front of me, I would have helped, I promise you.”

“What the hell did you think was wrong with her, hmm?” Prudence wanted to throttle her. “I’m a Scrape, and even I knew what was wrong the first time I saw her!”

“I wasn’t really paying attention to her, okay? I was more focused on your shithead man there.”

“Did … did you say banshee?” Beatrice sat curled at the foot of Puck’s bed, one of her skinny little hands on her father’s ankle, the other gripping the footboard.

Marigold, leaning against the wardrobe like she was close to fainting, jolted up at the sound of Beatrice’s voice.

She locked eyes with Prudence across the room, mouth falling open.

“I did.” Florence gave Bea a tight smile. “That’s what you are, little one.”

“Don’t call me little one ,” Bea said, her voice more of a growl, and for the first time, the succubus’s smile snapped into a grimace. The color in Bea’s cheeks was starting to fade again, shifting back to that gray-blue pallor from before. “Don’t call me anything unless you can wake him up.”

Florence’s eyes narrowed. She studied Bea from head to toe, like she could see something moving beneath the surface of her skin. “How long have you been sick?”

“A year,” Bea answered, and Florence jolted back, as though the answer shocked her. “W-why?”

“It’s just … I mean, again, I’m not really a reader, so I don’t know much about Subversal, but that’s an exceptionally long time to live with something that dangerous.

Not to mention Subversal is supposed to have certain internal effects.

” Florence took a few steps closer to the bed, stopping when Bea leaned away from her.

“Hetty, our leader, she said that for her, the magic was harder to control, even after her transformation finally took.”

“Your leader was Subversed?” Pru asked.

Florence nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on Bea.

“And I’m pretty sure that the first few days after the symptoms subside are still extremely dangerous.

You could relapse entirely—or worse, believe you’re relapsing, lose your sanity to phantom pain, and hurt the people around you.

” Florence looked to Marigold and Prudence.

“I wouldn’t exactly call her safe just yet. ”

The anger on Bea’s face slid into wide-eyed fear. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Of course you don’t, sweet child.” Florence glanced around the room, making eye contact with each one of them.

Prudence wasn’t sure what she was thinking, what she might say next, but she sensed the truth: Bea wasn’t out of danger.

Not yet. “I have a proposal, but I’m not sure how you all will take it.

And one of your party”—her gaze fell to Puck—“likely won’t be awake by the time it must be made. ”

Prudence locked eyes with Mari. She opened her mouth to answer, then realized she didn’t have the right.

Mari was Bea’s second mother, the closest thing she had to a conscious parent in the room; Prudence was a stranger, someone who had snuck into Beatrice’s home in the dead of night and blown everything to hell.

“What?” Mari asked, and it was obvious how hard she had to work not to look at Puck half dead on the bed.

“Let me take the girl to my home. Like I said, Hetty Jones, the leader of our band of Daughters, she survived Subversal herself some fifty years ago. She’s studied it ever since.

She’ll know exactly how to keep you safe, Beatrice.

The place isn’t too far; it’s a little hamlet up in the Wild Fangs called—”

“Stormlash,” Prudence finished for her. “We know. Puck rushed in here because we heard you might be able to help us find it. And then you nearly killed him.”

“All right, yes , I made a mistake. I don’t know how many more times I can apologize before I absolutely lose my mind.

” The succubus clapped her hands together, but not hard enough to make a sound.

“Arcadie was right, okay? I can help you get there. And I will absolutely help her.” She pointed to Bea.

“The question is, how do I know helping you”—she redirected her fingers toward Prudence and Mari—“won’t put me and my Sisters in danger? ”

Prudence hoped Florence couldn’t sense her panic. “How would we put you in danger?”

“You tell me. The girl’s clothes are filthy, you are masquerading as a man, and quite poorly, I might add, and the three of you look like you haven’t bathed or slept in days. My guess? You’re running from something.”

Paris and Brom flickered in her mind. Prudence doubted Florence would help them if she told her about their narrow escape from Talonsbury. Why risk leading a Zeraph and the newest Duke of Talonsbury to Stormlash when she could abandon them instead?

She debated telling her part of the truth, at least what Imogen knew: that she’d killed the most powerful man in the country and needed shelter before she was caught and executed.

It’s not a lie.

“I’m the Duchess of Talonsbury,” she finally said, to Marigold’s apparent horror. “A few nights ago, an assassin broke into my house. I … changed , my instincts took over, and in the scuffle, I killed my husband.”

“You killed Frederick Talonsbury? War hero and Hell Witch fetishizer Frederick Talonsbury?” Florence let out a triumphant laugh. “Good for you; that man was a plague on women. Dark Mother’s mercy, I—”

“Yes.” The guilt rose up, hot bile bubbling at the base of her sternum.

Or perhaps it wasn’t guilt. Perhaps it was disgust. Disgust with Frederick for what he was.

Disgust with herself for putting up with it.

“Anyway, there you have it. I’m the most wanted woman in the country.

These three helped me escape the city, along with another Hell Witch …

or Spectabra Daughter, I guess, as you say. Imogen.”

“Imogen?” Florence’s face lit up, and Prudence wanted to melt into the floor. What have you done? “You ran into Imogen?”

“She … she was captured. By …” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marigold shaking her head, the movement so subtle Florence probably couldn’t see it. “By the City Watch.”

Florence laughed again. “Your City Watch against a succubus? I’d love to see that. She’s probably sitting in Stormlash’s library right now, drinking some tea and reading one of her books.”

“So will you help us or not?” Marigold asked. Prudence could have kissed her for diverting the subject back to the matter at hand.

“Once a woman asks for my help, I rarely refuse her.” Florence looked at Bea. “Come with me, and not only will I make sure you’re healed of your Subversal, but we, the Ladies of Leora, will train you to harness the true nature of your power, refine it and turn it into something useful, Miss …”

“It’s Bea.” Beatrice stood; her small hands balled into fists. “But that’s only to friends. You call me Beatrice until I say so.” The more she spoke, the more obvious it became. She was sharp, quick-tempered, impulsive to a fault.

Every bit her father’s daughter.

Florence seemed pleased. “Beatrice, yes. We’ll teach you everything you’ll ever need to know.” Her gaze shifted back to Prudence. “We don’t just teach young pupils. Scrapes are welcome too. Refined or not, we never turn away Daughters who come seeking shelter.”

Prudence wasn’t sure if it was fury or heartbreak eating its way through her chest. She’d hoped the Ladies of Leora would be different, that living as pariahs might have made them less judgmental, less willing to sort people into different castes or categories.

But then, she was human, wasn’t she? Selfish and stubborn and mean as all hell when she wanted to be.

Which meant they were human too; judgment and cruelty came with the territory.

“And us?” Marigold asked, gesturing to Puck, who Prudence still refused to look at. “Can we come with you?”

“ You are more than welcome.” Florence eyed Puck. “He—”

“Is my father.” Bea’s voice was strong as iron. “He’s coming with …”

She trailed off, and her grip on the footboard tightened. Swaying on her feet, she staggered backward. Marigold rushed over, falling down beside the bed. “You all right?”

The girl pinched the bridge of her nose. When she let go, a trail of blood dribbled out of her right nostril. “No …”

“Here.” Florence stretched out a plump, rosy hand. Bea looked at it like she would a spider. “My chamber is just across the hall. I have some tea that might steady you.”

“Not more fireroot,” Bea whimpered.

“No, this is much stronger than fireroot. And it will get you in shape to travel tomorrow.” When Bea refused her hand, she once again turned to Prudence. “She needs to get to Stormlash. Within the next few days. But I don’t think her father will be ready to travel for a little while.”

For the first time, Prudence let herself look. Puck’s skin was still tinged with blue, and she had to watch his chest rise and fall to convince herself he wasn’t dead. She resisted the urge to run to him, to take his hand and call him back to her. It wasn’t her place. Not anymore.

“We’re not leaving him here, not with the Watch on high alert.” Her mind, exhausted, tried to formulate some kind of plan. “We could try nicking a carriage. Mari, you and Puck did that the night of the ball, right?”

Mari’s mouth dropped into an exaggerated frown. “I mean, I’m not sure …” The pretense fell in time with her shoulders. “All right, yes, we did, but—”

“A carriage will draw too much attention, and there’s already enough of that as it is,” Florence interjected.

“We’re in one of the most private corners of the hotel, reserved especially for the Ladies of Leora.

Steal a carriage, that’s another reason for the Watch to go on full alert, and five of us traveling the roads will be too obvious. ”

The succubus’s lips pursed, and she shifted them side to side, thinking.

“How about this? When Beatrice and I arrive at Stormlash, we’ll go speak to Hetty right away.

I’ll explain things, and perhaps with a little persuading and some of that strong will of yours, Beatrice, she’ll allow your father to convalesce with us.

I think it’s safe to say we won’t do him any favors if we let you get sick again, and it’s best we split up for ease of travel.

Don’t you want him to wake up and know you’re okay? That you’re on your way to safety?”

Bea wilted, perhaps in exhaustion or understanding or both.

Prudence wasn’t sure what to do, what to say.

It was part of the reason she’d never wanted to be a mother.

What if she told her child the wrong thing or made the wrong choice?

She couldn’t stand the thought of fucking up something so important.

“We’ll leave at sunrise,” Florence continued.

“I’ll stay with Puck,” Marigold said.

But Bea shook her head. “I don’t wanna travel alone with”—her bottom lip quivered—“sorry, Prudence, but with two strangers. Prudence, you’re stronger anyway; you can protect him if that … that thing comes back.”

Both Marigold and Prudence stiffened as Florence cocked an icy brow. “Thing? What thing?”

Prudence and Marigold exchanged quick glances. This was their chance to tell Florence about Paris and the Zeraph, to reveal the truth of what had happened to Imogen—and risk her abandoning them altogether.

It’s been days. They have to have given up by now. Besides, Paris will be taking his rightful place as the new duke. He’ll be too busy to hunt me.

They needed Florence to take Bea, to help her get better.

And Prudence needed Stormlash’s protection.

“Back in Talonsbury, there was a guard,” Prudence said, the lie like ashes on her tongue. “Bea’s fever was so high, she thought it was a monster.”

Bea’s brows stitched. For a second, Prudence thought she was about to expose her lie, but then her mind apparently caught up. “God, I was really sick, wasn’t I?”

A strange silence stretched on for so long, Prudence was sure Florence suspected something.

Like she knew they needed rescuing, Bea swung her legs over the side of the bed and wandered over to Florence.

She lifted her chin up, making direct eye contact, facing Florence the way a soldier might an enemy.

“I’ll do it. I’ll drink your tea and I’ll go to Stormlash.

But you have to promise to take care of Puck when he gets there. ”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I don’t want your best. I want your word.” Bea stuck her hand out, palm flat. “Deal?”

Prudence made a note to tell Puck exactly how badass his little girl was. Standing on that rug, with that defiant look on her face and a fire burning bright in her blue eyes, she looked so much like him—and like the woman from the frame on his mantel.

Like Jocelyn.

Florence’s lips curled into an impressed smile as she took Bea’s hand and nodded. “My word is my bond.”