Page 35 of Song of the Hell Witch

Eighteen

Prudence woke in the armchair to a pounding on the door. Late-morning sunlight slanted through the latticed glass of the windows, blinding after nearly a week of nighttime traveling.

Prior to locking her and a still-slumbering Puck in the night before, Florence had given Prudence a single directive: “Do not leave this room until Arcadie comes to fetch you. They don’t know you’re here, and they can’t find you if they don’t know you’re here.

” Her eyes had been sharp, severe. “Let Arcadie come up with a cover story before you make any moves.”

Prudence held her breath, searching the room for a weapon she could brandish.

An iron poker rested beside the fireplace, and as she forced herself to her bare, blistered feet, yesterday’s events rushed back to her.

A terrible ache settled into her hips, her calves, her shoulders.

Even her fingers hurt as she gripped the poker’s handle.

Puck. She whipped around, squinting toward the bed. Puck lay still as death itself, but his lips had pinked up a little. A whisper of red bloomed in his cheeks.

The knock came again, shocking her back to the present danger. The Watch. Brom. Paris. All of them coming for her.

“Miss Merriweather?” a voice called from the other side of the door. “It’s Arcadie. I’ve come with your breakfast.”

Every muscle in her body relaxed. With a sigh of relief, she released the poker back into its stand. “Coming!” she belted, hoping that between the shout and the clang of the metal, she might rouse Puck.

He didn’t stir.

She padded over to the door and wrenched it open.

Arcadie stood with a tray balanced in their hands—a tray bursting with coffee and fresh-baked bread, salted butter and brown sugar cinnamon.

“Breakfast. Compliments of the hotel chef. I told him it was for Lady Florence, so he made all her favorites.” They gestured through the door. “May I …”

“Of course, come in.” Pru was lightheaded, ravenous, and the promise of food made her mouth water as she followed Arcadie back to the armchair.

They set the tray down on the side table, then folded their hands together and looked Puck over. The light gleamed on their bald head, shimmered across their taffeta tailcoat, a gorgeous burgundy. “He’s still resting, then?”

“Recovering, I hope.” She made a grab for the coffee, piping hot in the mug. She added cream and honey and stirred with the small spoon they’d provided.

There had never been a more perfect first sip in the history of the world.

She allowed herself a few more before she turned to the hotelier again. “Listen, Arcadie. About the mess yesterday. I’m sorry if we cost you—”

“Nothing to worry about, Miss Merriweather. We’ve had bandits raid our kitchens, bar fights break out. The staff and I are quite used to cleaning up messes. Though I will say, you and Mr. Reed should stay here for at least the next day. Wait for suspicions to cool.”

Arcadie traced her entire body from head to toe, and the grimace on their face told her she either looked like a half-drowned rat or smelled like week-old garbage.

“Would you care for a bath? While that’s going, I’ll take a look through my personal wardrobe, see if I can’t find you some”—their eyebrow curved high as they studied her stolen clothes—“ better gentleman’s wear, hmm?

After that, see that you toss all of that into the fireplace? ”

Prudence had barely heard anything past the first sentence. “Did you say bath ?”

Arcadie smiled. “Give me five minutes.”

True to their word, they returned with two kettles of boiling water in their hands, plus a towel and a bar of soap tucked under their arm. In another five minutes, steam curled over the rim of the tub and a fire roared in the hearth.

All the while, Puck slept on.

“Might I ask, Miss Merriweather,” Arcadie said as they knelt down beside the tub and dropped what looked like a globe of soap into the water.

The fresh scent of lavender and mint flooded the room.

“Would you want to join me for dinner later this evening? Mr. Reed is of course invited too, if he’s able.

There’s a secret dining room just off your chambers here, and I thought a nice night of normal might—”

“That-would-be-lovely.” It all tumbled out at once, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, embarrassed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound so desperate. It’s just been a while since I’ve eaten anything other than stale pastries and dry bread.”

“Well, I can assure you, tonight’s menu will be a bit more diverse.

” Arcadie stood up, nodding toward the bath.

“Now, don’t stay in there too long. You don’t want to prune.

Like I said, I’ll take a look through my own wardrobe for you, and I’ll have one of the bellboys find Mr. Reed some fresh clothes.

For now, feel free to use the robes in the wardrobe. ”

They were gone before Prudence could thank them, closing the door behind them with the skill of an assassin.

Turning back to the tray of food, she finished her coffee first, then drizzled honey and butter over the bread, sprinkled it with a dash of cinnamon, and devoured it in three bites.

With the sugar rushing pleasantly in her bloodstream and the bathwater still hot enough to steam, she slipped out of her ragged clothes and stepped into the tub.

Her entire body sighed in relief. The temperature was still close to scalding, which she preferred. She’d always found some pleasure in pain.

She drew her knees in, then dipped her head under, relishing the silence and stillness beneath the water.

As she focused on holding her breath, her mind relinquished every other thought.

For one splendid second, she wasn’t a Hell Witch or a murderess.

She just was . And it was enough to breathe new life into her tired body, to remind her she was strong enough to make it through this next part on her own.

Florence, Mari, and Beatrice had left at sunrise. That meant she and Puck would be journeying to Stormlash alone—and since Puck couldn’t even stand up, Prudence knew she’d have to take the brunt of the labor to get them there.

In the quiet, she thought of what Florence had said as they’d shared a single glass of wine in her all-too-elegant suite the night before.

“We all deserve a place where we can live without apology, Prudence. Not just Spectabra Daughters, but every Leoran woman. Stormlash could be that for you. My advice?” She’d leaned in closer, so close that, for a second, Prudence had thought she might kiss her.

“Don’t let anything get between you and what you deserve. ”

Her air ran out. She grabbed the edges of the tub and sprang up, sucking in one breath after another.

“Pru?” The voice behind her was weak and rasping.

“Lightbringer’s loins!” She lifted her hands out of the tub in surprise, splattering water over the sides. Some of the spare droplets landed in the fireplace, where they sizzled and dried on the stones. “Puck! You’re awake!”

“Clever you.”

She hugged her arms around her breasts and squeezed her eyes shut, as if her not seeing him would fix the fact that he could see her just fine. At least she thought he could.

Slowly, carefully, she glanced over her shoulder.

He was either deliberately staring up at the ceiling or couldn’t sit up on his own.

“Just, um … oh, fuck it.” Plenty of men—this one included—had already seen her naked. What did it matter?

Abandoning her modesty, she leapt out of the tub and grabbed the towel off the floor. She patted herself down and reached up to squeeze the water from her hair, only to remember there was so little of it left. Wringing out her short brown waves, she wrapped the towel around her body like a dress.

She hurried over to the wardrobe and dressed quickly, pulling on the lady’s robe, a rich burgundy warm as fleece and detailed in velvet ivy. Skin damp, shorn hair still dripping, she wandered over to the bed and eased herself down beside him.

“How are you feeling?” She hoped she could get him to gripe about his pain, put off the news about Beatrice for at least a little longer.

“Like a horse kicked me in the chest, then said Fuck it, let’s trample him too .” He grunted, plunging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Where’s Bea?”

Fuck.

“She’s … um …”

Panic broke across his face, gray-rimmed eyes swelling wide. He pushed himself up, like he was going to climb out of bed, but his body couldn’t take the sudden movement and he slumped back against the pillows. Heaving in exhausted breaths, he glared at her. “Where’s my daughter, Prudence?”

Prudence. He’d never called her by her full name before. His nostrils flared, jaw clenching tight.

“She’s fine.” On instinct, she took his hand and squeezed. “But she’s not here.”

“So where is she?”

“She and Marigold, they …” Left with a Hell Witch because your daughter’s developed this shriek that can turn your organs into stew. “You were dying, okay? There wasn’t a choice, not really. I lunged at the succubus, and it must have scared Bea, really scared her, because she let out this—”

“Scream.” He closed his eyes again. “I remember. It was like everything in me was trying to come apart. Like my insides were all wrong.” He lifted his free hand and kneaded at his chest, like he was trying to massage a knot. “Bea did that?”

“Not all of it, no. The succubus was the one who nearly did you in, but …” She recalled the tremor rocketing through her bones, every cell threatening to split in two when Bea first screamed. “Bea didn’t help matters. Banshees, they’re—”

“Banshee?” He pulled out of her grasp, the color fleeing his cheeks. “My little girl’s a banshee?”

With a jaw that comes unhinged and eyes that turn black and veins that swell with shadow, yes. “Could be worse,” she said instead. “She could be dead.”

“Yeah. Dead’s … dead’s worse.” His face convulsed, twisting from confusion to relief before settling on anger. “Still haven’t told me where she is.”