Page 36 of Song of the Hell Witch

Prudence steeled her nerves. Then she told him: about Florence coming around to their side of things, about her offer to take Bea to Stormlash while he recovered, about Marigold traveling with the two of them to keep her safe.

“She needed care, Puck, care we couldn’t give her. I knew you’d want to do everything you could to help her, so just trust me when I tell you this was the best option.” She curled her legs beneath her. “It was her choice, though. She’s quite the little adult, your daughter. Fierce and decisive.”

She spotted the beginnings of a grin. “That’s all Jocelyn.”

“She demanded I stay here to protect you, in case the Zeraph and that deranged brother-in-law of mine show up.”

“Demanded? Like she wrote it down, or she …”

The knot in Prudence’s chest let go. Finally, some good news she could relay. “The scream unlocked something. She’s talking again.”

“She … you’re serious?”

“Quite forcefully, I might add.”

“What … what’d she say?”

“She told Florence she wasn’t going anywhere unless someone promised to take care of you once we get there.”

His eyes glistened with tears, and his smile reached his ears. It didn’t last, though. “And you’re sure she’s safe? With this woman?”

“Mari went with her, and she would kill for that girl. But Florence seems pretty dedicated to protecting Hell Witches. And aside from vampiresses, succubi are the most powerful of the lot of us, so yeah. She’s safe.”

“Okay.” He tried to sit up again—and again, he tired out. “When can we leave, do you think?”

“How about we wait until you can sit up? Just a thought.”

“Pru.”

“You’re not making it out the door like this, let alone up a mountain!”

“Did they say they live up on a mountain?”

“Build a hamlet at the base of a mountain, you might as well have a sign that reads Welcome, ye monster hunters, fancy a cuppa before your daily slaughter , don’t you think?”

“Right, but you can fly. So if we—”

“Do you know how exhausted I am?” The frustration hummed at her center. “No, I’m not bedridden, but it’s been a long few days, and I’ve …” Frederick, Frederick, Frederick. Her breaths started to come faster.

Suddenly, she couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking.

Outside of the nightmare at the Honey Pot House, it was the first time life had slowed down enough for her to let it all in.

The sacrifices she’d made to become duchess, the way she’d climbed to the top of Leoran society, only to destroy it in a single night.

And then there was her husband’s blood, forever staining her hands.

“I’ve lost everything I had, and I-I killed my husband and his brother wants me d-d-dead and …” The room blurred into a swarm of colors, golden sparks blinking at her behind her eyelids.

No, not now, please not now.

This was how it always started, a tickle of anger or despair that exploded without warning, trapping her inside a storm of panic.

Her chest caved in, sternum pressing hard against her heart.

She was sure her ribs would collapse. The room evaporated, and she couldn’t get air.

She covered her ears, closed her eyes, expecting to open them and find herself locked in that bedroom, Frederick bleeding out at her feet.

She didn’t know she was still talking, but she was, a stream of unhinged thought spewing out of her as she tried and failed to claw her way back to reality.

“And all those people in Talonsbury, all those people, they saw, oh Spheres, they saw me, what I am, and what if we can never … what if I came back just to …”

Something cold and firm closed around her wrist. Puck’s hand.

The storm rolled back. Puck had managed to drag himself over to the edge of the bed, close enough to touch her. He was shaking as he peered up at her, his smile a bit strained.

“Smoke and shadows, Spitfire. It’s all just smoke and shadows.

” They were the same words he’d used twenty years ago when he first found her balled up in the corner of the Plantagenet, and then every time he’d stumbled upon her gripping her hair between her fingers, unable to get her breathing under control.

Sometimes he’d do exactly what he was doing now, grab her wrist and squeeze until she came back to him.

Sometimes he’d pull her close and whistle a song, rocking her to the rhythm until the storm subsided.

The second time she fell in love with him was after one of her storms. She’d come out of it to find his lips pressed to her forehead. “I’m here with you,” he’d whispered, words tickling her skin. “I’m right here.”

A year later, she’d watched him sprint down the docks, shouting her name as a ship bore her out to sea.

There, in the hotel room, he swooned.

“Puck!” She caught him before he fell out of bed. She tilted him back onto the mattress, propping him up against the pillows. The back of his neck was slick with cold sweat. Nervous, she leaned over him, pressing her palm to his cheek. “Hey.”

“Fuck.” He opened his eyes. “How long’s this s’posed to fucking last?”

“A day or two, I think.”

“Perfect. Nothing I love more than being absolutely worthless.” He groaned. Then his features softened, and he slid a hand up onto her shoulder. “You all right?”

“Fine.” Heat flushed across her collarbone, and she retreated to the end of the bed, hugging her legs in as a sort of barrier to the feelings lingering in the space between them. “You didn’t have to … I mean, I can calm myself down now. Eventually.”

“Why wait for eventually?” He played with the buttons on his shirt, like he was only just discovering they existed. “First storm in a while?”

Prudence crossed her legs at the ankles and pulled everything in tighter. “No. I’ve had a few in the last year.”

“How many?”

“One, maybe two a month.”

His eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you were happy.”

“I was.” But she thought of how her skin had caught fire whenever she’d stepped into a ballroom, all of those eyes watching, waiting for her to make a mistake, reveal the miscreant hiding under the elegant mask. “I just … I wasn’t always …”

“You?”

The pit in her stomach unleashed a painful pulse. “Honestly, I’m not sure who I am anymore. Like which parts are the Duchess of Talonsbury and which parts are actually me? It’s all gotten blurred and confused. Like … like I gave away little parts of myself until I was someone else.”

He nodded once. “I get it.”

“Please. You were born a Thief Lord.”

“But not a father.” He folded his hands on top of his chest and twiddled his thumbs, a small burst of energy returning. “Look, I love my little girl. I’d die for her. But you have kids and the you that you were sort of …”

“Dies?”

“Mmm. Shifts is probably a better word. Your heart’s not inside you anymore, that’s the thing. It’s running around in the world. And you’re scared all the fucking time.”

Her wings shifted, as if they were taking their own breath. Something trembled up her spine, a desire to move closer. She surrendered a little, let herself lean in, brush her arm against his. “For what it’s worth, I’ve spotted the wild thief more than once since we left home.”

This time, when he straightened up, he managed to stay upright, his strength filtering back in fragments. “Still got one or two tricks left.”

“More than I can say.”

“You got us outta Talonsbury. Fought off a succubus. Gotta be pretty scrappy to do all that, Spitfire.”

“Spitfire.” The nickname was honey in her blood. “I used to think you were being mean, you know. Calling me that.”

“Me? Mean? Never.”

“Oh, so that wasn’t you who put cockroaches in my bed or trapped me in an alley so you could get back to Standish first and get all the credit for that job in the Stacks?”

He chuckled, the gray rings around his eyes receding little by little. “Spitfire was always a compliment. Only word I had to describe you.”

Instinctively, she reached for her necklace, running her thumb over the stone. She wasn’t sure whether she should ask the question, if it would be crossing some kind of line. Eventually, she couldn’t help it. “And what did you call Jocelyn?”

Another swallow, slow and forced. “Darling.”

“ Darling ?” She tried not to snort. “Bit old-fashioned, isn’t it?”

“I prefer refined.”

Refined. If there was a word that described Puck less, she didn’t know it. And she was starting to remember exactly what it was that drew her to him in the first place, the mischief and the mystery he exuded, even back when she knew all of his secrets.

“Could I have some water?” He pointed to the pitcher resting atop the tray Arcadie brought in. “I’d get it, but I think Bea liquified my kneecaps.”

“I’ll excuse it this once.” She stood, and as she started to shuffle forward, he caught her hand.

“I …” He waited, staring hard at the love knot inked around her wrist. His thumb brushed the end of the painted thread, and as he let go, she realized her head was spinning. “This was nice.”

Nice was an improvement over hostile. “Hang on to that feeling. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us. Not to mention what will likely be a five-course meal to get through tonight.”

Intrigue sparked at the center of his eyes. “A meal, eh?”

“We’ve got to get your strength back somehow,” she said. “Let’s start with the water.”