Page 41 of Song of the Hell Witch

“Come now, Prudence.” The Zeraph’s pale feet came into view as he landed in front of her, his toenails filed to points, another reminder he was no longer a boy but a monster.

He pressed a hand to his side, the wounds from her talons leaking a vibrant red.

“You’re corrupted with the Dark Mother’s magic.

Surely you have more strength than this. ”

The power burrowed deeper, into the depths of her tissue, as if it was trying to reassure her she could survive this.

But she didn’t see how. Even if she defeated him, all the townspeople would see was a Hell Witch slaying one of the Lightbringer’s chosen warriors.

And she couldn’t know for sure, but it seemed like that was what he wanted, to cement the notion that she and her kind were pure evil, a corruption to be rooted out.

But he came closer and the baser instinct, the one that had kept her alive all these years, stirred.

It was quiet at first, an extra flutter in her chest, small electric pulses bounding through her body.

The Vultress woke and Prudence receded. She was still there, still in control, but thoughts that might have held her back, like the concern about the townspeople’s reaction or the fear of the kill, withered and died.

She grabbed hold of her anger, folded it into the surge of energy thrumming within her, and pushed herself to her feet.

“ ‘And He shall smite the wicked and deliver those souls who seek Him into His everlasting Light,’ ” the Zeraph said, quoting the Epistle as he inched closer. “It is not too late to surrender—”

Later, when she revisited this moment, she would forget his righteous drivel and the horrible screams of the crowd warning him to watch out. All she would remember was the feeling and the sound.

Of her fingers, curving into claws. Her calf muscles, contracting as she shoved off her back foot. The impact as she charged, barefoot, across the cobbles.

Her talons, catching him in the side of his neck, like punching through layers of hard-packed leather.

The Zeraph’s blue eyes went wide as the Spheres.

He was shocked, dumbstruck, as if he couldn’t believe his god had betrayed him like this.

As if it had never occurred to him that he might lose.

Blood spewed from his mouth like a geyser, and his face, already alabaster, went gray, eyes webbing with red.

In those last few seconds, the child thief she’d barely known, the one with the small voice, rose to the surface. Instead of a religious zealot or a dark angel, she was looking into the face of a boy. A boy pleading with her to end his agony.

“P-please,” he gurgled, and maybe she wasn’t imagining it. She swore she could see an apology flickering in his eyes: I didn’t mean to get so lost. I didn’t mean to …

Her fingertips had hooked around something slick and rubbery. In her heart, she knew what it was. Clinging to the fury from before, she wrenched her hand forward.

Brom’s eyes slid out of focus. He fell straight back, black bat wings splayed out behind him. Against the cobbles, they looked like a scorch mark, cut in half by a mutilated body.

Prudence threw the thing in her hands onto the ground.

It hit the stones like a slab of raw meat, and the sound brought her to her knees.

Gasps and stunned silence walled her in, and she held her breath and waited for the crowd to charge, for someone to seize her by the arms and drag her to the abbey, where the Apostles would probably put her to the torch in an attempt to prove they weren’t as bloodless as Hale would have the people of Leora believe.

“Well, are any of you men going to do anything?” a woman shouted somewhere close by.

“Yeah, someone get in there and—”

A gunshot exploded from the front of the hotel. Prudence waited for the bullet to smash through her skull. At least it would be quicker than the pyre.

“What part of mortal danger do you lot not understand?” The sonorous voice echoed up and down the street. “A powerful woman has just defeated a real-life Zeraph, and you think you will be the one to stop her? Pride is a sin too, I’ll remind you.”

When she found the will to lift her head, she saw Arcadie gripping a blunderbuss in their hands.

The wide-mouthed barrel cut an awkward diagonal across their chest. Around them, the crowd scattered, though some merely ducked into one of the alleyways along the street, eager to see what happened next.

“This happened at my establishment!” Arcadie hoisted the weapon into the air again. “I’ll deal with it as I see fit, do you hear me?”

“ Heathen! ” someone shouted, another woman’s voice, and Prudence cringed.

She understood why men followed the Faith; after all, it gave them more power, excused their violent tendencies as a means of maintaining that power or keeping women—more prone to disobedience and treachery—in line.

But women? How any woman could follow a religion outside of Druidism, Prudence would never understand.

Arcadie pointed their gun in the direction of the sound. “I suggest you all clear out.”

Most people didn’t hesitate after that. Protesters and onlookers alike dissipated, and Arcadie finally tucked the gun under their arm and strutted toward Prudence, their burgundy tailcoat billowing behind them.

They’d put on a matching top hat, which sat a little crooked, like they’d pinned it to sit purposefully askew.

The sunlight glinted off the black glass of their monocle.

“You fought bravely, Miss Merriweather.” Smiling, they offered their hand to help her up. “Now, I suggest we get inside and move quickly. I smell a mob coming on.”

“H-how …” Prudence started, but the sick came without warning. She retched onto the street. Her gaze fell on the Zeraph’s body, and suddenly she was back inside the manor, watching the blood spill from her husband’s neck. She focused on Arcadie, on the topaz jewel that was their visible eye.

“Mr. Reed’s waiting for you,” they told her.

She took a breath. “He’s alive?”

“Wounded, but yes. A few of the maids are tending to him in the kitchens.” They cocked a mischievous brow. “They’re enjoying themselves quite a bit, I think.”

She wasn’t sure why her ears felt so hot.

“Please. Let’s get inside. Before any more trouble happens.” Arcadie lent her their arm.

“What about the—”

Arcadie waved her off. “I’ll have someone collect the body.”

“We can’t stay here,” Prudence said, leaning her weight against them. “We have to—”

“It’s all taken care of, dear Prudence.” Arcadie squeezed her left hand, the one that wasn’t covered in blood.

“I’m just sorry you and Mr. Reed won’t have the chance to recover more before we start for Stormlash.

But I think it’s best the witch be out of town before the witch hunt begins, don’t you think? ”

“Stormlash.” Her throat was dry and raw as she swallowed. “You know where it is?”

“Of course.” This close, they smelled of black pepper and clove smoke. “And it would be my pleasure to take you.”