Page 5 of Song of the Hell Witch

Three

In general, Puck Reed believed he’d become more patient in the last eight years. Where he used to jump headfirst into situations without thinking them through, he now breathed through his impulses. All he had to do was imagine Bea’s face and boom . Rash decision quashed.

But if this cockpuss Watchman jabbed him with his stick one more time …

“Listen, mate, we’re leaving!” Puck whipped around, baring his fists, at which point the Watchman flung his spear around, blade pointed at his sternum.

Marigold shrieked beside him, her boots stuttering along the white cobblestone drive.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He dug deep, found the silver-tongued salesman he’d become in the last few years.

Flash the smile. Shrug the shoulders. “What I’m saying is, you don’t have to be such a prick about it, you know? ”

“Your name’s Hornsby, right?” Marigold stepped between Puck and the guard, adopting what she referred to as her honeybee voice.

The Watchman grunted, obviously a little confused by Mari, the depth of her voice, how her shoulders were a bit fuller than the average woman’s. Puck, Arthur, and Marney all tensed, ready to defend her if need be.

“Yes. William.”

Puck breathed easier as William set the spear down by his side.

“William. Lovely name,” Marigold cooed. “Listen, William, you have my word. We’re headed straight down to the Podge, absolutely no side ventures, not even to smell those beautiful roses out in the front gardens. Really, they’re gorgeous. Did you plant those?”

Hornsby shook his extremely bulbous head. “Duke Talonsbury has a gaffer for them. But … they’re pretty, yeah? Bit like you.”

“Oh.” Marigold twirled one of her black curls between her fingers. Shameless. She was absolutely shameless. Puck stifled a laugh. “You’re too kind. Go on, go back to your party and keep all those lovely people safe.”

“ You .” Hornsby pointed at Puck. “We’ve been ordered to shoot you on sight if you ever come ’round here again. Stay down there in your little rat kingdom, all right?”

If he had a gun, half the muscles this oaf had, and about four more inches, Puck definitely would’ve taken a swing at him. It probably would have been the last punch he ever threw, but at least he’d die knowing he gave the shithead a good fight.

He opted for a sarcastic bow instead. “Come grab a pint at the Twisted Turtle sometime. Got some people there who’d love to knock your teeth out, big man.”

Hornsby growled in reply before turning his back, loafing up the manor’s marble steps.

Puck took one last look at the magnificent house, its rows of windows like spider eyes staring into his soul.

Part of him wondered which of the rooms belonged to Prudence, though he was pretty sure he could guess.

She’d always wanted a balcony, a place where she could welcome the rain, and there was one centered on the third floor, secured by an iron railing.

He pictured her with her arms spread wide, tilting her face up to the clouds.

She’d told him once why she loved rainstorms so much, but he’d forgotten the reason, scrubbed it from his mind along with all the rest.

Almost all the rest. Sticking his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he clasped her pendant tight.

“Boss.”

Arthur always sounded like he had gravel in his throat, a consequence of inhaling fumes and smoke and Hell itself during his time in the steel factory. He liked to tease the rest of them, tell them all he’d be dead in a few years.

But Puck knew firsthand what Storm Lung looked like. He knew he wasn’t teasing.

“We walking?” Arthur rasped.

“Probably the safer decision, walking.” Marney, who didn’t sound much better than her husband, peered up at the sky. “But it sure as shit looks like rain. And a cold rain at that.”

Puck weighed his options. It was a good two-hour hike back down to Talonsbury proper. Two hours for the rain to soak them all through and curse Marney and Arthur with dangerous colds. Two more hours for Puck to be away from Bea.

Or …

He studied the drive, bone white in the moonlight.

Along the manicured hedges, the carriages and their horses were unsupervised, the leather reins fastened to iron posts.

In his infinite compassion, the Duke of Talonsbury had invited all the drivers to dine with the household servants, play a few rounds of Kettle and dice before they took their respective Silks home.

As a very young boy with minimal prospects, Puck had wanted to be a carriage driver. He thought he’d look important in the top hat and the stiff-collared coat.

Follow your bliss, eh?

Marigold sauntered over to him. “I see those cogs turning. What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking it’s a real shame to leave a bunch of horses abandoned like this. We should probably let one of them stretch their legs, yeah? And if the carriage happens to end up in Crow’s Head Plaza, who’s to say the horse didn’t just take itself for a little ride?”

“Feeling the old thief stir tonight, eh?”

He let out a small laugh. “Maybe a bit.”

“Don’t suppose it’s got anything to do with—”

Here we fucking go. “Shut your mouth and come on.”

Arthur and Marney followed behind them as they bolted toward the carriage at the front of the line. With its massive black horse and dark lanterns, it felt more like a vessel meant to shepherd the Dark Mother out of Hell, but it blended with the night, the perfect advantage.

“Hey, boy.” Puck clicked at the stallion, patting his nose.

Ever since Beatrice was born, his heart had beat a little faster, eternally panicked whenever she was more than two feet away from him.

The only time that panic settled was when he was close to another living thing that reminded him of his little girl’s innocence: stray puppies, feral kittens, and horses tied to posts outside estate homes.

The stallion snorted as Arthur helped Marney up into the carriage. Meanwhile, Puck and Marigold clambered up onto the driver’s seat, the cracked black leather rough in Puck’s callused hands.

A familiar hummingjay giddiness took flight inside him. There had been a time when stealing a carriage was small potatoes, a take so easy he could’ve done it half asleep. It had always been rewarding, plucking a bit of shine out of the Silks’ glimmering lives.

But then he’d met Jocelyn, and Jocelyn had had Beatrice. And his world and his life and what mattered had all changed. For the last decade, he’d been perfectly happy selling secondhand and stolen goods at the Curiosity Shop on Groundrow Bridge.

Still, the thrill of the take, that first burst of energy as he pitched headlong into danger, was lightning in his blood.

He reminded himself not to shout with glee as he snapped the reins and the carriage wheels rattled along the cobblestones.

For the first half of the journey, Mari sang one of the lullabies Jocelyn used to sing to Bea when she couldn’t sleep.

It was about a Hell Witch with the power to turn into a mermaid.

Lonely in her life at sea, she gathered the dolphins and the whales and even the sea monsters together, and they all created their own unique language so they could be each other’s family.

More than once in the last year, Puck had tried singing the same song to Bea, but she always grabbed his wrist and squeezed, telling him to stop. It was fair, he supposed. He didn’t know all the words, and he couldn’t hold a tune to save his own life.

“Could you … uh …” He hacked up a cough. “You mind finding a different song?”

“Or we could talk about Pru.”

He exhaled a long, tired breath. “No.”

“Think we should.”

“ No … ”

“Hey, Puck!” Marney’s voice echoed behind him. He didn’t turn around. “Weren’t that Pru back there? That the first time you’ve seen her since—”

“He doesn’t want to talk about it, Marney, thank you!” Mari shouted. The old woman muttered something, then ducked back inside the carriage. “No, really, how are you feeling, is it more like your heart’s fallen out of your ass, or is it—”

“Mare, I will shove you off this seat.” He wrenched the reins back. Mist fell around them, clinging to his face like a cobweb. “I’m fine, all right? I just wanna get home, get to Bea, make sure she’s not … having another fit.”

The crease between Marigold’s brows deepened. “You told me those stopped a few months back.”

“Yeah, well, they started again.” The worry hit him like a battering ram, sending his lungs into spasm.

He took little breaths so Mari wouldn’t notice.

“Helena knows what to do; that’s why she’s watching her.

Her son Gareth has seizures, and these are nothing compared to that.

They’re more like nightmares. Sweating spells.

The occasional …” He thought about her choked screams last night, how she’d reached out to empty air, like she was reaching for her mother. “Hallucination.”

Mari pressed a hand to her chest, probably trying to keep her own breathing under control. “Okay, it’s settled. I’m not going to Visage.”

“Yes, you are.” He remembered now why he hadn’t told her. “You’ve got, what, three auditions lined up at music academies in Luciole? You’re not wasting another second of your life in this backwards-ass country. You deserve to go somewhere you’re gonna be respected. Allowed on stage as you .”

“Puck, she’s …”

He took her hand and squeezed. “We’ll be fine.”

He knew how scared Mari was to leave behind the only life she’d ever known and venture to a country where people thought Leorans were a bunch of close-minded zealots clinging to a dying way of life.

And he was scared, too, of what his life would look like without her.

She’d been there for twenty-five of his thirty years.

Imagining himself without her was like imagining himself split in two.