Page 62 of Song of the Hell Witch
Pru heard Paris scoff. “Don’t you understand?
The war was our reckoning. Before, the people of Leora believed life should be about pleasure.
They stumbled drunkenly into brothels, emptied themselves into strangers’ bodies, anything to bring themselves joy.
They forgot what it was to worship the Lightbringer, and that was why He punished us.
Why He annihilated our forces when we tried to spread His name in the Spindles.
He knew we were hypocrites. He knew we had to pay.
“But General Hale and the rest of our brethren? We are here to remind the people of Leora that our time on this plane isn’t about joy .
It’s about preparing for the next life. And the only way to ensure our people are free is to bring them into His Light.
The people who have already joined us will understand that. And soon you will too.”
“Never,” Puck spat. “I’d die before I joined you.”
Pru’s heart burned for him. She tried to reach out, but her arm was pinned to the ground.
Paris stood slowly, looking as self-satisfied as he’d been the night of Pru and Frederick’s wedding. Like he’d predicted his brother’s fate even then. Like he was already victorious.
“Perhaps that would have been true if you still had a choice,” he said, staring down at Puck with his hands folded in front of him.
Whatever was left of Pru’s stomach plunged into her knees.
“But that is the beautiful thing about the Lightbringer and His work. We men, we believe we have free will, but in reality, we are at His mercy.”
Puck’s breaths grew rapid again. His nails dug into the grass, and his back arched like a cat’s.
“Puck …”
Again she tried to reach for him—and again she collapsed, Paris’s power striking her strength down.
Paris clicked his tongue at her disapprovingly.
“Now, now, Prudence, you know better than to interrupt two men when they’re talking.
At least you should.” He turned to Puck once more.
“You’ve felt the changes happening inside you for days now.
And that first part, when your body is accepting the power, it’s horrible, I know.
Our bodies want to remain one thing, you see.
They don’t want to evolve. But you, Puck Reed, have been chosen. ”
“No …” Pru willed her knees to push her forward, willed her elbows to lift her up … but nothing worked.
“And now it’s time.” Paris crouched low, placed his hand on Puck’s taut shoulder.
And the terrible pain that had assaulted her when she first woke up gnawed through her marrow again, accompanied by a loud screeching that didn’t seem to have a source.
Pressure unlike anything she’d felt before thudded against the back of her eardrums.
And then Paris spoke, three simple words that tore her world in two: “Join us, Brother.”
The wings came first. They tore out of Puck’s back, throwing chunks of flesh in every direction.
Blood spurted across the lawn, painting the grass red.
They were the same horrific bat wings that the rest of the Zeraphel had, threaded with dark veins.
And they collapsed beside their new master, slick with gore, twitching in time with his pulse.
Vomit churned in Pru’s stomach—and then Puck’s bones began to crunch.
They shifted inside him as they made room for his wings, expanding and thickening so they could carry him during flight.
What was left of his shirt fell away, and as Paris flinched, shocked in his own right, she finally understood.
The knife. She’d known Paris had laced it with some kind of toxin, but never in her wildest imaginings had she thought it would lead to this.
“ Dad! ” Bea landed an elbow in the gut of the Zeraph holding her, then bolted toward her father.
She slid down beside him, moving to touch him, and somehow Pru found the strength to push herself up and pull the girl back.
“Let me go! Let me …” But she ran out of fight, eventually leaning into Pru’s chest, letting her hold her up.
Once or twice, Pru heard her banshee scream gathering in her throat, but the moment she opened her mouth, the sound died.
Paris had struck both their tunes silent.
For the horror he’d inflicted, her brother-in-law was obviously shaken, moments from being sick. He stared down at Puck, clearly unsure of what to do next.
“A-arise, Brother Reed,” he said, growing more confident with each syllable. “Arise and take your place as one of the Lightbringer’s soldiers.”
The muscles in Puck’s back tensed, and Pru held her breath. He was alive. For a second, the miracle of that sustained her, enough to squeeze Beatrice’s shoulders and say, “He’s okay.” He has wings, but he’s alive. “We’re going to be—”
And then she saw how lifeless his movements were, watched his spine snap into a straight line and his legs pull together, like a soldier preparing to march. He didn’t move like the man she knew. He moved like he was following someone else’s orders.
She remembered Brom, the boy she’d killed in Welling, how he looked at her like he was coming out of some dream.
And when Puck turned, she saw a distance in his gaze that wasn’t there before.
For one horrible moment, he looked at her and Beatrice like they were strangers—and then the light came back into his eyes, and she prayed to the Dark Mother that some part of him— all of him, please —was still the man she loved.
“Reed,” Paris said. “Say something.”
Puck’s jaw clenched, a sign he was fighting—and if he was fighting, he couldn’t be gone. Pru told herself that even if he answered him, it didn’t necessarily mean he was obeying Paris’s command.
Just be defiant, Pru begged him. Show him what it means to scrap.
Puck glared up at the Zeraph. “What … have you done … to me?”