“Stop that,” said Kite, flicking her hand and breaking up the smoke. It crystallized into glittering pieces of confetti and fell to the ground. “The Beast doesn’t like smoke.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tav. “I didn’t mean to.”
Kite leaned forward, the dampness of her breath brushing their neck. “You don’t have to apologize to me. But when you use your magic, you should always mean it.”
Tav wondered if Kite and Eli had practised kissing under a cobalt sun, if Kite had flowed over Eli’s body and made her moan the way she had moaned against Tav’s chest. Seaglass and skin, hawthorn and hands.
Tav turned their head slightly to breathe in the heavy smell of salt. Kite’s bluegreen light flared up, bright and pure as a star.
Wait —
Something was different.
The edges of Kite’s essence burned white and gold and pink, and small sparks shed from the distressed soul of the lonely witch girl.
And another scent was creeping under the fragrance of the sea, like a single piece of rotten fruit in an orchard.
What was wrong with Kite’s essence? Tav opened their mouth to ask, feeling their heartbeat quicken.
“Kite —”
“Look,” the blue girl whispered. Her breath clouded the mirror, and when the fog faded, the glass had been repaired.
Tav stared at the face in the mirror: the purple hair like a crown of thorns, the glittering eyes like flecks of mica. Their face was obscured by the black iron mask that arched and curled into playful twists — only to end in jagged edges. It was a face that would draw blood.
It was a face that demanded sacrifice.
“Beautiful,” sighed Kite; and that was true, too.
“It’s the face of a witch,” said Tav.
THE HEIR
Kite breathed again and the reflection vanished. “Welcome home.”
Tav said nothing, but the light in their eyes shuddered.
Kite ran her finger along the obsidian blade. “You can’t take her with you, precious.”
“Of course not. Why would Clytemnestra want me armed?” Tav sighed.
“You won’t live long enough to speak with the Witch Lord if you come bearing a witch-killer.”
Tav nodded, and slowly unsheathed the blade Eli had gifted to them. “Keep it safe,” they said. “It’s part of her.”
“I know,” said Kite, accepting the black needle.
A moment of charged silence fell between them.
“I think you’ll live,” Kite said finally. “You have the mouth of a survivor.”
“Well, I haven’t died yet, and I love a challenge.” Tav ran a hand through their short hair. “Oh, but there’s one thing I need. If you want me to put my neck on the guillotine for your rebellion.”
They tossed the keys in the air. They glittered once, and then a giant magpie swooped down and swallowed them whole. The bird landed on Kite’s shoulder. Kite took a single feather from its wing and ran the edge across her mouth.
“Done,” she agreed.
“Thank you.” Tav looked down. “Take care of Eli for me, okay, boy?” They leaned over and scratched the Beast’s scaly ear.
Kite stilled.
Not even witches could see the Beast when he became invisible.
“What are you?” Without thinking, she placed a hand on Tav’s chest, reaching for their lungs, or maybe a chest cavity filled only with stardust. Tav inhaled sharply, then placed their hand on Kite’s. Kite gasped as a circular burn spread over her skin, leaving traces of ash and frost. Tav gently placed Kite’s hand on her own knee.
“You have to ask,” they said. Their voice was hoarse, as if their vocal cords had been singed by the contact.
“I’m sorry. I will.”
Kite stood and looked around for a moment, taking in the plastic toys and the piles of fabric. The spilled eyeliner pooling on the vanity. The crystal vials of potpourri and almond extract. The room looked like it belonged to a mad king or an unsupervised child.
There were crayon drawings scribbled on the wall.
Kite twirled the feather between her thumb and forefinger, aware of Tav’s gaze.
“We will, you know,” she added, bending over and picking up the Beast. “We’ll take care of her.”
Then she walked through the wall and took another step toward regicide.
Fifty-One
THE HEALER
Kite had left the invitation on the vanity, pinned with a jewelled broach in the shape of an owl. One of the bird’s eyes was missing. Another souvenir from the City of Ghosts, another trinket for the children to play with. Tav was sure the broach had been left intentionally — for all her dreamy slowness, Kite was an important part Clytemnestra’s revolution, and she had experience with the curiosity of children.
Tav pinned the broach to their vest and picked up the Witch Lord’s calling card.
Tav could see the magic burning in every fibre, and the smell of gunpowder and gardenias was overpowering. They understood: it was a password, a key, a summons that would bring any one creature into the Coven. A portal.
Tav wondered if it would let them leave again.
The vanity looked like something that had been picked up at a flea market, stuffed with costume jewelry, and left out in the rain for a few weeks.
Cam would have loved it.
If he were here, he would have insisted on doing their makeup so that under the mask was a second one, fierce and fantastical. He would have offered to come with them even though he knew he couldn’t. He would be standing here, beside them, making jokes to hide the worry in his eyes.
Cam will be okay, Tav told themselves. He’s part of the Labyrinth. He’s probably back in the under-labyrinth. After all of this, you’ll find him.
“Don’t bleed on your mask,” said a high-pitched voice. Tav turned around. A tiny girl in an oversized T-shirt, clutching a broken Game Boy, stood in the centre of the room. Her feet were bare.
“Who are you?”
“That’s a rude question to ask,” said the girl. “You’re leaking.”
Tav brought a hand to their face in time to catch the black feather that fell from one eye.
What the fuck? They dropped it and looked up at the girl. “What are you doing here?”
“We came to watch.”
