Page 39 of Poison Nights & Twilight Alchemy

“We can’t travel in this clothing, can we?” Dulce asked impatiently and flicked her wrist in the air, her ring returned to its ruby and gold coloring. “For one thing, the cold is becoming unbearable. But fear not! Mother’s book has just the thing. Stand here, and don’t move…”

“What happens if Imove?” Reed arched a brow, suddenly imagining green silk stitched into his skin. “I can remove it, cover myself in one of those moth-eaten blankets over the—”

A pretty blush crept up Dulce’s neck and flooded her cheeks. “That won’t be necessary.” She blinked fast. “It’s perfectly safe—I can … almost assure you.”

Before he could protest further, she’d thrown some sort of powder at him and Reed coughed, the scent of it not unpleasant, like oranges and pine. When he studied himself, he magically wore much more suitable clothing. A long dark overcoat made of woven materials in wool covered a sturdy shirt and trousers, his feet encased in fur-lined boots. He noticed the blanket in question had disappeared from the rotting chair, as well as the animal head along the wall.

“Thank you,” he said, and she bowed with a flourish. “I’ll see to the fire while you…”

Dulce ducked into the next room, taking with her the remaining blankets, and when she returned, she woresimilar clothing to his own, only layers of onyx skirts flowed from her much shorter overcoat. Lifting them, she raised a foot and presented Reed with a high black boot, fur peeking out of its top.

“If all goes well”—she laughed—“perhaps I’ll open my very own boutique.”

For the next few hours, Reed searched the surrounding forest for food and water while Dulce worked on the location spell that would direct them to La Bisou Morte. He found very little to eat, some clover and nettle, several bushes of wild raspberry, and a few handfuls of sorrel. A stream of icy water ran through a field of black poppies, and Reed gathered all he could in the canteen made of what he guessed to be the dried bladder of a cow.

Dulce’s spell required fresh vervain, bay laurel, and rosemary, which he found easily, grateful that he succeeded in that at least, even if they traveled hungry as he stuffed his many pockets, making his way back to the cottage.

The fire roaring, Dulce raised the Duke’s necklace. “I’m ready to perform the location spell.” Soon the cottage filled with acrid smoke that curled in unnatural shapes, and, a flash of blue extinguished the fire before she opened her eyes.

“We must travel north,” Dulce exclaimed. “The edge of Silver Birch Straits is where we will find the witch.”

“You’re becoming quite the fortune teller.” Reed produced the map that Dulce had given him to study while she’d worked on the spell. “We must traverse something called the Forest of One Thousand Sorrows. How bad can that be, right?”

Dulce ate a raspberry. “That’s to be determined.”

They slept sheltered from the elements along the cottage’s dusty cots and began their journey at dawn, taking turns riding the horse, saving their energy where they could. Around midday, they found more berries, and even a walnut tree, which they feasted on like ravenous squirrels, stuffing their pockets with as much as they could before continuing. When night fell, they rested sheltered between a boulder and a group of holly bushes, Toffee bound to a nearby tree. The darkness was soon filled with the sound of wailing, and as the wind picked up, Reed realized where the forest got its name.

Three days they spent crossing the forest, exhaustion sapping their energy, and he wished Dulce had a spell for that too. She lay secured in Reed’s arms while she dozed in and out of sleep, and as he once again felt her against him, he was reminded of the gambling room when his heart had raced, and it took every ounce of self-control to remain a true gentleman.

“We’re getting closer,” she murmured.

On the morning of the fourth day, Reed slowly came to realize that the plant life surrounding them, once diverse with chaotic variety, had become made up of only one thing.

Birch trees.

Only their leaves, instead of a cheerful bright green, were bleached white. Endless rows of sticklike trunks obscured his vision on all sides, the scabs along their silvery expanse like dark mazes that tricked the eye.

“Dulce,” he whispered, jostling her shoulder gently as Toffee broke into a trot. “I think we’ve reached Silver Birch Straits. I think we’re almost there—”

“The witch’s castle,” Dulce breathed, peering just ahead. “Why, it’s breathtaking.”

His mouth formed a tight line as he followed her gaze. “By the looks of it, I’m certain she hasquitethe collection of ghosts there.”

They broke through the forest, setting their sights on the castle of ebony stone beyond a sweeping field of grass, its twisted spires covered in vines. Toffee, distracted by the grass, hardly seemed to notice when her passengers alighted, and they left her just outside the castle gates to feed.

A bristlecone pine—a third Tree of Life—took up the wide courtyard. This one in an even more dreadful state than the last. At first glance, it seemed to be covered in ashes, but as Dulce approached it, she released a shaky breath. “It’s stone.” Cold inanimate rock slowly taking over the tree’s bark, veins of marble winding along its branches. It was still somehow beautiful, but its beauty was catastrophic. Soon, it would be devoid of all life.

“It’s eerily empty here…” she whispered.

No signs of occupancy halted their progress in the fading light as they entered the castle doors, which strangely stood open.

La Bisou Morte’s home felt devoid of life, filled only with the stillness of misuse, and a thick layer of dust covering every surface. The silence was complete, as if the walls themselves held their breath, and it was clear that the witch had left this place long ago.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DULCE

“The witch isn’t here.” Dulce sighed and drew the Duke’s necklace from her pocket.

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