Page 89 of Her Dreadful Will
The glaze over Angelou’s eyes faded, and her chest swelled with a deep breath. “That,” she said, “is the best idea of this very strange night.”
Two hours later, Delaney and Angelou had left, and Florence was safely ensconced in bed. Soleil took Carebear out for a potty break. Then she went to her bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror.
She didn’t look any different. Same brown hair, swished up into a messy knot. Same wide blue eyes. She brushed a few flakes of dried mascara from her cheekbones and tugged a face wipe from its package, cleaning away all traces of makeup.
What had Catherine Monvoisin looked like? The black and white sketches Soleil had seen online pictured a slightly doughy, mysterious woman, maybe fifty or so. But what was she like when she was young? Did she have violet flecks in her blue eyes, or faint freckles dotting her cheeks? Was her nose pert and pointed, her chin narrow, her forehead low under waves of brown hair?
Was there any of her left in Soleil?
One way to find out.
Soleil wriggled her fingers into her pocket and pulled out the ring. She felt its power like a tug on her sleeve, persistent and distracting. It was thirsty, Angelou had said. Thirsty for blood. The ring wanted to bathe in it.
Slowly Soleil picked up the little shot glass that held a few pairs of her favorite ear studs, and she dumped them onto the counter, setting La Voisin’s ring beside them. The blood-colored stone shimmered in the glow of the bathroom lights.
She plucked a pair of sharp, tiny scissors from the Mason jar under the mirror and washed them with hot water and plenty of soap.
Slicing her palm would be silly; the cut would annoy her and hamper her for days. Slicing her wrist would be even more idiotic.
Soleil slit the top of her forearm, below the elbow—a shallow cut. She squeezed until fat drops dribbled, ruby-red, into the shot glass. Gritting her teeth, she kept squeezing, eking blood out of muscle and vein until the glass held a shallow pool of it. The ring hummed to her when she picked it up again—a higher pitch of need and anticipation.
The instant she set it into the shot glass, the ring vibrated so hard she jerked her hand back.
The ring drank her blood, soaking it up, sucking it in until there was not a trace left. Soleil pressed a fingertip to the edge of the central stone. She could almost discern its power, but a layer of craving submerged that awareness. The ring was still thirsty.
She pressed the tissues of her lacerated arm again, dripping her blood directly onto the ring. For seconds that stretched into long minutes, she fed La Voisin’s ring, until its voice grew crisper and clearer, and when she touched it, she knew immediately what it was meant to do.
This ring did not give or manipulate memories. It allowed the wearer to view another’s mind, to choose specific memories and erase them forever. Once gone, those memories could not be retrieved.
“Welcome home,” whispered Soleil to it, stroking its glimmering surface. “I’m so proud to add you to my collection.”
31
“Are you trying to steal my coven, love?” Achan bent to fondle Carebear’s ears.
He didn’t look at Soleil, which piqued her because for this second lesson in chaos magic, she’d worn a pretty off-the-shoulder top that showed a sliver of her stomach as well. She tugged petulantly on the Doberman’s leash, drawing him back to her and away from Achan.
“Girls’ night,” she said. “Am I not allowed to bond with your precious worshipers?”
“Bond,” he repeated. “An interesting choice of words. I hear that three of them, and you, and Florence,connectedin a unique way that evening.”
Soleil’s face burned. She had been planning to tell him, and she wasn’t sure why it annoyed her so terribly that one of the other women had done it first. Unless—
“You were spying on us,” she snapped. “Through Florence.”
He grinned, unashamed. “Angelou told me about the girls’ night when you first planned it. I couldn’t pass up the chance to check in on you all. Although I’ll be honest, I’d hoped for pillow fights and lingerie.”
Soleil thought she might combust on the spot. She wanted to smack him, or punch him, orbitehim. “Florence never hinted that you were spying.”
“I ordered her not to. After her little stunt that one time, warning you off, I had to remind her where her loyalties lie. Not with you. With me.”
Anger burned along Soleil’s veins. She hated the way he watched her shrewdly, as if he’d anticipated her response, as if he’d tailored this conversation for just such a reaction.
“I didn’t even need Florence, you know,” he said. “The girls told me about it afterwards. Each of them sent me a report, and I didn’t even have to ask.”
“So you’ve got them twisted around your fingers, too. I’m surprised they’re not imprinted on your skin, like your bug tattoos. More lackeys for you to charm and control.”
“It infuriates you that I have this power,” he said. “But don’t you have a similar power yourself? People thatyoucharm and control? I believe you call themcontacts? Orfriends?”
