Page 88 of Her Dreadful Will
“Sorry, boy.” She pressed her back to the wall and breathed slowly. “You’re not the best with groups of strangers. It’s better for you to stay put, for now.”
He nosed against her thigh, and she rubbed his head with the heel of her hand, careful to keep her painted fingernails clear of his fur. “I think I’ve connected with these women, but I don’t understand how, or what it means. It’s hard to keep from reading them when I’m so curious about who they are, what makes them tick. But using magic to get to know them would be cheating, right? I’ll have to do it the old-fashioned human way. With chit-chat.” With a final pat, she crossed the room to her dresser and nudged open her ring box with a knuckle. Her eyes snapped to La Voisin’s ring instantly, nestled alone in its corner, not touching any of the other rings. Carefully she plucked it free with the tips of her nails and dropped it into her palm. Again, her mind warmed with the sensation that the ring belonged there, in her hand. That it had yearned and waited—thirsted?—for the right person to pick it up.
What if Delaney was right? What if she, Soleil Marie-Claude Epinette, was descended from Catherine Monvoisin? Maybe she should join a genealogy website and do some research.
Soleil gently propelled Carebear aside with her knee so she could squeeze out of the bedroom again.
She re-entered the living room and tipped the ring into Angelou’s eager hand. “Here it is. The ring of Catherine Monvoisin.” Soleil seated herself on the edge of the coffee table.
Angelou rocked the ring in her palm, inspecting its design.
“I think it’s made of black iron,” said Delaney, scooting along the sofa for a better look.
“How do you know?” Soleil asked.
“My ex-girlfriend was all into jewelry-making. This is one of the oldest methods used for iron jewelry—forge-oxidized and then oil-quenched to seal it and preserve the layer of oxidation.”
“What’s this?” Angelou touched the dark red stone between the fleurs-de-lis. “It feels—different from the metal. Almost organic, like—”
“Like blood.” Delaney caught the dark mass of her hair in one hand and twisted it aside so she could peer more closely at the stone. “If I had to guess, it’s blood preserved in some kind of resin.”
“That would make sense.” Angelou spoke slowly, her voice heavy, almost drowsy. Her long artificial lashes drooped, leaving slim crescents of her eyes visible. “The ring wants blood. It’s old and dry and thirsty. It wants to bathe in new blood, fresh blood—not just any blood.Herblood. The blood of La Voisin.”
“Your blood.” Delaney bumped Soleil’s shoulder. “If I’m right. Lucky girl.”
“What will it do if it gets blood?” Soleil asked.
Angelou’s full lips parted, and twitched. She frowned, the pearly studs in her brows quirking. “Memory,” she whispered. “The power of memory.”
Florence, who had stirred awake when Soleil returned to the room, perked up. “Memory? What kind of memory?”
“It’s not going to download a bunch of La Voisin memories into my head or something, is it?” Soleil’s nerves tingled with suspicion.
“I—I’m not sure.” Angelou stared at the ring in her left palm, while her right hand wandered across the table, toward the manicure kit. Her fingers closed on the sharp nail scissors. “Let’s find out.”
“Um, hang on.” Delaney gripped Angelou’s wrist. “Watcha doin’ there, friend? Let’s wait on the skin-slicing, okay?”
Soleil extricated the scissors from Angelou’s grip. “Can you read anything else from it? Anything at all?”
“I don’t think it gives memories,” murmured Angelou. “It’s thirsty. It drinks—it takes them. No surface power with this ring, only a latent one, awakened by bathing in the blood of La Voisin. The power, I think, to steal memories.”
“That would also explain why Monvoisin survived for so long as a practicing witch in those days,” Soleil said. “Mind-flex power, and the ability to take away any unfortunate memories.”
Delaney jumped up, her long hair swinging free. “Nope. Uh-uh. You don’t get to have mind-flex powerandthis memory ring deal. No way.”
“Del,” said Angelou, laying a hand on her arm.
Delaney shook her off. “No! I know we just did the whole kumbaya witchy sisterhood thing—whatever the hellthatwas—sort of cool, but if you think that means I’m going to let her use this ring to mess with people’s willsandtheir memories—”
“I won’t!” Soleil leaped up, locking eyes with the black-haired witch. “I will never flex your wills or touch your memories.”
Delaney glared for another minute, then bit out, “I hope you mean that.”
Angelou curled her fingers around La Voisin’s ring. “Who else knows you have this?”
“Just my friend Tarek.” But it wasn’t just Tarek, was it? He’d told a Witchlord about the ring. And the Witchlord had told who knew how many others. The Convocation expected Soleil to surrender the ring.
She took it from Angelou’s palm and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans. “Enough magical talk,” she said. “And no blood rituals, okay? Let’s turn the TV back on, have some drinks, and relax.”
