Page 94 of The Child of Rue Royale
“Baby,” I hear Bastian say and, looking to the side, I recognize his shoes nearing me. My mouth forms the words to warn him to stay back, but Violetta soon has him in her grasp. I jump up to see Bastian pulled tight against her chest, her feet floating above the stage, a dagger to his neck.
“Was he worth it?” she asks, and I reach out, screaming as she pulls the dagger across the skin of his neck, my feet flying toward her, my heart standing still. But I’m not met with a neck full of gushing blood, not the gaze of death upon Bastian’s beautiful face, just a wink from his striking eye, because the knife didn’t leave a mark.
Relief floods my heart as I look at him, my face filled with the same shock as Violetta’s. “A protection spell?” I say out loud. It must be. They only work on humans and vampires, and Chantal must have placed one on him before they came.
He nods and I meet his eyes. “He’s absolutely worth it,” I almost sob, but swallow it, steeling my neck. A slow grin forms on his lips along with a wink, and he looks back to Violetta.
“I don’t think it worked, would you like to try again?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he grabs her head from behind him, drops to his knees, and whips her body over his, throwing her flat onto the ground between us.
Nicola appears and sits on top of Violetta as I clasp her hands over her head. I look at the hole in Nicola’s shoulder, our eyes meeting, grateful she freed herself from the tree, grateful the stake didn’t hit its mark.
“I forgot to tell you, Violetta. I created a secret potion that allows vampires to walk in the sun,” I whisper in her ear, and I regret it immediately.
Because Violetta’s face reddens, shouting “FLAMES,” and her mouth widens to release the loudest scream to ever leave her dainty lips, giving heat to her breath that transforms into flames in the air. Nicola is swift enough to jump back, but the heat has ripped through Violetta’s arms, flames forming from her wrists.
“I can’t hold it,” I cry the heat singeing my palm, and when I feel the embers rise from her hand, I let go, falling back into Bastian. The floor around her sparks in flames, consuming the stage, and I grab Bastian’s hand and scream. “Get Aven and get out of here.”
“Come with us!” he yells, and then there’s fire all around us, sparked by Violetta’s anger and Aven is not far.
“I can’t! Save our son!” I scream as Violetta rises from the smoke and fire—because Violetta is coming for me, there’s no doubt in my mind. And I need Bastian to take Aven. He jerks his head, eyes full of pain, then dutifully rolls off the stage to get our baby.
Nicola and Rosemary fight on the grass, Nicola, too fast for Rosemary’s lightning power, but that will only last for so long.
Chantal’s in the distance with an electric rope of power she’s cast into the bayou. And on the other end, Cassius is being dragged out. The rope’s wrapped around his chest, his leg is dangling on by a thread, and his curses echo over the swamp.
Violetta points to Aven and Bastian, her power crackling in her fingers, and I run, screaming into her, my newfound power giving me flight. “Don’t you fucking dare!” I demand, my fingers wrapping around the collar of her tattered dress.
I’ve never flown before; my feet have never left the earth at my command with only air beneath them. But this power seems to have a mind of its own because it sends us back, back past the stage, past the seats on the grass, the two of us soaring.
Violetta spins us mid-flight, and my back crashes into something hard. Bark rips into my shoulders, and the collision with a tree knocks the wind out of me. We sink to the grass as I cough, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, its warmth breaking over my lips to drip down my chin. She sits on top of me, her body so much stronger than anyone could ever imagine.
“Darling, I’m going to kill you. But after you watch me kill your vampire and abomination of a son.”
Fury fills every limb as I kick and buck my hips to get her off, but she only smiles viciously over me, and I spit in her face.
“You never had any manners,” she scolds, the bloody saliva vanishing instantly from her cheek.
My back should be broken, and pain radiates from every part of my body as I take in her wicked face. Numerous gashes and bruises adorn her skin, her gray hair flowing over my face. Squinting, I look past her to the limbs above. The wind blows, and my eyes meet a papery gray nest filled with the most aggressive wasp in Louisiana, the bald-faced hornet. I remember the day on this very lawn I was yelled at because of its sting, how Violetta took my little face in her hand and tsked at my tears. “What a crybaby,” she had said. “What kind of a witch are you?”
She has taken everything from me time and time again. I’ve begged her for mercy, I scrimped by, I stayed quiet, and I did what was expected of me. And for what? Her to turn on me, try to kill me and everything I love. The chains of tradition and legacy have held me captive for long enough. I’m breaking these chains and taking her down with them. She’s not taking another single thing from me. Never again.
I close my eyes and call to Winnie, sitting in my spell room in the Garden District.
Show me, Winnie. And her pages flutter in my mind, landing on a spell, the words glittering in my mind. I close my eyes and think the words in my head, praying that will be enough for the spell to take.
Do my bidding, take flight little wings. Show her the wrath of your venomous sting.
It’s quiet at first with no sound but Violetta trying to collect her breath and most likely her power. Our power is not endless; it needs time to recharge, and this is being used to my advantage.
Then, with the tiniest hint of a buzz, hornets unify behind the nest, and the buzzing builds to a sudden crescendo, the colony of hornets shooting straight toward her.
It happens before I can blink, the venomous insects encircling Violetta before she has time to cast them away.
They sting her body relentlessly, her screams tell me so, and I draw the strength crawl from under her, her shrieks giving her flight, as the hornets attack her face over and over again. She’s finally able to cast them away, having been stung hundreds of times in seconds, the venom causing her lips to swell, her eyelids so swollen theylook closed.
“Now you look as ugly as your heart is,” I say, with as much strength as I can muster, hoping to hit her where it hurts. Her vanity.
“You never deserved it,” she drools, hands trying to catch the spittle dripping from her mouth. “None of the Wildes ever deserved it.” She stumbles then drops to her knees, unable to see, yet pulls a dagger from her thigh and aims it right at me. With the last shreds of her power, she manages to shoot it with a vengeance, sending it straight for my heart.
