Chapter Text
Jeanne jolted awake and her head went clunk against the floor.
She hissed in pain and curled in on herself. Everything was too much – the ground too hard and too cold, and her thoughts thick and slow. She ached all over, like she had been tossed from a great height, and her mouth was dry and fuzzy. Jeanne’s memories were creeping back slowly – Cereza saying goodbye, and de Lancre appearing, and then Jeanne collapsing. There were bits and pieces after that too, but they were wobbly and dreamlike, dancing just out of Jeanne’s grasp. Someone carrying her, and the clank of chains; deep voices followed by blurry faces, and the sound of wood hitting wood.
Jeanne laid on the ground, forcing herself to take deep breaths as she blinked into her elbow, and then slowly raised her head.
The room was large and circular, something akin to a gothic cathedral made of dark stone. It was all sharp, soaring arches and columns, a series of jaws grinning down at Jeanne. The ceiling was high and airy and decorated with a sprawling, carved mural of witch hunters and pyres; torches held aloft as women with horns and fangs fled in terror, peasants kissing the rings on hunter’s hands and entire towns flocking to the safety of hunters wielding flames. A series of small, padlocked windows sat above the mural, each one cracked open just slightly and letting moonlight spill across the mural’s carved surface. Torches and candelabras lined the length of the circular room, their light flickering ominously and sending shadows dancing around the edges of Jeanne’s vision.
Outside the ring of columns and arches sat a series of fenced bleachers made of the same dark stone as the rest of the room. There was a small group gathered, all dressed in expensive suits. Their posture was easy and relaxed, and their gold jewellery – cufflinks, rings, pendants, and so on – glinted in the flickering candlelight, making the hunter’s symbol on them shiver and swirl as though alive. As Jeanne slowly pulled herself to a seated position a hush fell over the hunters, their faces curling into dangerous and smug grins, eyes hungry and sharp.
Jeanne cast them her best glare and tried to raise her hands to flip them off, only to find herself chained to a metal loop on the floor. The manacles were silver and heavy, and ornately carved with words of prayer and images of flames. The silver had bit into Jeanne’s wrists, turning her pale skin an angry shade of pink.
Merde, Jeanne thought, and cast another glare at the group of men. One of the men whispered something and the group erupted into cackles, and Jeanne rolled her eyes. Her head felt heavy, the sleeping draft not fully worn off, but panic still scratched at her ribs.
I am not going to be killed by witch hunters, Jeanne thought, willing her heartbeat to calm down. There’s got to be a way out of here.
Jeanne shifted position, looking around her, and her ankle bumped against something. She turned and her breath hitched sharply, heart thundering and palms going sweaty. Behind her was a raised slab of dark stone, with the witch hunter’s symbol carved into it. Three wooden pyres stood on it, each one a tall, silent sentinel staring down at Jeanne, each one whispering she was guilty for things that weren’t crimes. Jeanne’s stomach dropped – it was like a stage, as though the gathered hunters were going to watch something exciting and entertaining.
Why three, though? Jeanne thought, fear tracing its claws across her shoulders. Were there other witches? Unless – Jeanne thought of de Lancre’s words as the sleeping draft had started to take effect. ‘I assume you have the daughter butterfly’s number on your cellphone?’
Three pyres.
Three witches.
Jeanne, plus Cereza and Rosa.
Jeanne’s heart sank to the cold floor. She had no idea how long she had been asleep – de Lancre could have already summoned Cereza and Rosa. They could already have been captured, or even worse. Jeanne’s chains rattled loudly as she tugged on them with renewed fervour, testing their strength. The silver dragged painfully at her wrists and licked at her palms, and the sound of Jeanne’s clattering drew the attention of the hunters.
“Whatcha upto there, girlie? Those skinny arms of yours aren’t going break any silver chains.” One of the hunters called, and laughter burst from the others as he winked at Jeanne.
“Why don’t you come and help me then?” Jeanne said sweetly. “Unless you’re afraid of a little witch?”
Jeers and heckles burst from the group of hunters as they slapped jovially and pushed at the man who had spoken. His cheeks had turned ruddy and Jeanne watched his knuckles go white as he gripped at the back of the stone bench in front of him.
As much as Jeanne hated to admit it, the hunter was right – the chains were holding fast, and the more she fought against them, the more they hurt. She doubted magic would be able to break through them, but there was a chance she could pry up a piece of the stone flooring and simply take the chains with her.
Jeanne inhaled, reaching for her small reserve of magic. She knew the silver chains would interfere but demanded with a muted franticness that her magic answer her. Except –
In a panic, Jeanne clawed at her chest, hands fishing inside her blouse.
“No, no, no!” She hissed to herself. She patted at the pockets of her slacks, finding both of them empty. Merde, merde, merde!
Her watch was gone.
Jeanne frantically looked at the floor around her, hoping desperately that her chain had simply snapped and her watch had merely rolled away. But its familiar locked shape was nowhere, and Jeanne began to truly panic.
As she fended off a full-blown panic attack, there was noise outside the antechamber and the idle chatter of the hunters dipped into silence.
The heavy doors burst open with a loud creak of protest, and de Lancre strode into the room, smile pleasant and cufflinks shining. The gathered men burst into applause and the noise thundered around the stone room. de Lancre spared them a nod of acknowledgement, but his cold eyes fell on Jeanne, who bared her teeth in a snarl despite her flipping stomach.
“Glad to see you’re finally awake, Jeanne. It was rather dull just watching you sleep.” de Lancre said. “How are you feeling?”
“Va te faire foutre.” Jeanne replied. Her heart was slamming against her ribs and sweat rolled down her spine. Laughter broke out from the hunters, but a raised hand from de Lancre had the noise dying down immediately.
de Lancre tutted. “No need to be crass, Jeanne. Have I not shown you respect and politeness?”
In response, Jeanne loudly rattled her chains, and raised her eyebrow.
“Ah. Well, a simple precaution. Would you have preferred to have woken up tied to a pyre?” At Jeanne’s scowl, de Lancre nodded. “I figured as much.”
“That’s your plan then? To just burn me?” Jeanne demanded. Hazy, centuries-old memories stumbled through the panic scrabbling around her mind – fire and smoke, the sound of boots on stonework and wood catching alight as witches screamed.
“Not just you, I’m pleased to say.” de Lancre said. “We contacted La Papillon d’Ombre le Deuxième, I’m sure she’s on her way. If we’re lucky, she’ll bring La Première along as well, otherwise I suppose we’ll all have to spend some quality time together until her mother comes looking. A coven stays together, yes?” de Lancre watched a stricken look of terror cross Jeanne’s face, saw the way her shoulders slumped and her hands gripped at the floor. His small smile didn’t fade, but there was something calculating in his eyes. “You think us evil, don’t you, Jeanne?”
Jeanne’s brow furrowed. “Why would I not? You’re going to kill me, and Les Papillons.”
de Lancre inclined his head. “That is our mission, after all. Hunt, burn, protect.”
Jeanne’s temper stoked itself, embers burning hot in her stomach. “And for what? To say you eradicated the Umbra? What evils have the Umbra ever done? I’ve never harmed anyone, and I’m over six hundred years old. And Les Papillons may be thieves, but they’re kind. They only take Umbran artifacts, to preserve them and to keep them in the hands of Umbra witches where they belong. Is that cruel, or devious?” Jeanne shook her head, platinum hair swaying with the movement. “I’m just a person, and you’re just murderers. We should say it as it is.”
de Lancre hummed, then pulled something out of his pocket. Jeanne’s watch shone in the low light as the witch hunter twirled it around his fingers, cold eyes reflecting on its surface. Jeanne’s skin crawled, and her nails dug into her palms as she clenched her hands into fists, her eyes hot with hunger and rage as she watched the movement of her watch in de Lancre’s hand.
“There’s a limited joy in burning witches, Jeanne.” de Lancre said, abruptly. Jeanne’s heart tumbled through his fingers and he caught it by the chain, letting it dangle off a single finger. “There’s nothing more wicked than a witch. You usurp the laws of nature, and you hoard power for the purpose of harming and controlling defenceless humans. Hunters like me are a necessity. We protect, we hunt, we burn. We protect, but at the cost of hunting and burning and killing. Perhaps there is blood on my hands. I’ve put many a witch to the pyre, and each time their screams echo long after they’re gone. Our duty is a grisly one, but necessary. Witches are abominations, and Umbra the worst of them all. We protect, we hunt, we burn, and I think it a shame you’ve turned out to be nothing more than a witch.”
The rest of the hunters started up a chorus of howls and shouts at de Lancre’s words, hunt, burn, protect! bouncing around the stone of the room. de Lancre tossed Jeanne’s heart to her and she caught it, relief rushing through her when its cool metal touched her skin. She immediately slipped it over her neck, its familiar weight bouncing against her chest.
Jeanne met de Lancre’s eyes as he stood silent and smiling amongst the shouting around him. He really was planning on killing her, Jeanne realized, and she had no way out. Cereza was likely on her way, walking headfirst into a trap or ambush, and possibly with Rosa on her heels. She knew Cereza would burst in with a plan, and she didn’t doubt the thief’s skills, but Jeanne also didn’t trust de Lancre. He was too calm, and the men around him were too enthusiastic. Perhaps they were just cocky, a lens of prejudice letting them see Jeanne and Les Papillons as nothing more than flammable little girls. But the terrible sense of wrongness that had chased Jeanne since she met de Lancre was ever present, and Jeanne feared the hunters had a plan already in motion, regardless of whatever Cereza was likely up to.
As the chanting died down, something creaked high overhead, as though the building itself was joining in on the men’s jeers. At the head of the room, de Lancre pulled out his own pocket watch and checked the time.
“I would have used your watch, Jeanne, but it appears to be locked.” de Lancre said airily. “It’s been some time since we were in contact with Cereza. It was a nice touch having the bat beside her name in your phone, by the way.” de Lancre’s pocket watch snapped closed and vanished back into his pocket. “Though it would appear as though she’s decided not to come and rescue you.”
Jeanne gritted her teeth. Some trembling part of her hoped he was right, that Cereza was already on a plane and far out of the clutches of de Lancre. “You don’t know anything about Cereza.”
“Perhaps you could enlighten me then.” de Lancre replied. At Jeanne’s stony silence, he chuckled, and changed topics. “Your watch will be a lovely addition to our collection. We don’t have any others with locks on them. Normally we wouldn’t let an Umbra have her watch back before we burn her, it’s too risky. But a lock like that is meant to bind magic, correct?” de Lancre gave Jeanne a nod, and gestured with one hand towards her. “I don’t see the risk in your heart going to the pyre with you. The metal won’t burn, anyways. But I will say, Jeanne – I do feel almost bad sending you to the flames. It’s a little pathetic, don’t you think? A witch who can hardly cast any magic? It’s like a kitten without any claws.” de Lancre’s small, pleasant smile was unending. “So, I’ll let you have your watch, and whatever comfort it brings you.”
“I’m not weak.” Jeanne said, though de Lancre’s words stung. “If you don’t think so, why haven’t you come any closer?”
de Lancre laughed at that and tapped his temple with two fingers. “I applaud your attempt, but magic or not, you can still bite me if I get too close.” Jeanne smiled sharply, showing her teeth despite the fear burning through her core. Footsteps approached from behind de Lancre, and a quartet of hunters appeared. Robert and Jean-Luc were amongst them and closed the heavy doors as they entered the room. “Ah, finally we’re all here. No sign of Les Papillons, then?” Robert nodded, and de Lancre’s cold eyes turned back to Jeanne. “It would seem as though this will be a solo performance, Jeanne. It would be easier for us if Cereza and her mother had shown their faces – three birds with one torch, and all that – but one witch is better than none, for now, at least. Put her on the pyre.”
“No!” Jeanne shouted, as the four hunters advanced towards her. She reached for her magic, finding the tiny flicker of flame inside her, but the silver chains suddenly grew hot on her skin and Jeanne let go of her magic, hissing in pain. One of the hunters reached for her and thinking fast, Jeanne’s teeth snapped onto his hand, ripping through skin and crunching into bone. He shouted, cuffing Jeanne across the head, and fell backwards with blood pouring down his wrist. Blood was smeared across Jeanne’s mouth, and she snarled at the remaining three hunters, who were hovering just out of biting range.
de Lancre clasped his hands behind his back and sighed. “Perhaps we could show Jeanne a little more grace? I did just say that would happen, after all.”
“I agree!” A voice shouted, echoing down from the rafters. “Chaining Jeanne up? Bullying her about her lock? Well, I’d have bitten you as well!”
de Lancre frowned at Jeanne, and Jeanne frowned at de Lancre, and they both looked upwards.
Jeanne gasped.
Silhouetted by moonlight, sitting on the edge of the mural overhead with one leg crossed over the other, was La Papillon d’Ombre le Deuxième.
Her silver eyes shone in the darkness as she leaned forwards, resting her chin on one gloved hand. “You left a window open up here, by the way.” And she held up a finger, twirling one of the padlocks from the windows through the air.
Jeanne’s face broke into a grin as Cereza’s eyes landed on the thief, and a silver eye winked.
“Ah, Le Deuxième. And here I was thinking you wouldn’t be making it tonight.” de Lancre said.
“And leave Jeanne to have all the fun herself? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” The thief replied. Her face split into a smug, crooked grin, and she continued to twirl the padlock on her finger, her eyes focused on Jeanne.
Trinities, it’s not the time, Jeanne thought, but merde, I really do love her.
Cereza landed lightly on the ground in front of Jeanne, her cape fluttering around her shoulders. She leaned on her cane, the picture of ease and indifference as the hunters collectively stepped backwards, all save for de Lancre fearing the wild card of a witch that had appeared.
Cereza looked over her shoulder at Jeanne. “As I said, Jeanne. Prying my way into other peoples’ businesses is what I do. You’re alright?”
“I am now.” Jeanne said, using her sleeve to wipe the blood off her mouth. Her heart was soaring, warmth spilling through her chest at the sight of the thief. Cereza nodded, eyes twinkling, and turned back to de Lancre.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.” The witch hunter said. His position hadn’t changed, his small smile still in place even though his hunters were twitching with fear all around him.
“A shame I can’t say the same to you!” Cereza replied.
“It is a shame, isn’t it?” de Lancre said. Hunter and witch regarded each other for a beat, and de Lancre’s smile broke into something more amused. “You’re not here to chat, I suppose.”
“Of course not.” Cereza chimed, and slammed the tip of her cane against the ground.
Cracks burst along the dark floor, racing towards Jeanne. She tugged on her chains and they pulled free of their loop with a satisfying series of clanks and bangs. Jeanne rose to her feet, chains rattling ominously, and a sharp grin broke across her face.
“Jeanne?” Cereza asked, smiling at de Lancre. She heard the other witch step forwards, and platinum hair appear in her peripherals. “Shall we show these little hunters what it means to challenge the Umbra?”
“That sounds like a fine plan, Cereza.” Jeanne replied, and she and Cereza sprung forwards as one.
A swarm of bats burst out of nowhere, hurtling towards de Lancre. Another hunter immediately leapt into their path, swinging wildly at them with a twin pair of short silver swords. The bats descended on him, too many and too small, and he collapsed with a scream. Jeanne lunged at the nearest witch hunter, ducking under the punch he threw and wrapping her chains around his throat. He grappled with her but Jeanne held fast, and he soon went limp.
Spurred on by their comrades falling, the witch hunters leapt into action, pulling weapons and charging at Cereza. The thief caught the first hunter with the bat-edge of her cane, its knife-sharp wings ripping through the soft portion of his jaw. He screamed, stumbling away, and another hunter took his place immediately. A gun flashed in his hand and he aimed, but Jeanne appeared and fell into a crouch, sweeping his feet out from under him. He landed on his back with a grunt and Jeanne was immediately up and twirling out of the way of another hunter.
Cereza raised her cane, a silver bullet ricocheting off of it with a bright ping! Heavy stomps came from her left and the blonde twirled, magic swelling in her chest as witch time activated around her. She sidestepped the hunter who was sprinting at her, using her cane to smash in one of his knees. He fell to the ground with a yelp as witch time ended, and Cereza was slammed into from the side. The thief hit the floor with a growl, her hat tumbling from her head. She twisted to the side to avoid a punch from the hunter who had tackled her and distantly heard Jeanne shout her name. Above her, the hunter raised both fists, seemingly preparing to crush Cereza’s skull, but the thief snapped fingers. With a flurry of squeals and wing beats, a mass of bats exploded out of Cereza’s fallen hat, swarming around the hunter. He shouted, swatting at them. Cereza punched upwards, fist catching him in the nose, and the hunter lurched off of her.
“Enough!” de Lancre’s voice cut through the sound of the fight. The hunters immediately lowered their weapons, moving away from Cereza, who had risen to her knees.
Jeanne dropped the limp body of the hunter she had been throttling with her chains and darted to Cereza’s side. The blonde raised an eyebrow at her, mouth quirking into a smirk, the thief seemingly unruffled by the fight.
“Ma chat, you were supposed to get yourself out of those chains by now.” Cereza said.
“And how were you expecting me to do that, exactly?” Jeanne asked. “Silver repels magic. Did you think I suddenly had the ability to rip through them with my bare hands?”
“Oh, you don’t carry lockpicks on you?” Cereza blinked at Jeanne, puzzled, and for a beat Jeanne thought she was being serious. But then the blonde’s mouth twitched, and Jeanne scoffed.
“Teasing me? At a time like this?”
“Anything to see that pretty blush of yours, Jeanne.”
Someone cleared their throat, cutting through the witches’ conversation. de Lancre stood with his hands clasped behind his back, cold eyes crinkled around the edges. His pose was loose and easy, the eye of the storm amongst the tense, rabid-dog energy of the pacing hunters all around him. “This has been quite the show, but I’m afraid to say the night isn’t getting any younger.”
“A keen observation. Jeanne and I will just be on our way, then.” Cereza replied, and tipped her hat to the witch hunter.
de Lancre’s expression didn’t change. “There’s only one way tonight ends. Don’t you want to go out with grace and elegance? With all the poise of an Umbra witch?”
The witches looked at each other, and then back to de Lancre.
“Are you – are you asking us to tie ourselves quietly to the pyres? Under the guise of it being a graceful way to go out?”
“I don’t think he knows what it means to be an Umbra witch.” Jeanne mock-whispered, hand up in front of her mouth, and Cereza snorted with laughter.
“Imagine thinking that being Umbra means to lay down and accept death without a fight. Imagine thinking that being Umbra means to cow to witch hunters, of all things.” Cereza said, and Jeanne tittered.
The hunters were shuffling restlessly, silver weapons glinting in the low light. de Lancre sighed wearily, as though facing a great trial, and rolled his shoulders to loosen them.
“Enough of this. This is the problem with witches – they always bring more annoyances with them than you expect. Always more slippery, always harder to kill. Like cockroaches.”
Both Cereza and Jeanne’s noses crinkled, and they shared a glance. Jeanne rolled her eyes, one hand raised to make a blah, blah motion, and Cereza snickered in agreement.
“Hunters!” de Lancre called. A synchronized yell went up from the gathered men. “Will you let these witches best you? Will you let them escape our holy fires?” The noise in the room became deafening, and Jeanne felt sweat roll down her back. Despite she and Cereza’s swagger, Jeanne knew she was starting to tire, the silver chains draining her physically and magically. Beside her Cereza was still, hands folded on top of her cane, but Jeanne could see the tense lines running across her shoulders.
de Lancre nodded once at the witches, cold eyes shining as his smile grew ever so slightly. “Hunters – it’s time to hunt.”
Round two, Jeanne thought miserably, and the hunters lunged.
Two hunters moved forwards, but Cereza neatly ducked under the first’s outstretched arm and flipped him over her back, tossing him into the second hunter. They went to the ground in a heap, and Cereza straightened up in time to see a hunter’s sword arc down towards her. Platinum hair filled the thief’s vision and Jeanne kicked straight upwards, knocking the sword off its path. Her kick continued into a walkover, and Cereza swung her cane, cracking it across the hunter’s temple.
Jeanne rose from her walkover in time to watch Cereza twirl away, fending off the hunter with two swords, who was now sporting tiny, bat-sized bite marks all over his arms. Jeanne took a precious second to shamelessly admire Cereza’s fighting – Trinities, she’s beautiful – before footfalls to Jeanne’s right had her spinning into her own twirl, swinging at the approaching hunter. The man grabbed for her chains and Jeanne sidestepped him, driving her knee into his stomach and then wrapping her chains around his throat when he doubled over. The hunter struggled, bucking and shaking like a wild horse as he tried to rip Jeanne away from him, and Jeanne’s muscles howled from the effort of choking him.
There was a distinct, familiar click from behind Jeanne and the unconscious hunter slid from her arms. Jeanne whirled, eyes widening, and saw the flash of a muzzle. Her chest swelled with magic but the chains on her wrists burned, absorbing the limited witch time Jeanne could activate.
She was only able to jerk to the side in the split second of witch time she got, and molten pain exploded through her shoulder, the same one that had been previously injured. Jeanne shrieked, going down hard on her knees, and clutched at herself. Her hands became sticky, blood spilling between her fingers, and her wrists turned raw as the silver chains dulled down her healing magic. Her mind turned to a loud wail of pain and rage, and she bared her teeth at the hunter, his gun raised again.
“Jeanne!” Cereza shouted, and the hunter was overtaken by a huge swarm of bats. His aim went off and he fired wildly, missing Jeanne and hitting a tall hunter who had been approaching before he fell to his back, shouting and swatting at Cereza’s bats.
“Jeanne, Jeanne, let me see!” Cereza appeared in front of Jeanne, sliding to the ground in front of her. The thief’s face was pinched beneath her mask, blonde hair sticking to her forehead. Her hands roamed over Jeanne’s shoulder and her gloves were soon soaked with blood, but the sharp tingle of healing magic scratched along Jeanne’s skin. “I’ve got you, I can heal this, don’t panic.”
But Jeanne very much was panicking, stomach spinning and lungs burning as she breathed too fast, too shallowly. She could feel the wound fighting to close, and watched Cereza’s face twist in pain from the force of the magic she was conducting. Over Cereza’s shoulder Jeanne could see the hunters drawing closer, eyes dark and hungry like wolves, their silver weapons shining like bared teeth. Jeanne’s wrists burned, and her face was damp, her shoulder white-hot with pain.
The itch of magic abruptly vanished, and Cereza was roughly ripped away from Jeanne. The platinum-haired witch hissed, clutching at her limp arm, and watched in horror as Cereza was dragged to her feet, arms pinned behind her by the tall, thickset hunter who had been hit with the stray bullet. He was bleeding heavily from his side, but the injury wasn’t slowing him down at all. Cereza thrashed, then drove the heel of her boot into the hunter’s foot, twisting it back and forth, but the hunter didn’t let go.
A fist tangled in Jeanne’s hair and her skin crawled. She was roughly hauled upwards, and a shout tore out of her throat as she struggled. But de Lancre kept one foot on Jeanne’s chains, and he tugged painfully on Jeanne’s hair, tilting Jeanne’s face towards his. He looked entirely unphased, smile in place, suit perfectly pressed, but deep in his eyes Jeanne saw something empty and starving and endless. de Lancre’s gaze flicked down to Jeanne’s bloodied blouse and the wound Jeanne could feel reopening, and then he inhaled lightly, looking towards his hunters, the hollowness in his eyes vanishing.
“Someone please chain the butterfly before she tries anything else.” It came out as a sigh, as though de Lancre were a teacher trying to corral unruly children.
There was the sound of a scuffle, but de Lancre’s grip on Jeanne’s hair was tight, forcing her to stare up at him rather than look to Cereza. Jeanne’s heart was racing and she was sweating terribly, and the pain in her shoulder had spread down to her ribs, sinking its claws deep through her body. Her arm and part of her chest were going numb, and her hand hung limply, fingers twitching of their own accord. Every time Jeanne breathed it came with a sharp ripple of pain, and her blouse was becoming progressively wetter.
Cereza swore loudly, and Jeanne flailed in de Lancre’s grip, ignoring the pain that sent stars across her vision. She caught a glimpse of Cereza with a silver manacle clamped over one wrist, a hunter at her feet, bleeding heavily from his nose. As Jeanne watched, a scrawny hunter frantically dodged a punch from Cereza, the bundle of silver chains in his arms glinting menacingly against the torchlight.
de Lancre’s fingers tightened in Jeanne’s hair and he dragged her face away from Cereza. She glared up at him, trying to tell herself that the darkness at the edges of her vision wasn’t anything to worry about, and that the cold numbness spreading through her arm was perfectly fine. de Lancre looked at her, the epitome of calmness, eyes the cold, hollow shades of a winter storm.
“You’re going to lose.” Jeanne said, and grinned despite the pain, despite the hand in her hair. Jeanne watched something flick across de Lancre’s eyes, and he nodded to the hunters prowling around the room.
“To the pyres. No more chances for mischief from these two.” de Lancre ordered, and another hunter appeared, fist wrapping around the chains at Jeanne’s wrists. Together they heaved Jeanne towards the pyres. Her heeled boots kicked against the ground and she twisted weakly in their grasp, tired from both blood loss and the silver chains.
Jeanne was yanked up the small step to the stage, heels catching on its dark stone edge, and the pyres were suddenly looming over her, silent and cold. Jeanne’s heart pounded in her chest, thumping against her watch as though demanding its lock fall off and let her do something, anything. She could hear the sounds of Cereza fighting the hunters again, and Jeanne desperately threw back her elbow. It connected with de Lancre and he grunted, and his fingers tightened painfully in Jeanne’s hair.
“Have some dignity, Jeanne.” He said, breath cold against her ear, and shoved her towards the pyre. Jeanne immediately pushed off of it, spinning into a low kick that de Lancre dodged with a simple step. He batted away Jeanne’s attempt at a punch, then drove his knuckles into the wound on her shoulder. Jeanne’s vision went red and she screamed, folding at the waist, reality momentarily blurring away.
“Jeanne!” Cereza shouted, sounding much too far away.
de Lancre pulled away his hand and Jeanne crumpled forwards. Her hair stuck to her forehead and she was fighting down bile, her breath coming short and shallow. Everything was out of focus and hazed in red, and hands roughly dragged at the chains around her wrists.
Jeanne hissed as her shoulders pulled, forced to raise her hands over her head. She heard Cereza shout again, a desperate, pleading noise. Jeanne saw her, blonde and crimson and navy and perfect, but de Lancre’s face appeared in Jeanne’s vision, hiding her view of the thief. Jeanne mustered her best glare for him, but his smile stayed in place, waiting patiently as another hunter wrapped silver chains around Jeanne’s ankles, binding her to the pyre.
The antechamber buzzed with sudden energy, the room falling into tight, searing silence as de Lancre regarded Jeanne, now tied to the pyre. The shadows cast by the trembling torchlight seemed to pull in close, a play’s audience leaning in to see the actors in their pivotal moments. The shadows grew tall and long, opera glasses held to eyes and expressions hid behind hands.
I’m not dying here. I’m not. Jeanne thought, but she barely managed to make the chains rattle as she tried to struggle against them. Chuckles broke out amongst the hunters, a low, ominous rumble that echoed off the dark stone of the room.
“Jeanne!” Cereza bellowed, cutting through the low laughter of the hunters. She was still trying to grapple with a pair of hunters, but one wrist was in a chain and Jeanne knew the silver was whittling away at the thief’s magic. “Jeanne!”
Cereza’s voice and the sound of her both still on her feet and swinging at hunters sent a burst of adrenaline through Jeanne. She fought against the chains, back slamming against the pyre and silver chewing against her skin. This wasn’t how it was going to end, for her or Cereza. Jeanne wasn’t going to become another pile of ashes, her heart pinned up somewhere like a trophy, and she wasn’t going to let it happen to bright, beautiful Cereza either.
The hunters’ chuckles had become the sharp, yipping laughter of coyotes circling a kill. She heard Cereza cry out, followed by chains clanking, and then the sound of a body hitting the stone floor. Jeanne met de Lancre’s eyes, icy and pale where Jeanne was filled with fury and rage.
“You’re going to lose.” Jeanne repeated, meaning it with every part of her being. de Lancre looked at her cooly for a beat, and then turned his back on Jeanne.
“A torch, please?” And he raised his hands to the cheers of his hunters.
As de Lancre accepted a blazing torch from a hunter, Jeanne saw Cereza. The thief was down on one knee and was sporting a cut above her eye. Jeanne’s heart stuttered when she saw the shine of silver around both of Cereza’s wrists, her chains being held by three hunters, all of which were bleeding heavily.
de Lancre held the torch close to Jeanne and she shied away from it as heat spread greedily across her chest. The room exploded with noise, jeers and howls echoing off dark stone. The fire reflected in de Lancre’s frigid eyes, all the hollowness and evil inside him cast into light, burning hot inside of him like a fever consuming everything in its path. Jeanne leaned away as far as she could, and her heart pounded at her ribs with the desperation of a caged bird trying to escape.
I’m going to die, I’m going to die – I don’t want to die! There was a deafening roar in Jeanne’s ears, her mind falling into something primal and raw as terror cornered her. She could hear the hunters laughing and whooping, and the growl of the torch as its flames sputtered and danced, and Jeanne’s eyes landed on Cereza. The thief was still on the ground, two hunters’ hands on her shoulders, one standing on her chains, and more hovering nearby. The thief’s cheeks shone with tears, and when her eyes met Jeanne’s, Cereza’s face flashed with something unreadable. She shoulders made a small jerky movement, and then she lunged forwards, the hunters struggling to hold her.
“I love you!” The thief shouted. “Jeanne, I love you!”
There was a pause where the thief seemed startled with herself, and then the words spilled out of Cereza again, drowning out the hunters’ laughter and cheers: “I love you, Jeanne!”
Jeanne felt her heart stutter, stop, and restart. She went entirely cold, then entirely hot. Tears poured down her face. She loves me?
de Lancre was holding the torch to the base of the pyre, the flames licking at the bundles of wood. Shadows lurked around the darkened edges of the room, quivering with anticipation, breath stuck in their lungs as they perched on the edges of their seats to gleefully watch whatever happened next.
She loves me back, Jeanne thought, idly, distantly, and felt something shatter deep in her chest.
“I love you!” The words burst out of Jeanne with the force of a runaway train, her eyes locked on Cereza. “I love you so much!”
The admission swallowed down the noise of the antechamber, the universe shrinking down to just the beat of the witches’ hearts. Jeanne felt her world tilt on its axis, warmth bursting through her. She loves me back! Despite it all, Jeanne felt her face break into a watery smile and watched as Cereza’s crooked, wonderful grin appeared.
“How sweet.” de Lancre said dryly, watching the flames catch on the base of the pyre.
Silver eyes met storm-grey, and there was the soft click of a lock falling open.
“I love you.” Jeanne repeated, voice just above a whisper, and magic exploded out of her.
“Jeanne, my love, I’m so sorry.” Isabelle said, gently cupping Jeanne’s cheeks. Her daughter stared up at her with wide grey eyes and Isabelle pressed their foreheads together, unable to bear her daughter’s tears. “This will protect you, even though it hurts.”
“Maman?” Jeanne whimpered. Small hands reached out for her mother as the other witch stepped back. Isabelle’s jaw-length silver hair was dark with ash and blood and a crack spiderwebbed up one of the lenses on her glasses. They were in a small alcove of rubble, the smell of smoke thick in the air. Isabelle cast a glance over her shoulder, brow furrowed, and reached a hand towards her daughter. The incantation was short, the words sharp and ancient, and Jeanne felt an uncomfortable twinge in her chest.
Thin, dark chains wrapped around Jeanne’s watch, clamping it closed with a lily-shaped lock. The girl’s mouth fell open into a small O and she held her watch up so she could see it. She experimentally tucked a finger under one of the chains, but it didn’t budge. Her magic felt funny too – small and dull, like she had used too much of it and now needed to rest, even though she hadn’t used any magic that day.
Isabelle’s hands were back on Jeanne’s cheeks then, and panic shot through Jeanne at the sight of her mother crying.
“Jeanne, please listen. Run to the woods and find your aunt. You remember the way, yes?” At her daughter’s nod, Isabelle smoothed a hand across Jeanne’s hair. “I’m sorry for the lock, but it will stop the hunters from being able to track you. You’ll be able to remove it, the spell forbids me from saying how, but Jeanne – oh, Jeanne, you’ll figure it out, my smart, sweet girl.”
“Maman, you’re not coming with me?” Jeanne’s little brow furrowed, and Isabelle swallowed down a sob as she shook her head. Footsteps were rapidly approaching alongside the shouts of men, and Isabelle squeezed Jeanne to her chest.
“I’m sorry my love, I have to stay here. I’m going to the clocktower, to help the others. I love you. I love you, Jeanne.”
Isabelle kissed Jeanne between her eyes and spun her around. Not giving Jeanne a chance to say anything, Isabelle gave her daughter a shove between the shoulder blades. “To the forest and to your aunt! Go, now!”
Jeanne cast a look back to her mother as she started to run, but Isabelle was already turning away, drawing her sword as a pair of hunters appeared around the pile of rubble.
Jeanne’s magic burst through the room with the force of a bomb, throwing de Lancre off the stage and slinging hunters in every direction. Centuries worth of magic released all at once, the lock holding it back finally gone. Jeanne shrieked with the force of it, the silver chains tumbling off her and the pyre extinguishing with a loud hiss. Her shoulder wound knitted closed without so much of a whisper and feeling returned to her arm in a nauseating wave of prickles. Jeanne shoved herself away from the pyre, gasping for breath, everything feeling too sharp, too bright, too much.
Where Jeanne’s magic had gleefully tossed the hunters like a toddler with a bowl of salad, it instead flowed over Cereza with flower-petal gentleness. The chains fell off her wrists with a tinkling chime, and Cereza felt her own magic rush back, bright and powerful. She jumped to her feet, watching Jeanne trip over herself as she stumbled away from the pyre.
“Jeanne!” Cereza rushed forwards, catching Jeanne as the other witch careened off the small stage. Jeanne slumped in Cereza’s arms, clinging to her vest and pressing her face into the thief’s neck. Magic was rolling off of her in waves, thrumming through the air as though lightning was about to strike. But the scent of it was so distinctly Jeanne – lily-scented perfume and the powdery smell of expensive lipstick and the sharp tang of gunmetal – that Cereza was certain she could get drunk on it.
Cereza felt Jeanne smile into her neck and mumble something.
“What was that?” The thief asked, holding Jeanne tight, determined to never let her go again.
Jeanne’s lips brushed against the sensitive skin below Cereza’s jaw. “You said you love me.”
Despite the worrying amount of magic leaking off Jeanne, despite de Lancre picking himself up off the ground in Cereza’s peripherals, despite the hunters starting to circle the witches, despite it all, Cereza felt her face burn with a blush.
“Well. You said it back.” Cereza replied, and Jeanne snickered into Cereza’s soft skin. The thief leaned into Jeanne, grasping at the back of her blouse, and sighed deeply. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“You as well.” Jeanne said warmly, raising her head off Cereza’s neck. She traced the cut above the thief’s eye, fingertips feather-light as the tickle of magic passed over Cereza’s skin. The cut healed immediately, and Jeanne grinned at Cereza, who winked in return.
There was the click of a gun cocking, and Jeanne watched Cereza’s brow furrow at something over Jeanne’s shoulder. Jeanne lazily followed her gaze, half-drunk on the magic in her system and more content to just continue staring into Cereza’s face than to deal with anything else, and found de Lancre standing a few feet away. His hunters circled around him like attack dogs waiting for commands. Their numbers were dwindling though, Jeanne noted. There were more hunters on the ground unmoving than there were on their feet, but the ones remaining had a starved, vicious look to them.
de Lancre adjusted the aim of his silver, old-style pistol and frowned at Jeanne and Cereza.
“As I said. Witches are like cockroaches – always harder to kill than you think.” He sighed. “You couldn’t have just let yourself burn, could you, Jeanne?”
“Of course not.” Jeanne replied, turning to face the hunter. She leaned back into Cereza’s chest, one hand coming up to play with the ends of the thief’s ponytail. “It’s going to take a lot more than a little fire and some witch hunters to kill an Umbra witch.”
de Lancre pinched the bridge of his nose, looking frazzled for the first time Jeanne could think of. He sighed loudly. “Neither of you are getting out of here alive.”
Jeanne shrugged and Cereza snickered into her ear. “How interesting – I can say the same for you and your hunters.”
Without warning de Lancre fired. The noise ricocheted off the stone walls of the antechamber, making some of the hunters jump. The bullet hurtled towards the witches, straight for Jeanne’s chest, but Jeanne merely tilted her head. Witch time activated and everything went still, the bullet creeping forwards by centimetres as Jeanne tossed platinum hair over her shoulder. She reached out and flicked the bullet away in disgust and heard Cereza hum from behind her.
“I think it’s perhaps time we made our exit, Jeanne.” The thief suggested. “This has been an exciting evening, but I’m certain Maman is worried sick by now.”
“Then let’s not keep her waiting any longer. Shall we, Cereza?” Jeanne replied, eyes twinkling. Cereza grinned and reached out, knuckles ghosting across Jeanne’s cheekbone as she tucked platinum hair behind her ear.
Jeanne’s witch time ended and the bullet sailed past Jeanne and Cereza, tearing through the stomach of a hunter who had been trying to approach them from the side. He hit the ground with a thud and a wail, clutching at himself, and the antechamber erupted into chaos as the other hunters surged forwards.
Jeanne’s magic was roaring through her with the force of a natural disaster. A hunter pointed a pair of revolvers and she stepped neatly into witch time, Cereza by her side, and twirled past the slew of bullets he had fired. As witch time ended, Jeanne kicked out and the heel of her boot connected with his jaw, sending the hunter sprawling. Cereza appeared, one arm wrapping around Jeanne’s waist and pulling her into a pirouette and out of the way of a hunter wielding an ornate silver spear. As the hunter slashed down with his spear, Jeanne used the momentum from Cereza’s spin to kick at his arms. His elbow snapped with a satisfying crack and the hunter’s spear clattered to the ground.
“That was for Mictlantecuhtli!” Cereza laughed, the hunter’s wrist going crunch under her boot as she and Jeanne darted past.
Jeanne dove into a somersault to avoid the swipe of a second hunter who had appeared, one of the wall torches in his grasp, and Jeanne threw out her hand as she sat up. The spell hit the hunter in his chest and he flew across the antechamber, crashing into the pyres and bringing them down with a series of groans and thumps. The torch caused the pile of wood to erupt with flames almost immediately, and heat and smoke exploded across the room.
Merde, Jeanne thought, sidestepping a hunter as he pointed a pistol at her. We need to get out of here quickly!
She slashed out with magic, and both the hunter’s gun and his hand spun across the floor as he screamed.
“Cereza!” Jeanne called, and watched as the blonde flounced out of a cartwheel. “Can you summon Mictlantecuhtli?”
The blonde used her cane to parry a slash from a hunter with a sword. “Not unless you want to get buried under this place as it collapses!”
Merde, Jeanne thought again. Her elbow slammed into the nose of the hunter, and then she hit him across the jaw, sending him to the floor.
There was the sound of a gun firing and Cereza’s witch time activated. As everything turned slow and still around them, de Lancre’s gun was still raised, smoke curling lightly off its end. Malice burned hot in his eyes. Jeanne looked to Cereza and the blonde grinned, wicked as a nightmare, and Jeanne felt her own face break into a matching smile.
Witch time ended and Jeanne was suddenly in front of de Lancre. She snapped her fingers and an invisible force knocked his arm away, his pistol flying out of his hand. The bat edge of a cane slammed into de Lancre’s chin and his head snapped back. He stumbled, tripping over Cereza, who had appeared behind him. The blonde grabbed a fistful of his suit, hauling him back to his feet in time for Jeanne’s fist to collide with his nose.
de Lancre crumpled limply to the floor with a growl. He rolled out of the way of a kick from Jeanne, then spat out a mouthful of dark blood. It glistened wetly against the dark stone of the antechamber and he stared at it. This was a sacred place for his witch hunters – a space where he and his men were meant to celebrate victories and bask in their holy mission. It was supposed to be the night that the Umbra went extinct, but instead a pair of witches – one of which hadn’t even had access to her power until thirty seconds ago – had turned the night into an absolute embarrassment. de Lancre looked at the wet smear of his blood on the stone floor of his holy place, feeling the heat from the ruined pyres as flames roared on one side of the room, and something twisted harshly in his core.
“Enough!” de Lancre bellowed, and Jeanne and Cereza looked at him with raised eyebrows. He pulled himself to his feet and wiped his hand across his jaw. It came away bloody, and he clenched his hand into a fist, eyes alight with something dark and terrible. He opened his mouth, ready to rally his hunters around him, ready to shackle the witches and torch them with the force of a wildfire – and instead Jeanne’s knee collided with his stomach.
de Lance doubled over in pain and Cereza wasted no time. She rushed forwards, summoning a swarm of bats that set upon de Lancre with the force of a hurricane. He screamed as they tore at him, tiny teeth sharp and innumerable.
“Let’s go!” Jeanne’s hand tangled with Cereza’s, and she hauled the thief along behind her. The remaining few hunters who were left standing had run to help de Lancre fend off Cereza’s bats and the witches raced unhindered towards the large doors of the antechamber.
Jeanne’s magic was still surging through her, thrilling and powerful, and she threw out her hand as she ran alongside Cereza.
I could get used to this, Jeanne thought, feeling her chest swell, magic flowing fast and easy. The heavy wooden doors to the chamber exploded off their hinges in a fantastic symphony of splintering and cracking, and Jeanne heard Cereza give a low laugh of appreciation from behind her.
They burst into a narrow hallway and Jeanne’s heeled boots thumped a steady rhythm as she and Cereza sprinted down it. The hallway led to a spiral staircase of stone, and the witches hurtled up the steps two at a time as smoke and the shouts of hunters chased them. Cereza’s hand was tight in Jeanne’s and her presence solid and comforting beside her as they ran.
Trinities, I love her so much, Jeanne thought, and warmth burst through her chest. She squeezed Cereza’s hand as they whipped around a corner, and when the thief’s grip tightened in response, Jeanne felt her heart soar. The shouts had started to get closer – Cereza’s bats had faded and the hunters’ footfalls boomed like thunder as they gave chase. The stairway was beginning to fill with heat, the fallout of the collapsed pyres billowing out of the antechamber with alarming speed.
The witches careened into a small, plush room of dark wood, eyes and throats starting to sting from smoke. A bar stood on one side of the room, its surface laid out with expensive spirits and wine in preparation for a celebration. On the other side roared a fireplace, scores of Umbran watches hanging above it, and Jeanne’s steps faltered at the sight of them. But Cereza pressed on, her hand tight in Jeanne’s as the blonde led them towards a short flight of steps with a door leading to the street. Together, Jeanne and Cereza sped towards the stairs, freedom just steps away.
Jeanne heard the noise of a pistol being cocked and threw herself to the side, hauling Cereza with her. Bullets lodged in the wood panelling around the room and spattered into a bookcase, tearing through paper and turning it to confetti.
Jeanne skidded to a stop, Cereza’s hand tight in hers, and found de Lancre in the doorway, his pistol aimed and raised. His face was bleeding heavily and his hand shook on his gun, his knuckles slick and crimson. Hunters crowded the doorway behind him, all bleeding and bruised, but wearing matching expressions of hate. Smoke poured out around them, and most of the hunters looked a little singed. The fire in the antechamber must have been starting to go out of control, Jeanne figured, and a bolt of giddiness shot through her. Take that, then – try to burn us and we’ll burn you.
“Cockroaches.” de Lancre hissed. His face was twisted with rage and disgust, as though Jeanne and Cereza were the worst thing he had ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes on. The mask of small, pleasant smiles and cold eyes was gone, leaving something twisted and hollow and ugly in its place.
The hand on de Lancre’s gun trembled terribly and he swapped to his other hand, reaching up to wipe bloodied knuckles across his face. It left a long trail of blood and sweat and soot, and he gestured widely at the witches.
“This was supposed to be a sacred night! A night full of celebration! Men have come from across the globe to witness the extinction of the Umbra! To witness the extinction of evil itself! We were going to burn you, then drink over your ashes until the early hours of the morning. Les Papillons and the bonus third Umbra we picked up!” de Lancre’s voice was low and dangerous, burning with a frigid, unending fury. “And instead, our antechamber is on fire, and most of my hunters are all maimed or dead. Our bloodlines have existed since the Vigridian trials and have been ended tonight by a pair of measly Umbra who don’t know their place.”
Cereza stood next to Jeanne, tall and straight-backed, her chin held high. “None of this killing had to happen – during the Vigridian trials, or tonight. But here we are. Your prejudice and flames over understanding and peace.”
de Lancre bared his teeth like a wild dog and fired his pistol. Jeanne moved to step into witch time as the rest of the hunters surged past de Lancre, but she felt Cereza drop her hand.
“VRELP LONSHIN!” The blonde bellowed, hair spinning loose from its ponytail.
The world tilted and floorboards snapped apart as Cereza’s summoning circle spread across the floor, filling the room with blood-red light. One massive wing appeared, followed by another, and another, and another, and Mictlantecuhtli’s shriek shook the entire room. A wing slammed into the bar and it shattered like glass, alcohol spilling everywhere, and the demon’s tail whipped across the room and broke apart a bookcase.
“Jeanne!” Cereza shouted over the chaos. She held out a gloved hand, hair swirling around her face, back alight with a sigil.
“I thought you said the whole place would come down if you summoned him!” Jeanne yelled, taking Cereza’s hand and being pulled into the thief’s side.
“That’s the plan!” The thief replied, holding Jeanne close against her. The hunters were scrambling around and trying to fend off Mictlantecuhtli as he climbed out of the portal, but they were having little success. The bat shrieked again, a noise like metal being twisted apart, and stamped a hunter into nothingness with one back foot. But Mictlantecuhtli was filling up the room, more and more of his huge shape spilling out of Inferno and into the witch hunters’ tiny meeting hall. Mictlantecuhtli’s back slammed up against the ceiling and panels crumbled into nothingness under the force of it. Bricks and beams tumbled down and the bat shook himself, sending dust and debris flying in every direction.
“Time to go!” Cereza yelled, right into Jeanne’s ear. The thief leapt up, tugging Jeanne with her, and they landed on the space where Mictlantecuhtli’s skull met his neck.
“Stop them!” de Lancre roared, and there was the sound of gunfire. Silver bullets pattered against Mictlantecuhtli’s pelt and Cereza and Jeanne ducked low. The bat screeched and lunged forwards, jaws clamping around the hunter who had fired at them, and Jeanne was forced to grab tight around Cereza’s middle to stay seated.
Cereza laughed brightly as Mictlantecuhtli tipped back his head and swallowed the hunter. “Up and away, Mictlantecuhtli!”
Trinities, she’s enjoying this! Jeanne thought, entirely bewildered, and was thrown against Cereza as Mictlantecuhtli raised his front wings. He clawed through the remains of the ceiling, chunks of concrete and piping crumbling to dust beneath his tirade. The hunters scattered, some trying to run back towards the antechamber but being stopped by spreading flames. Others desperately tried to duck around the falling building, scuttling in every direction. Only de Lancre stood still, gun still raised and eyes wild when Jeanne’s gaze landed on him. They held one another’s gaze for a beat, and then Jeanne raised a middle finger and smirked.
The street above gave way and Mictlantecuhtli burst out onto pavement, giving himself a huge shake. One massive back paw slipped and he flapped his back wings, trying to regain his balance, and his claws sliced through a hunter who had been climbing the wreckage. The bat pulled himself up with his front wings, flopping out of the collapsing underground meeting hall and onto the street outside.
Cool night air wrapped around the witches, sweet and clear of smoke, and a bright laugh escaped Jeanne’s mouth.
Mictlantecuhtli spread his wings, preparing to take off, but shouts echoed out of the rubble. The noise was followed by gunfire, and Mictlantecuhtli wailed as bullets tore through the thin membrane of his wing. The injury immediately sealed closed and the bat turned, lips curling up into a snarl as the witches peered down from his back. There was a small group of hunters gathered in the wreckage, covered in soot and dust, and surrounded by smoke and flames. In the middle of them stood de Lancre, gun still raised, face twisted with wrath and vengeance.
“Trinities, and they said we’re the cockroaches.” Cereza grumbled. “Let’s go, Mictlantecuhtli!”
The bat spread his wings, pushing off the pavement and into the air. The pavement crumbled beneath his claws and huge pieces of stone slid down towards the remaining few hunters.
We have to do something about them, Jeanne thought, eyes locked on de Lancre as he climbed up a pile of rubble. They’ll pursue us forever if we don’t.
de Lancre looked up, standing on top of the rubble. He was streaked with blood and ash, and his revolver winked silver as he pointed it towards Jeanne.
Jeanne thought about it all – the nightmares she would have of fire and smoke and falling clocktowers, and her limited magic from her locked heart. Les Papillons, stealing Umbran artifacts and treasures, putting themselves at risk not for gold and jewels, but for journals and scraps of fabric and small trinkets, just to preserve the memory of the Umbra. Jeanne thought – of the feeling of her lock falling away from her watch, of her mother’s face, of a lifetime spent alone and hiding that she was a witch, running from the memory of witch trials and narrow minds holding torches.
Jeanne thought of Isabelle’s I love you, of Rosa’s bright smile, and of lovely, wonderful Cereza.
de Lancre’s eyes met Jeanne’s, storm-grey and clear with knowing and finality.
On Mictlantecuhtli’s back, with her other arm tight around Cereza’s middle, Jeanne stretched out her hand and let her chest swell.
Magic roared out of her, focused and fast. Sparks of electricity danced across Jeanne’s knuckles and her magic hit de Lancre with the force of a lightning strike, scorching through his chest and throwing him back into the rubble. He flailed, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes locked on Jeanne, and Jeanne bared her teeth in a snarl.
“Mictlantecuhtli!” Cereza shouted, and the bat dropped his jaw. Electricity roared out, spilling into the witch hunter’s meeting hall. Wherever it touched, the bat’s attack turned to infernal fire and licked its way through the meeting hall, stampeding through the network of hallways and stairs before joining hands with the fire still burning in the antechamber. The street began to break and give way, pavement and bricks writhing and falling as the legacy of the witch hunters collapsed onto itself in a flurry of broken stone and hungry flames.
Jeanne called off her magic as Mictlantecuhtli flew higher, embers and sparks dripping from his jaws like water. The street cracked and snapped, and flames leapt upwards, sending the shadows lurking on the street scampering away. The witch hunters’ meeting hall was destroyed, along with anyone that had been inside of it. Alarms and sirens had started up some streets away, racing towards the site, but the witch hunters and what they stood for had been turned to ash and charcoal.
Mictlantecuhtli flew higher, and Jeanne’s arms were tight around Cereza’s middle, the thief’s blonde hair dancing across Jeanne’s cheek.
And for what felt like the first time in centuries, Jeanne exhaled.
***
Mictlantecuhtli leaned down from the rooftop so that Cereza could hug him around his snout.
“You’re such a good boy, Mictlantecuhtli!” She cooed, pressing a kiss to the flat of his head. The demon made a happy chuffing noise, bumping Cereza’s chest with his head and almost sending her sprawling over her bedroom balcony’s railing. “Jeanne, tell Mictlantecuhtli he was good!”
“You were very good.” Jeanne said, reaching out to scratch behind the demon’s ear. Mictlantecuhtli swivelled his head to look at her, then swiped her from her chest to forehead with his tongue. Jeanne grimaced, saliva plastering her hair to her face, and Cereza’s bubbly laughter mix with an elated shriek from the demon.
Cereza sent Mictlantecuhtli into a portal after that, still snickering as Jeanne wiped demon spit off her face, and the witches were left alone. It was almost sunrise, and the sky was turning soft shades of indigo and azures, a bright golden line along the horizon. A breeze danced by and plucked at Jeanne’s long hair, and the witches’ eyes met one another.
Jeanne regarded the thief, and Cereza reached out a hand to twirl a lock of platinum hair around her finger.
“How do you feel?” Cereza asked. Her silver eyes were twinkling, but there was a genuine, worried question behind them.
“Good. Tired.” Jeanne replied, and Cereza looked relieved. “Thank you for coming to rescue me.”
Cereza waved a hand through the air, her grin cocky. “Well, ma chat, I couldn’t just let my lovely damsel be in distress now, could I?”
Jeanne rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged on her lips. She wished she had something to say back, something clever to banter alongside the thief, but both the adrenaline of the night and Jeanne’s wave of magic were wearing off. Exhaustion was creeping into every part of the platinum witch. Her muscles were stiffening painfully, and she was wobbling on her feet. Her eyes were drooping, and she was swallowing down yawns, and when she stretched her arms over her head, both shoulders popped loudly.
Cereza laughed at Jeanne’s crinkled nose. “I do think we deserve a good night’s sleep after this, oui?”
“You can say that again.” Jeanne snorted. The witches held each other’s gazes for a beat, and then – much to her dismay – Jeanne felt her face warm with a blush. She hastily glanced away, but Cereza’s laughter told Jeanne the thief had most definitely seen.
“Something on your mind, ma chat?” Cereza teased, her smile bright with mischief.
Jeanne flicked her hair over her shoulder, cheeks scarlet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cereza.”
Cereza stepped closer, closing the gap between them. She grinned, crooked and intoxicating and beautiful, and gloved hands snaked around Jeanne’s waist. Jeanne let herself be tugged closer, chest to chest with Cereza, and looped her arms around the thief’s neck.
Their faces were close, so close, and Cereza’s hands trailed down to Jeanne’s hips. “I meant it, you know.”
“Oh?” Jeanne replied.
“When I said I love you, Jeanne.”
A shiver shot up Jeanne’s spine at Cereza’s words. Cereza’s eyes were heavy and warm with desire, but it was Jeanne who leaned in closer.
“I meant it too, Cereza.” Jeanne said, voice quiet in the centimetres of space between them. Cereza’s breath hitched slightly, and then Jeanne closed the gap between them with a kiss.
Trinities, Cereza really is a good kisser, Jeanne thought once again, and let her hand tangle in the thief’s ponytail.
Jeanne broke their kiss after some time, needing air, and giggled as Cereza kissed any piece of Jeanne she could find – her cheek, her nose, her jaw, down her neck to the skin exposed by the open collar of her blouse. Jeanne’s giggle turned to laughter as Cereza nipped at her neck, and she pulled the thief up by her chin so she could kiss her again. Cereza’s mouth moved against Jeanne’s, warm and soft and sweet, and Jeanne thought, she loves me back.
The thought shot through Jeanne and she clung to Cereza, kissing her with a renewed spike of energy. Cereza hummed with delight into Jeanne’s mouth, hands xylophoning along Jeanne’s ribs, and broke away to take a small breath at the same time the balcony doors flew open.
“CEREZA!” Rosa bellowed, startling both witches as they stood tangled up together, both unwilling to let go.
“Maman?” Cereza asked. “I’m – ah – busy.”
Rosa threw her hands into the air. “You’re grounded, is what you are!”
“I’m much to old to be grounded, Maman.”
“Not when you sneak out after I explicitly forbid you from doing so, then return only when an entire street was swallowed by a flaming sinkhole!”
“Well,” Cereza looked at Jeanne, who was barely holding in laughter, and then back to Rosa, who was more furious than Cereza had ever seen her. “We dealt with the witch hunters?”
“I don’t care what you’ve done! You could have been killed, or worse!” Rosa suddenly paused in what was sure to be a motherly rant for the century, a deep frown etching her features. She blinked at Jeanne and Cereza’s positions and tilted her head to the side. “Dearest, I thought you said you weren’t dating Jeanne?”
Jeanne couldn’t help it – she burst into laughter, the noise bubbling up and out of her chest. Her head thumped against Cereza’s shoulder and she leaned into the blonde, who held her close. Cereza and Rosa were starting to bicker – “Maman, that’s none of your business! I told you not to bother Jeanne!” “Alright, let’s talk about the flaming sinkhole instead! And what’s this about going up against the witch hunters?” “Maman, it’s fine!” – and Jeanne listened to their squabbling with a happy, warm feeling in her chest, right under where her watch sat against her skin.
Music burst across the rooftop, and Cereza shushed her mother in order to answer her phone, one arm still tight around Jeanne.
“Hi Luka – oh, you too?” The blonde said. Jeanne laughed into Cereza’s shoulder. “Yes, yes, the flaming sinkhole. Jeanne lost her phone to the witch hunters – no, don’t panic – Jeanne’s fine, and I’d very much like to get back to her – talk-to-you-later-Luka-I’m-hanging-up-now!”
“Oh, is your very important phone call done? Perhaps we could continue our conversation now?” Rosa said, hands on her hips, dark hair a frazzled halo around her face. Cereza and her mother immediately picked up where the left off, bickering endlessly, but Cereza’s hands had returned to Jeanne’s waist. The platinum witch leaned into the blonde, love flowing as free as her magic, and ran her hand up Cereza’s back.
Jeanne tilted her face slightly to see the sunrise, the sky painted in swathes of lavender and pinks. A new day, and one started with Cereza’s arms tight around her. It was enough to make Jeanne’s grin broaden even more, and she basked in the soft golden light spilling over the horizon; basked in the way the light caught in blonde hair and danced across a crimson and navy cape.
Jeanne watched the sun rise, safe in Cereza’s arms, and decided there was no place she’d ever rather be.
**
One Month Later
Jeanne crept through a darkened gallery room with her gun held out in front of her. Paintings peered down at the witch, eyebrows raised and smiles knowing. Shadows lurked everywhere in the dark room, snickering into their palms as they watched the detective. Jeanne moved with rehearsed ease, her footsteps muffled with magic, but there was a tense line to her shoulders as she felt the weight of so many painted eyes. She reached out with her magic, chest tugging, but didn’t sense anything amiss in the gallery.
Deeming the room empty, Jeanne turned a corner into a short, empty hallway. Tall marble pillars stood on one side of the hallway, and a line of windows spanned the other. Moonlight was flooding the hallway, giving it an ethereal, eerie look of pale light and long shadows.
Jeanne pressed on, steps cautious and careful, platinum hair luminescent in the low light. She was drawing closer to the exhibit where the museum’s silent alarm had been tripped only minutes ago, and while she had a good idea of who she was going to find, there was always the chance she was walking into something unexpected.
Jeanne moved slowly, about to send out another pulse of magic to check the hallway when a hand suddenly latched onto the witch’s arm. She was dragged sideways into the shadows between two pillars and gloved fingers wrapped around Jeanne’s wrist, pulling her hand and her gun over her head. She winded back her other elbow, ready to break her attacker’s nose, but caught a glimpse of a blonde ponytail and a familiar crimson and navy cloak before Cereza was pressing a hungry kiss to Jeanne’s lips. Jeanne made a small, startled noise against Cereza’s mouth and the thief let go of the hand held over Jeanne’s head in order to cup Jeanne’s cheeks. Summoning all of her willpower – kissing Cereza had quickly become one of Jeanne’s favourite pastimes over the last couple of weeks – Jeanne pushed the other witch away from her. She glared at the thief, but Cereza merely grinned at her in response, arms wrapping loosely around Jeanne’s waist.
“Cereza!” Jeanne hissed. “I’m working! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Kissing you while you’re on the clock.” The thief replied, and grinned at Jeanne’s huff of annoyance.
“I’m busy, Cereza. Though I suppose you being here tells me all I need to know about who set off the museum’s alarm.”
“In our defense, Maman did not mean to trigger it.” Cereza said airily. Her hands were starting to wander, and Jeanne batted at them.
“Cereza, you’re going to get me in trouble.” Jeanne let out a loud, irritated sigh. “I can’t be kissing you when I’m supposed to be arresting you.”
“So straightlaced. You could put me in handcuffs and then kiss me, if that makes you feel better.” The thief snickered as she watched Jeanne’s face turn a dusty pink. “Come now, Jeanne. There’s no cameras here, I made sure. Maman won’t interrupt us, and I’m sure your task force would love the gossip of the enigmatic, mysterious Detective d’Arc caught kissing her dashing nemesis La Papillon d’Ombre le Deuxième.”
Jeanne held Cereza’s gaze despite her burning cheeks, and the thief sighed dramatically, face falling somewhere into kicked puppy territory. “If that’s how it has to be then, ma chat. I thought we could spend some time together – ”
“Cereza, we see each other almost every day.”
“ – before you transfer off the task force in a couple of weeks, and we don’t see each other at these rendezvous anymore – ”
“Cereza, we quite literally see each other almost every day.”
“ – even though I’ve told you before, these soirées would be nowhere near as fun without seeing your pretty face – ”
Jeanne’s lips pressed to Cereza’s, the thief’s words cut off. Jeanne’s hands tangled in the front of Cereza’s vest as they kissed, pulling the blonde close against her, and Jeanne smiled against Cereza’s mouth. When they broke apart, Cereza looked smug, and Jeanne gently rapped her knuckles against the thief’s watch.
“You’ve got a ten second head start before I start chasing you down. If I catch you, I’m arresting you and I’m sure you don’t want to deal with Rosa if she has to pay your bail. Not that you’d likely get the chance for bail, but anyways.” Jeanne said, breath whispering against Cereza’s lips. Cereza’s silver eyes were cat-like in the darkness, shining with something delightfully hungry as she watched Jeanne. The thief’s fingers tightened briefly on Jeanne’s waist and she smirked, then stepped into the moonlight of the hallway. Jeanne immediately felt the loss of Cereza’s warmth and missed the feeling of her hands.
Cereza stood illuminated by moonlight, one hand resting on her cane. She looked beautiful, all crimson and navy and elegance, her suit pressed and fitted, her pose easy and aloof. Her smirk hadn’t faded, and her silver eyes were dancing with mischief. Jeanne stood with her shoulders straight and chin up, looking as pale and lovely as a lily, her eyes the grey of a storm ready to sink ships. L’Assistant de Magicien was smeared across her mouth, but a simple flick of her magic had the crimson lipstick back in place.
The thief reached up and tipped her hat. “Well then, Detective d’Arc. Until next time.”
Jeanne crossed her arms, a smirk curling across her face. “Dix, neuf – ”
And just like that, La Papillon d’Ombre le Deuxième turned tail and darted away. The thief’s heeled boots tapped a happy rhythm as she ran, and the second she had turned the corner and was out of Jeanne’s sight, she spun in a pirouette and squealed, a smile bright on her face. Trinities, I love Jeanne so much.
Jeanne stood in the shadows and watched Cereza go, counting down as the thief turned the corner into the gallery room Jeanne had come from. Jeanne’s chest was filling with warmth, and she reached up to play with the chain of her unlocked watch.
Trinities, I really do love her, Jeanne thought, and grinned broadly as she set off to chase her thief.
La fin