I recounted all that had happened at the temple in clipped, disgruntled tones, leaving my own role in our escape vague. But Madame Labelle was an inconveniently sharp woman. She sniffed me out like a fox.
“You’re not telling me something.” She leaned forward to examine me, lips pursed. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Didn’t you?” She arched a brow and leaned back on her hands. “So, according to you, you killed your forefather—a man you loved—for no apparent reason?”
Loved. A lump formed in my throat at the past tense. I cleared it away with a cough. “He betrayed us—”
“And then your wife came back to life—also for no apparent reason?”
“She was never dead.”
“And you know this how?”
“Because—” I stopped short, realizing too late I couldn’t explain the thread of life connecting Lou and the Archbishop. Not without revealing myself. Her eyes narrowed at my hesitation, and I sighed. “I . . . saw it, somehow.”
“How?”
I stared at my boots. My shoulders ached with tension. “There was a cord. It—it connected them. It pulsed in time with her heart.”
She sat up suddenly, wincing at the movement. “You saw a pattern.”
I said nothing.
“You saw a pattern,” she repeated, almost as if to herself, “and you recognized it. You—you acted on it. How?” She leaned forward again, clutched my arm with surprising strength despite her trembling hands. “Where did it come from? You must tell me everything you remember.”
Alarmed, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You need to rest. We can talk about this later.”
“Tell me.” Her nails dug into my forearm.
I glared at her. She glared back. Finally, realizing she wouldn’t budge, I blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t remember. It all happened too quickly. Morgane slit Lou’s throat, and I thought she was dead, and—and then there was just darkness. It swallowed me up, and I couldn’t think clearly. I just—reacted.” I paused, swallowing hard. “That’s where the cord came from . . . darkness.”
I stared down at my hands and remembered that dismal place. I’d been alone there—truly, absolutely alone. The emptiness reminded me of what I’d imagined Hell to feel like. My hands curled into fists. Though I’d washed away the Archbishop’s blood, some stains went below the surface.
“Amazing.” Madame Labelle released my arm and slumped backward. “I didn’t believe it possible, but . . . there’s no other explanation. The cord . . . the balance it struck—it all fits. And not only did you see the pattern, you were also able to manipulate it. Unprecedented . . . this is—it’s amazing—” She looked up at me in awe. “Reid, you have magic.”
I opened my mouth to deny it, but closed it again almost immediately. It shouldn’t have been possible. Lou had told me it wasn’t possible. Yet here I was. Tainted. Stained by magic and the death that invariably followed.
We stared at each other for a few tense seconds.
“How?” My voice sounded more desperate than I would’ve liked, but I needed this answer more than I needed my pride. “How could this happen?”
The awe in her eyes flickered out. “I don’t know. It would seem Lou’s imminent death triggered you somehow.” She clasped my hand. “I know this is difficult for you, but this will change everything, Reid. You’re the first, but what if there are others? What if we were wrong about our sons?”
“But there’s no such thing as a male witch.” The words fell flat, unconvincing, even to my own ears.
A sad smile touched her lips. “Yet here you are.”
I looked away, unable to stand the pity in her gaze. I felt sick. More than sick—I felt wronged. My entire life I’d abhorred witches. Hunted them. Killed them. And now—by some cruel twist of fate—I suddenly was one.
The first male witch.
If there was a God, he or she had a shit sense of humor.
“Did she realize?” Madame Labelle’s voice grew quiet. “Morgane?”
“No idea.” I closed my eyes but immediately regretted it. Too many faces rose up to meet me. One in particular. Eyes wide. Frightened. Confused. “The Chasseurs saw me slay the Archbishop.”
“Yes, that is potentially problematic.”
My eyes snapped open, and fresh pain lanced through me. Jagged and sharp. Raw. “Potentially problematic? Jean Luc tried to kill me.”