Poison Priestess by Lana Popovic (some good books to read TXT) 📗

turning the words around in his mouth like a sweet. Tasting them for truth. “And why would you do such a thing, Catherine?”

“His wife sought my help in ridding herself of her abuser, and paid handsomely for it.” I leave out Prudhomme’s link to me, Eugenie’s and my shared history. Just because I recognize the worth of a partnership with Adam does not mean I care to trust him with my vulnerability. “Handsomely enough that I supplied her with a very clever poison. The sort only a divineress could make.”

“I see.” He watches me avidly, poised between admiration and a slightly horrified awe. “How terrible, and rather marvelous. Quite the piquant secret to share with me, indeed.”

Beyond its sensationalism, the obvious shock value of my admission, this secret is not so valuable as he thinks—which is why I chose to offer it. Should Adam turn on me down the line and seek to hang me with this knowledge, it will be long after interest in Prudhomme’s death has died, his body interred, and Eugenie united with her painter and far too content to ever speak out against me. Not that she would, anyway, as the poison was administered by her own hand; I never set foot anywhere near Prudhomme. There is no proof, no evidence linking me with the murder—especially since I plan to make no mention to Adam of Blessis.

Still, any confession is a powerful offering, and I can see that it sways him.

“Would you have accepted anything less as barter?” I lace my hands together, smiling at him over them when he shakes his head. “I thought not.”

He watches me for a long moment of frank deliberation, his dark gaze gliding between my eyes.

“A well-earned death, I imagine,” he finally says. “I performed my show for him once at his home, several months ago. The man was a brute to his wife, a bastard of the vilest sort. Whatever death you and his widow saw fit to give him was likely less than he deserved.”

Something like glee uncurls itself inside me, tickling at my ribs. This is exactly what I had at once expected and hoped to hear from him.

“And no one else knows of this?” he continues.

“No one. Save for my client, of course. Obviously Prudhomme’s widow would never tell another soul.” I lift my eyebrows in question. “So, what do you think?”

“I think I would hear more.” He leans back in his chair, tilting his head. “Tell me, how exactly do you envision our partnership? Because I would have been content with acquiring ever more powerful benefactors for the two of us. But it seems you have set your sights even higher, with more sinister aims.”

I nod. “Clients will only pay so much for the sort of services we have thus far been providing—we will hitch up against dead ends much sooner than we’d like. But what if we begin to seek out select clients with darker demands, like Eugenie Prudhomme, only even more influential and wealthier, the sort we want in our debt?”

“And are you so fearless that you do not fear to hang for murder?”

I lean back in the chair and shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips. “No, I do not fear the noose—because if we are careful and clever, we will never find one around our necks. I will brew the poisons for them, to whatever effect they wish, but you and I will never administer them ourselves. The dosing itself, the act of murder, must always be committed by their own hands.”

“Brilliant,” he murmurs, his eyes shining with admiration. “Shared culpability removes the incentive to turn against us. And how shall we decide upon our noble marks?”

“We already have our first leads,” I reply, spreading my hands. “Those who’ve attended our Messes Noires, those willing even to entreat the devil. Those who have already divulged their darkest wishes to me. I already know of at least three who dearly desire someone’s death.”

“I assume you do not intend to offer our services to everyone at court with murderous inclinations,” he remarks with a quirked eyebrow. “For we should find ourselves overwhelmed within a fortnight, and in gaol not soon after, shared culpability be damned. There are droves of would-be murderers in the Sun King’s den, many of them fool enough to boast of their diabolic pursuits to their friends.”

“Of course not all of them,” I say, taking up my wine for another sip. “Or even most. Only the ones we deem dependably discreet, capable of taking such a secret to the grave. And most importantly—to me, at least—the ones who wish to murder someone of equally villainous ilk. Because I will not be party to killing innocents, Adam. That is where I draw my line.”

“Then we are of a mind,” he says, favoring me with another of those lupine smiles, sharp as teeth glinting from the brush. “We will make quite the pairing, you and I. Sorceress and magician, infernal priestess and priest. The unholiest of alliances.”

I laugh, my heart swooping a bit in exhilaration. I realize, to some surprise, that I am looking forward to this collaboration not only for how far it might take me, but also for its own sake. I know exactly why I wish to do this; for the coin and influence, and the freedom both will eventually secure me. But also for the justice I can see done, by meting out punishments the decadent blackguards of Louis’s court would otherwise never have met.

But I am still not at all certain what drives Adam’s own ambitions—something I would very much like to understand.

“So, we are agreed, then?” I ask him, taking up my goblet in toast.

“We are agreed.” He clinks his wine against mine, holding my eyes even as we take our drinks. “A ta santé, Catherine.”

“And now that we are partners, will you tell me about the skeleton and the demon’s face?” I burst out before I can contain myself. “The ones you conjured