Faustine stuck her tongue out at a portrait of the hag mother while stuffing yet another dress into the garbage bag, trying to get the yards of brown silk brocade all inside. She had gone through half of the dead witch's closet without finding anything worth keeping. "Can you believe these clothes? She had no taste at all."

"Some of her jewelry is nice," said Marie, seated at the nearby dressing table. Gold bracelets marched up her arms. Ruby, sapphire, and emerald rings flashed on her fingers. She posed with her chin in her hands and studied the effect in the mirror. "I guess these eyes aren't too bad. Why did we lose everything we took from that little bitch? Hers were nice."

Faustine pulled out a pair of Georgian-era shoes of silk and leather dyed blue and embroidered with silver flowers. She grimaced at their pointed toes and threw them in with the dress. The bag was starting to bulge. "Who cares? At least her pet wolf gave up looking for us."

"Are you sure?"

There was skepticism in Marie's voice, not fear, and Faustine immediately looked up. She couldn't remember the last time the other witch had questioned her. "We're alive, aren't we? No one can find this mansion unless our king wills it."

"Edric doesn't do anything except sulk in the mud. If the hag mother's death couldn't stir him up, what chance do we have? Let's just leave him and find a new coven." Then Marie held a pair of diamond earrings to her ears. They glittered against her fair hair, and she smiled.

Faustine tied off the bag and shoved it toward a heap of others. "The other covens are shattered by that bastard wolf. Edric is our best option. Now take these out. They're starting to pile up."

"In a minute. I'm busy."

"With what? You don't expect to wear those, do you? They're old-fashioned and ugly."

"I like them." Marie's fingers curled protectively against their rings. "Anyway, you're the one who wanted to move into these rooms. Why don't you take out their garbage?"

Faustine scoffed, rising to her feet. "You're letting that tiara go to your head. You aren't the new hag mother of the coven, and you definitely aren't its queen."

"Neither are you."

For a moment, Faustine only stared at her. Then she smiled, wide and fixed, and approached the other witch from behind. As she began tucking Marie's hair behind her ears to better reveal the glittering earrings, she said, "Playing dress up doesn't make you an adult. I was the smart one in this coven, no matter how many books Cleo read. The rest were always jealous. Now they're just dead. So, let me do the thinking, all right? You got this far by being a follower, not a leader. It's your natural role."

Then she straightened up again, missing the hatred that flickered in the other witch's expression. "Take out the trash. I need to check the other closets and see how bad they are."

As soon as she was out of the room, Marie scowled and muttered, "You're not a leader, either. Just a basic bitch."

The sourness in her face faded as she opened another drawer in the jewelry box, revealing a three-strand pearl necklace waiting in a bed of red velvet. After so many years of living on the unsatisfying scraps of magic and luxury available to lower members of the coven, resisting the hag mother's jewels was impossible.

Her gaze dropped from the mirror while she put it on. The gold clasp was fiddly, but the strands already felt as luxurious as silk against her neck. She was smiling even before she looked into the mirror again.

Then she jerked, the necklace rattling like loose teeth. A second reflection had joined her own.

"You?" she gasped, recognizing the witch they had killed. But it couldn't be. She had been burned to ash. She couldn't be back as real flesh and blood.

"Me," growled the other girl. The word revealed a mouth full of fangs.

Then she caught Marie's head and smashed it into the mirror. Glass shattered, slicing into her skin. Before Marie could scream, the girl did it again. This time, something in her face cracked. The world exploded into hot blood and searing pain.

The hands holding her disappeared, but in the next moment, terrible pressure squeezed her neck, unrelenting as she began to choke. Teeth. That's what it was. Teeth and fur and bone-chipping force.

The last thing she heard was the sound of pearls scattering on the floor.

Faustine returned in a worse mood than before. The rest of the rooms were even fuller, and there were no poppets left to clean them out. When she saw the pile of garbage bags still waiting by the door, her thoughts further soured. "Marie, what the fuck? We're stuck here together until we can figure out what to do, so you might as well..."

The rest of her words faded as she stepped past the silk folding screens that blocked her view of the inner rooms. Blood splattered the gold-striped wallpaper and plush carpet. The chair had been knocked back from the dressing table, its pale blue upholstery stained red.

And there by the mirror waited Marie's head, studded with broken glass and staring at her. Her body slumped on the ground, surrounded by precious gems from the upturned jewelry box. The hands were still twitching.

Then a black wolf slunk out from the nearby shadows, yellow eyes already fixed on Faustine's horrified face.

A strangled noise escaped her as she whirled, already reaching for one of the ornate daggers mounted on the walls, but a second black wolf blocked her way. Bigger, burlier, stalking toward her with deliberation.

"Two?" she managed, finding her voice at last.

The one near Marie flashed bloodied teeth in response.

Faustine turned and fled back through the door. The only thought that broke through her panic was that she would be all right if she made it to the trophy room...

The she-wolf felt like laughing. Her heart beat as fast as that of the frantic witch running from them, but for a much different reason. She was finally able to fight, to turn the sneers of those who had used her and then burned her like trash into screams instead.

The black wolf picked up on her bloodthirst, his steadiness sharpening into swift brutality while they tracked the witch to a room that reeked of metal both precious and practical—weapons.

The witch's scent was faint; she hadn't stayed there. They slipped through the doorway and found walls bristling with daggers, swords, halberds, and dueling pistols. Deadly tools that had been refined into works of art over generations of humanity. One was clearly missing, its outline visible from years of dust and grime dulling the wood behind it: a dueling pistol inlaid with silver, the other of the pair left behind in panic. A chest of drawers had been touched as well, the witch's sweat lingering with the heaviness of the lead balls she'd taken to load the pistol.

Terror marked stairs and hallways, finally bringing them to an indoor atrium thick with tall, broad-leafed plants. A shallow pond marked the center of the room, lapping against a massive marble water fountain depicting a woman twining against a stag. The witch sat on the stag's back, trying to load the dueling pistol with shaking hands.

The she-wolf ached to attack, aware that she could cross the distance between them in seconds. A quiet growl from the black wolf reminded her to remain cautious, and they both melted into the shadows of nearby rubber plants while the witch was distracted.

The witch looked up just as the leaves fell still. The panic in her scent increased, and then she called out to them, her voice high and cracked. "It wasn't my fault. Edric chose to kill her, not me. And if you want to know where he is, then I can't help you. He didn't tell me."

The black wolf let himself be seen long enough for the pistol to swing in his direction. Long enough for the she-wolf to slink closer toward the pond. When the witch aimed wildly, trying to find him, the she-wolf fell still, anticipation rising as the witch spoke again, fingers clenched around one of the marble antlers. "It's not a lie. No one has seen him since the ritual. He likes hiding in the forest whenever he's upset. Go after him! I didn't want anything to do with this."

The she-wolf's muzzle wrinkled in a silent snarl as she remembered this witch's gleeful smile when the hag mother had started cutting her open. Sensing her frustration, the black wolf flashed his eyes at the witch as an obvious distraction.

Obvious, but the witch went for it, shooting while he disappeared again. With the pistol empty, the she-wolf attacked, crossing the distance within a breath. The witch fumbled for the lead balls in her pocket, but the she-wolf was already there, lunging up the massive statue with a swiftness honed from chasing prey over uneven mountainsides.

Her teeth raked the witch's arm with such force that the pistol was flung out of her hand. Then they were falling into the pond together, rock and cement scraping against the she-wolf's fur while her frenzied attack churned the water into froth. Dimly, she was aware of the black wolf tearing at the screaming witch as well, his jaws efficient yet just as brutal as her raw wrath.

The pond was red by the time they climbed out of it, shaking their fur dry while waiting to be sure the witch was truly dead. Her ears were already pricked toward the forest that bordered the mansion. One figure left to hunt, his scent already clear to her. It felt like agony to wait and make sure the mansion caught on fire and burned everything inside.

Wild excitement filled her when they ran past the first of the trees, seeking the deeper gloom. Despite the nearing dawn, the moon looked bright and big, its light reducing the forest to a harsh land of bone and charcoal. They crossed streams and ducked gnarled branches, paws sure against the moss and ferns as the hag king's odor grew ever stronger.

Breathing it drove the she-wolf's rage to a fever pitch. She caught a similar change in the black wolf's scent. He was steadier than she, and had been throughout this hunt, but that didn't mean he was calmer. The same fury that had slaughtered covens and terrified all the other monsters now focused fully on the warlock. Her delight felt as savage as her teeth as they ran together in perfect harmony, his power complementing her speed.

And then there was the hag king, the moonlight picking out the curve of his spine and the tines of his antlers as he hunched beneath a massive oak. Unmoving, unaware. Lost in the same sullen malice that had choked her as much as her blood.

This time, they attacked with pure aggression, his jaws cracking the warlock's nearest arm and hers ripping into his side. The taste of his blood was as sweet as his roar of pain. Her teeth glanced off ribs, unable to keep him down, and she ducked away as his antlers swung toward her in a wicked slash.

The black wolf still had a grip on his arm and now wrenched it, twisting the warlock away from her. The snap of bone cut through the clearing. The hag king bellowed again, and then the stink of magic filled the air.

They broke off their attack, circling from a safe distance as the warlock's form convulsed. Shadows hid most of his writhing, but within a breath, a stag rose from the bloodied ground, stamping and shaking his antlers. Then he pivoted to aim those dangerous tines at the black wolf.

The stag's lack of concern toward the she-wolf only further infuriated her. She lunged, ripping into the meat of his back legs to hamstring him. Blood steamed in the air. By the time the stag turned, she was gone.

Just out of reach, she snarled, putting all her hatred and rage into it. The black wolf used the chance to rip into the stag's other flank. These weren't killing bites, but they would hurt and exhaust him.

The hag king shook his head at them again, snorting. Then he fled further into the forest, perhaps believing he could outrun them. Her tongue lolled out in a laugh at the idea.

They followed. Exhilaration filled her full whenever the shape in front of them stumbled. Weariness soon entered the stag's scent, but she felt tireless. As the black wolf ran beside her, it felt like their hearts beat as one.

When at last the hag king slowed, she was the first upon him, her swiftness joined by the black wolf's power. Her teeth caught the stag's hind leg, stumbling him. The black wolf's jaws caught his neck, bringing him down. Then she began ripping at the belly while the stag foamed and thrashed against the grip on his throat, unable to escape.

The black wolf watched his Alice as blood soaked her pitch-dark fur. She had never looked more beautiful, vicious with rage and confidence. Sometimes, she watched him with unknowing wistfulness, certain that she would never be as wild or unafraid. Yet in this moment, there was nothing tame about her. She took her revenge on the warlock that had used her like prey with the ferocity of a born wolf. She anticipated his struggles with the ruthlessness of a human.

She was stunning.

Blood ran over the moss in thin rivers by the time the stag gave a final, convulsive lurch and changed form. Terror filled the hag king's scent as he struggled to breathe. His throat and belly were a ruined mess.

The she-wolf backed away from the limp body and shifted back into her own skin. She breathed lightly, easily, crouching to make sure the warlock could see her face. See who had killed him.

The sunrise lit her in gold, revealing her in full. His eyes widened. She couldn't tell whether the twitch of his mouth was a grimace or a sneer, but she recognized the disbelief filling his scent. It was the same as when she had ripped at his mouth instead of kissing him back.

Filled with the calm of a finished hunt, she only stared while his fingers twitched, trying to bring her under his control. A useless effort; her will was hers and hers alone. When it didn't work, he tried to hurt her instead, managing to swing his antlers in threat.

The black wolf changed form and caught them before they even came close. The muscles in his arms bulged as he wrenched them the other way, snapping the hag king's neck. The warlock went limp, but the black wolf still snarled, all his power thrown into pulling the antlers in opposite directions until they gave with a great crack, leaving only broken stumps behind.

Alice watched in silence, rising to her feet only when Colton approached. In the glow of the new day, he somehow looked more inhuman than when he had been a wolf, eyes hot and piercing against the dark blood covering his face.

She smiled at him, feeling lighter with each word. "I'm ready to go home."