Oct 12, 2026 · 17 min · 7 segments
A complete standalone story from the world of Tongue of the Serpent. No previous knowledge of the series is required. Sixteen-year-old Marguerite LeBlanc wants someone dead.The adults around her will…
When it released him, he was standing inside a chalk circle in someone else's house.
His first objection was the workmanship.
The circle had been drawn badly, with uneven lines and symbols copied by someone who understood neither their meaning nor their proportions.
There were only a few drops, but they were human and fresh.
Then he saw the girl.
She stood outside the circle with a kitchen knife in one hand and an old book in the other.
She was perhaps 15, 16 at most, barefoot beneath a white nightdress with ink staining one sleeve.
Her dark hair had been tied back carelessly.
Two candles burned near the desk behind her, and the room smelled of wax, mildew, and the peculiar dust of homes that belonged to one family for too many generations.
She studied him in silence before saying, "You're not what I expected." Lucien glanced down at his black trousers, white shirt, waistcoat, and carefully trimmed ginger beard.
"No horns?" She swallowed.
"Aren't you supposed to be a demon?" "No." Her disappointment intrigued him.
Lucien stepped across the chalk line.
The girl screamed and immediately clapped both hands over her mouth.
He stopped.
"Oh, dear." "You can't do that." "I just did." "The circle is supposed to bind you." "It doesn't." She checked the chalk, then the book, as though one of them might explain his disobedience.
"It says-""You copied the third symbol backward, omitted half the invocation, and used rosemary where the instructions require rue." Her eyes widened.
"You can read this?" Lucien held out his hand.
After a long hesitation, she surrendered the book.
The volume was centuries older than she was.
Its bindings had cracked with age, and smoke lingered faintly in the pages.
Lucien's irritation disappeared as soon as he recognized it.
"Where did you get this?" "My grandfather's library." "Which grandfather?" "August LeBlanc." That explained the house.
The LeBlanc family had spent more than a century accumulating land, books, enemies, and inherited arrogance in roughly equal measure.
When it released him, he was standing inside a chalk circle in someone else's house.
His first objection was the workmanship.
The circle had been drawn badly, with uneven lines and symbols copied by someone who understood neither their meaning nor their proportions.
There were only a few drops, but they were human and fresh.
Then he saw the girl.
She stood outside the circle with a kitchen knife in one hand and an old book in the other.
She was perhaps 15, 16 at most, barefoot beneath a white nightdress with ink staining one sleeve.
Her dark hair had been tied back carelessly.
Two candles burned near the desk behind her, and the room smelled of wax, mildew, and the peculiar dust of homes that belonged to one family for too many generations.
She studied him in silence before saying, "You're not what I expected." Lucien glanced down at his black trousers, white shirt, waistcoat, and carefully trimmed ginger beard.
"No horns?" She swallowed.
"Aren't you supposed to be a demon?" "No." Her disappointment intrigued him.
Lucien stepped across the chalk line.
The girl screamed and immediately clapped both hands over her mouth.
He stopped.
"Oh, dear." "You can't do that." "I just did." "The circle is supposed to bind you." "It doesn't." She checked the chalk, then the book, as though one of them might explain his disobedience.
"It says-""You copied the third symbol backward, omitted half the invocation, and used rosemary where the instructions require rue." Her eyes widened.
"You can read this?" Lucien held out his hand.
After a long hesitation, she surrendered the book.
The volume was centuries older than she was.
Its bindings had cracked with age, and smoke lingered faintly in the pages.
Lucien's irritation disappeared as soon as he recognized it.
"Where did you get this?" "My grandfather's library." "Which grandfather?" "August LeBlanc." That explained the house.
The LeBlanc family had spent more than a century accumulating land, books, enemies, and inherited arrogance in roughly equal measure.
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