I shake my head. “The girls,” I croak.
“Are safe with Percival and Rene,” he assures me. “Now drink.”
“I think that’s my line.”
Tears roll down my face as Cristobal kneels in front of me with the same offer. I suck his wrist into my mouth. Spicy, hot, and slightly sweet, his blood coats the back of my throat. I suck it down, greedily. It goes to work, healing me from the inside and replenishing my strength. I pull away, full. He darts in, lapping at the blood around my mouth. I shiver as the energy crackles between us.
“Better?” he whispers.
“Yes.” My voice is husky, and my body is hot as my it works overtime to repair the damage done. I sit up.
“We brought you a present.” Marcellus forces a fledgling onto his knees.
“The rest are dead,” Luz appears beside him, bloody with amber eyes and a satisfied smirk on her face.
This must be what Amazons looked like after battle.
“The hunt is just beginning,” I promise.
Cristobal rises, offering me his hand, and I use my improved vision to seek out Fel and Sacha. Where are they?
Here. I turn and focus on Percival and Rene who have them held gently in their arms. “They’re fine. Out cold. I think they were spelled expectantly,” Percival calls. I nod. It’s like a hive mind, willing my thoughts through the inner group. I can sense their locations and status. They’re all fine save for a few war wounds.
“Can you track her with him?” Cristobal asks.
“I’m sure as hell going to try. Marcellus, hold him.”
The blond places the Youngling in a headlock. I put a hand on either side of his head and delve into the tangled web of his fractured mind. He wasn’t made to turn. He’s a revenant, an empty shell with one mission, and an unquenchable thirst. Images and thoughts are like shattered glass, broken into a million pieces, chaotic, and sharp. It’s like placing my hand in barbwire. This bitch of a witch is good at inflicting pain from afar. I’m ready to get up close and personal and see how she holds up.
I ignore the pain and piece together what I can. It’s like watching an old-fashioned film on a projector after it’s been damaged badly. Gritting my teeth, I continue to view it. A shadow flickers in the back.
“Got you, witch,” I mumble. I freeze the frame and zoom in. The moment I see the luxurious curls I know. I gasp. No. I zoom in fur
ther, shedding light onto the shadows. There’s no mistaking the heart-shaped face, cruel think lips, and familiar features. It’s Tante Odette. Her gaze meets mine, and I know she’s really seeing me.
“How fast can you run, Louella?” I get the image of Mémé’s house, and my stomach drops. Crack. The Youngling’s head explodes. Bits of bone, brains, and blood fall with a loud pop.
“Mémé.”
“Rene, Miles, guard them with your life.”
“I’m on it, Lou.”
Cristobal holds out his hand, palm up, his gaze meeting mine. In their chocolate depths, I can see his concern. “Take my hand.”
I twine our fingers, and the world races by in a blur. I can feel Luz, Percival, and Marcellus trailing us. I send my gratitude, as I prep for the worst.
The minute we breach the land I can feel something is wrong. My gut knots. The sky is a whirling vortex of clouds. Thunder booms and lighting cracks, lighting up the pitch blackness. The closer we get to the home, the worse the storm grows. Wind pulls at my hair and clothing. My anxiety spikes. The sight outside the house turns my blood cold. Twelve witches are gathered in the yard, standing around the circle that has a pentagram drawn on the grass, glittering with power. Tante Odette stands at the head.
“What is this?” I cry.
A witch with dark hair turns toward me, smiling a mad hatter grin. Streaks of gray stand out at her temples. Her filmy covered eyes make my stomach ache. Her black shift brushes the ground and she tilts her head studying Cristobal. “You should have killed me, Cristobal. You left a loose end that’s come back to steal everything you’ve built.”
“What the hell is she talking about?” I ask.
The witch laughs. “Someone’s been keeping secrets.”
“Soulange?” Cristobal whispers.