Cavra snorted as she scooped up two goblets from his tray and handed
them to us. “This is Elias. He’s a satyr and a great companion, but something
tells me that you won’t be requiring his services.”
She eyed me playfully and took a sip from her cup. The silver goblet I
was holding dented within my fist.
Mercifully, Savannah was taken by the satyr and missed the insinuation.
She raised the goblet to her lips.
“Don’t drink that.” My arm shot out, and I gripped her wrist. As if
waking from a spell, Savannah shook her head and frowned.
“Actually, you must drink that for this to work. Consider it part of your
contribution,” Cavra said. “I promise it’s not poisoned, and no harm will
befall you.”
“Why do I doubt that promise?” I growled.
Cavra drummed her fingers on her goblet as her signature rose, vibrating
the air around us and pressing in like the depths of the ocean. “Because I
don’t need to trick you or impair you to harm you. You are in my dream
now.”
The pressure released, and Savannah gasped.
“But you’re my guests,” Cavra said, in a cheerful voice. “So eat, drink,
and be merry, and enjoy the safety of my protection.”
Savannah narrowed her eyes at the maenad. “When will you cast the
blocking spell on the grimoire?”
“I’ve already begun. I only need the power of the revel to complete it, so
drink up. Just one word of advice—don’t fall asleep.”
“I’ve heard that before, but why?” Savannah asked.
“There’s no telling where you might wake up.” Cavra turned and lifted
her arms above her head, moving seductively toward the columned podium.
The music amplified, and revelers flocked around her, drinking, dancing, and
gyrating their bodies together.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered.