“I know all about being cursed. But I’m not your savior, Titus. And when you realize what it is about me that affects you, I have a feeling you won’t be so anxious to help me anymore.”
“Let me do the talking,” Orpheus said.
Demetrius eyed the tent city in the hills outside Tiyrns where he and Orpheus had flashed after leaving the castle. Lights illuminated the canvas walls and multicolored flags flying high atop tent poles. Leaves lay scattered across the forest floor, crunching under their boots with each step in the moonlight, and the air was cool—an early-summer chill that spread through his skin like a virus.
Which was a lovely thought. As was the realization that a virus—even a really nasty one that left him quaking on his deathbed—was preferable to the misery currently sweeping through his heart every time he thought about Isadora.
Demetrius’s witch senses prickled and tingled as they drew close to the coven. For hundreds of years, he’d denied his lineage, but in the last few months, as he trained himself with Orpheus’s help, the spells were coming easier. And he was growing more accustomed to reading his body’s reactions to the natural world around him.
Another thing he had Isadora to thank for. Without her, he never would have experimented with his abilities. He wouldn’t have found a part of himself he didn’t know was missing. He wouldn’t be alive.
Sharp pain condensed beneath his breastbone, and he rubbed a gloved hand across his chest, hoping to alleviate the ache.
It didn’t help.
“You okay?” Orpheus asked.
“Fine.” Demetrius dropped his hand. “Which tent’s hers?”
Orpheus gestured for him to follow, and Demetrius fell into step at his back.
At this time of night, most of the inhabitants of the city were asleep. But a few faces peered out as they passed. Delia—the coven leader—operated several illegal portals, and Argoleans often ventured into the city to cross to the human realm without the Council’s knowledge. But it was all on the down-low, and usually it was prearranged. Demetrius knew it was only a matter of time before they were greeted by Delia’s lookouts.
They reached the far end of the city. Ahead, a giant, pavilion-sized tent rose against the night sky, blocking out the moonlight and mountains beyond. A female witch with purple-striped hair pulled the tent flap open and faced them. “Delia’s been waiting for you.”
Of course she was. If Demetrius had sensed the magic gathered in this place before even reaching the city, Delia had sensed they were on their way.
Orpheus ducked under the flap. Demetrius followed, his gaze skipping from the circle of witches kneeling on pillows on the floor to his right with their hands joined and their eyes closed, swaying in what seemed to be some kind of spell-conjuring ceremony, to the group at his left, speaking in hushed voices.
Quiet descended, and gazes peered their direction. The tent was smaller than he’d thought, this space like a small gathering area more than a pavilion. That or walls blocked off rooms he couldn’t see and wasn’t sure he wanted to know about. A sliver of unease shimmied through him. Even though he was learning about his abilities, he wasn’t sure he was totally ready to embrace his heritage. Especially not the woo-woo, we-are-one nature shit the witches in that circle were conjuring.
The grouping parted, and Delia stepped forward, her eyes glinting, her long, white hair illuminated by the candles spaced around the perimeter of the tent. “It’s been a while, Orpheus.”
“Delia.” Orpheus lowered his head, a movement that took Demetrius totally off guard, because Orpheus never bowed to anyone. “We need your help.”
Delia’s eyes sharpened, shifting Demetrius’s way. And under her scrutinizing gaze, Demetrius tensed, knowing she was examining, assessing, and judging.
She stepped back and gestured for them to follow. “Come. Away from the circle.”
Relief flitted through Demetrius but turned to unease as he moved under an archway and into another room, this one smaller and cozier than the last. Instead of open and barren, it was decorated with plush couches, soft throw pillows and blankets, and reflective surfaces that shone off every wall.
Witches used mirrors as seeing objects. Demetrius hadn’t mastered that ability yet, and at the moment didn’t really want to know what Delia could see.
She turned to face them. “You’re here to discuss the girl.”
Orpheus cast a look at Demetrius. Even without asking, Demetrius knew what he was thinking. Bingo, we were right. “So Natasa is from this coven?”
Delia looked his way. “No. And she’s not a witch.”
“Then what is she?”
“Something of great value.”
“To whom?” Demetrius asked.
“To everyone.”
Okay, this was already getting irritating.
“She fried the portal at the Gatehouse,” Orpheus told the witch. “That’s why we’re here. One of our Argonauts went through with her, and we can’t find him. If she’s not a witch, we would appreciate anything you can tell us about her.”
Delia pursed her lips, then said, “I sensed when she crossed into this realm.”
“So she can conjure magic,” Demetrius said, “but she’s not a witch. That tells us a lot.”
The coven leader didn’t answer. Simply looked at him with a blank expression. And Demetrius’s frustration with her jumped another notch.
This was a waste of time. He should be trying to figure out what he was going to do about Isadora and the Council, not wasting his time here chasing dead ends.
He was just about to leave when Delia turned to look into the mirrors around her. “What was she after in this realm? Did you find out before she crossed?”
Sandy brown hair fell over Orpheus brow when he cocked his head. “She told Maelea she was looking for information about Prometheus.”
“And which Argonaut went through with her?”
“Titus,” Orpheus answered.
“Not ideal,” Delia muttered. “And Titus’s forefather? From whom does he hail?”
“Odysseus.”
Delia turned and stared hard into Orpheus’s eyes. “Are you sure?”
Orpheus glanced uneasily at Demetrius then back again. “Pretty damn. Why does it matter?”
Delia shifted her weight. “It matters because if she is what we think she is, he is likely the only one who can stop her. And yet because of his curse, he is the one from your order who will be most distracted by her.”
“And what in Hades does that mean?” Demetrius asked. O sent him a calm the hell down look, but Demetrius had reached his limit. “Curse? Stop her? Look, whatever you’re dancing around, just spell it out for us. If Titus is in some kind of danger, we need to know.”
Delia held his gaze. Seemed to debate something. Finally said, “Titus was cursed by one from my coven years ago. That female you mentioned…because of the power inside her…has the ability to distract him from that curse. And that distraction will blind him to who and what she really is.”
Orpheus’s eyes narrowed. “And what is she?”
“Our best guess?”
Gods, Fates spoke more plainly than this chick. Demetrius frowned. “Yeah, if that’s all you’ve got.”
Delia pursed her lips. “Unquenchable fire.
Silence settled over the room like a thousand ton weight had just been dropped. And in the aftermath, Demetrius’s stomach tightened with both fear and apprehension. His gaze shifted to Orpheus, who was staring back at him with a holy fucking shit expression.