Tobias stretched his arms over his head as he walked the path to the river. A thrilling breeze rushed over the riverbank, cooling his skin. To his right, the setting sun dazzled on the water, and bathed the sky in honeysuckle pinks and oranges.
The colors reminded him of the lurid dresses the Swan Ladies wore in Maremount. There’d been one named Thistle who used to grab his hand when he walked past. Her cheeks were always flushed. Once Eden had caught him with her…
He shook his head. It didn’t matter now. Most of the Swan Ladies were probably dead, beaten or burned by Jack’s men. He gritted his teeth. When I find Jack, he’ll get a quick death. Though he doesn’t deserve one. He pushed the thoughts away. He wanted a reprieve from morbid thoughts, at least for a moment.
He inhaled deeply, taking in the mossy spring air. The breeze brought with it the succubus’s dusty scent, luring him to the bank. He’d summoned her here late last night, but she took her time showing up. By the shore, she shifted from her hiding spot behind a tree and crept toward him. Sweat droplets glistened on her pale skin. She wore her hair piled high on her head. A few wisps escaped, floating in the humid air. She beckoned him toward her with a ruby red fingernail that matched her lips. “Tobias.” She smiled in a flash of dazzling white teeth.
“You look well fed.”
“You weren’t lying.” She cocked her hip. “Jack was delicious. It’s a shame he has to die. I could have dragged that one out for a while.”
He stepped closer to her, his eyes roving over her skintight black shirt and leather pants. He forced himself to look into her emerald eyes. “Everyone has to die. Even Jack.”
“Not the gods, or the angels.” The wind ruffled auburn wisps. There was another smell besides ash. Pomegranates?
“So he’s weakened now.”
“Yes.” She paused, staring at her blood red nails. “But he’s not in Salem anymore. He’s on his way here.”
He stiffened. “Here?”
“He’s visiting some old sorcerer just a mile from here. And he wants to see Fiona. So I suggest you kill him in Virginia.”
The mark on Tobias’s chest burned. His attempts to keep his friends out of this weren’t working out as planned. “Who’s the philosopher?”
She twirled a strand of her auburn hair. “George Percy. He calls himself an Earl, but I don’t think he is one. He’s owned a plantation down the road for four hundred years.” She glanced up. “That’s all I know.”
Tobias rubbed a hand over his forehead. There was a familiar ring to that name. Was he the famous Wizard Earl? “When is he coming here?”
“He’s with the Earl now, I think.” She lowered her chin, staring into his eyes. “Are we done now? Are you going to summon me every few weeks when you need errands run?”
“I’ll save it for emergencies.” Before she could immobilize him with her gaze again, he turned and strode along the path back toward the house. He’d have to stay alert. It would be a lot easier if his crow were here. He’d send Ottomie to stand guard.
The sun dipped lower, and the trees cast long shadows as he crossed the grass toward the gardens. If Jack was coming to look for Fiona, he wanted to stay close to her. He wasn’t going to let another one of his friends die at Rawhed’s hands.
He ran his fingers through his hair. If he told Fiona what was going on, she’d only want to get involved, and she had no idea how to fight someone like Jack. She wouldn’t understand Tobias’s new strength, the power that surged through his veins now. He could take on Rawhed singlehandedly without risking his friends’ lives again.
Cicadas in the trees began to whirr. As he neared the statue, he glanced to his left. Fiona sat on a bench in the center of one of the gardens, a book open on her lap. Gardenias surrounded her. She looked golden in the sunlight, her curls radiating from her head like a corona.
She looked up. “What’s that look on your face?”
“You look…” Stunning.
She glanced down at her tight T-shirt with a picture of a bear in a top hat. “I know. I hate these clothes.”
He smiled, crossing over the grass and taking a seat next to her. “It’s not that. It’s just the sunset is lovely.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“What are you reading?”
“Anna Karenina. It’s assigned. I think we’re being forced to read it because the main character is of dubious moral virtue, and then—spoiler alert—she has to kill herself.”
He leaned back into the corner of the bench, spreading out his arm along the backrest. “Right. I haven’t really been reading it.”
“What have you been doing?” She flashed him a fake smile. “Drinking blood with Munroe?”