Oswald grunted, hobbling down another stair while gripping Thomas. “Fine. But I only agree since thou ha’ the token. We’ll need a monstrous strong spell to fix it.”
The token? Panic snaked through him, and his neck throbbed. Now he understood why he felt like he’d been murdered and brought back to life by a shabby necromancer. I have the bloody bubonic plague.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Fiona
Fiona swatted at a mosquito buzzing around her shoulders, stepping along the main garden path in her soggy-teabag dress. Her mask was pushed up on the top of her head, wilting flowers glued to its surface. It already smelled of decay. Maybe she’d change her costume idea from “crazy Victorian hooker” to “freshly dug grave.” Or why not combine the two? Freshly buried hooker.
She squinted in the warm afternoon light, peeking over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching. She, Tobias, and Alan were going to try out the spells from the spell book, in case any of them granted powers that would help in finding Mariana. Maybe we’ll luck out and get super strength, or a locator spell, or some sort of truth-telling charm that will force Mrs. Ranulf to spill the beans.
Between the gardens and the river, where soft grasses usually rustled, little round tables surrounded a dance floor. Servants bustled around, setting up candles and flowers, and some brought trays of food out to banquet tables along the gardens’ edges.
A seagull squawked overhead—her mother’s favorite animal. A good omen, perhaps?
A few guests had already begun to trickle in, and they lingered by the paths through the gardens. A large man dressed as a medieval knight wore a silver mask with a red feather, his broad shoulders covered in chainmail. A tall, lithe woman wore a lilac dress with a bodice made to look like a butterfly, and a swooping feathered mask to match, inset with blue jewels. She looked stunning among the orange and yellow wildflowers. Fiona tried not to meet anyone’s eye, hoping she could go unnoticed in her fresh grave ensemble.
From the gardens, she crossed toward the magnolia trees and approached the copse where the willow grew, its leaves in full bloom.
Tobias and Alan awaited her, already dressed in their suits. Alan had borrowed a chocolate brown suit, complete with a waistcoat, a pale gold shirt, and a maroon tie. He held his arms out to the side, gripping his wolverine mask in one hand. “The basement trunks were good to me.” He adjusted his tie. “I sort of wish this was a cravat, though.”
She let out a low whistle. “You look amazing.” She looked down at her own shapeless dress. “I think the basement trunks have a vendetta against me.”
By Alan’s side, Tobias leaned against a tree in a perfectly tailored, charcoal gray suit. He wore a white shirt with no tie, and a red handkerchief poked out of his breast pocket, its color a perfect match for the fiery mask slung around his neck. When she glanced at him, he shot her a half-smile and pulled on his mask to show her his full ensemble. It covered his eyebrows and nose, though the lower half of his face was uncovered. His mask was gorgeous—red, orange and yellow feathers woven together to look like tendrils of flame, and a few black and red gems along the eyeholes that looked like smoldering embers. His dark eyes smiled in the mask. The red feathers brought out the warm tones in his chestnut eyes. “And you look…” She swallowed. “Fantastic.”
“Thank you.” He pulled off his mask again. “I like your red lips.”
She raised her brows, settling down on the felled tree trunk. Well, he’s from Maremount. He probably doesn’t know how to give a normal compliment. She stared at him, maybe a little too long, before narrowing her eyes. “Is that what Munroe picked out for you? How did she know your exact size?”
He shrugged. “She measured me.”
Heat rose in Fiona’s chest. “She measured you? Like, with her hands?”
“Guys?” Alan interrupted. “We need to get on with the spells.”
Fiona closed her eyes, inwardly cursing herself. “Right. Sorry.” Why do I care? Munroe’s roving hands are not important right now.
Tobias pulled the spells out of his pocket, stepping across the clearing to hand them to Fiona. “Your diction is perfect, and these spells are new to me. I think you should try them out first.” He sat next to her on the trunk. “I’ve been translating them. From what I can tell, one of them is about a feast, and the other is about a spirit, but I have no idea what they really do. With any luck, one of them will be useful.”
“The feast seems like a safe starting point.” Alan rubbed his stomach. “If nothing else, I’m desperate for some real food.”