They walked for hours along tree-lined streets, passed every so often by cars driving to and from Williamsburg. It was unusually chilly for this time of year, and Fiona rubbed her arms for warmth. Whenever their bodies began to glimmer back into view, Tobias would renew the spell. After a few hours of walking, Fiona’s feet began to bleed. Tobias wore nothing but his underwear, and his feet must have been equally battered, but he carried Mariana through the woods and open fields.
By the middle of the night, Fiona had become increasingly frantic to find a pay phone to call her mother. If they existed anywhere anymore, it wasn’t by the side of a dark Virginia road.
Tobias’s body seemed to radiate heat, and Fiona stuck near him to warm herself. It must have been close to four in the morning by the time they approached Williamsburg. They’d hardly spoken throughout the journey, and Fiona had tried not to think about what had happened to Jack. But with fatigue smothering her defenses, she couldn’t suppress it.
She’d been relieved when Alan pulled the pendant from Jack. She couldn’t have done it herself—Tobias would have never forgiven her. But she couldn’t stomach the idea of allowing someone to burn to death. Still, a Fury was a spirit of vengeance, and Jack obviously had a lot of blood on his hands. Maybe death at the hands of a Fury was a fitting end for him.
The pavement was rough beneath her feet as they walked along the cool sidewalks toward the Williamsburg bus station, passing short brick buildings lining the leafy streets. Apart from one or two drunken college students, the roads were entirely deserted.
Fiona cleared her throat. “Tobias?”
“Yes?”
“Why was Jack screaming about someone named Dorcas?”
“No idea.” His tone indicated that he wasn’t the least bit interested. After another minute, he said, “Furies are fueled by guilt. He must be feeling bad about one of the hundreds of people whose lives he destroyed. I’m not sure why one would stand out above the others.”
“Why did the Purgators use the Fury’s blood?”
“She was Blodrial’s unwilling vessel. The Furies are linked to Blodrial. He is a god of repentance.”
“Do you feel better now that Jack is dead?”
He didn’t answer. By the time they approached the redbrick bus station, Fiona’s feet had gone mercifully numb. The station doors were locked, and Tobias laid Mariana down on a bench to rest.
He crossed to a second bench, and Fiona joined him. She hugged herself, shivering, and Tobias pulled her close to him. She hesitated for a moment before leaning into him, resting her head on his warm chest. Warmth is one of the perks of alignment with the fire goddess, I guess.
They would wait here until morning. While invisible, Fiona would steal someone’s cell phone to call her mother, and Mrs. Forzese would collect them all here. If for some reason she’d been delayed, they could always sneak onto a bus.
That was the plan, anyway.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Celia
Odile swooped down from the ceiling, landing on her shoulder. She must have taken shelter during the fight. Wise little sparrow.
“There.” Oswald reached for a green book just behind Bathsheba’s throne.
She peered at the gold lettering. “What does it say?”
“Resheph, the demon of plague-healing.” He paged though the book. “His name means flame. He is the fever that burns away an infection.”
She stared as he left crimson fingerprints over each yellowed page. “So that’s the connection to fire.” Maybe some of this stuff actually made sense.
He paused at a short spell, a smile lighting his face. “The token. I’ve got it.” He turned to Thomas, the open book in his hand, and crouched in front of him.
The words rolled off his tongue. Beads of sweat ran down Thomas’s forehead as he listened to the short spell, and at its completion, Thomas’s chest swelled. He flashed a brilliant smile, and the sides of his neck shrunk back to their normal size. He rose, lifting his arms over his head. For a moment, Celia was worried he’d whoop for joy and call attention. Instead, he pressed his hands over his mouth, staring at Oswald. His eyes glistened with sheer elation.
Oswald returned his smile. “Seems like it worked.” He lifted the book. “Now I just need to get this to William. And you two should get back to—”
A deep, wailing noise interrupted him. The alarm. Either the wardens had found Asmodeus, or the powerful plague spell had created an aura that triggered the alarms. Her throat went dry, and she gripped Oswald’s arm. “They’re coming for us. You don’t have time to get to William. Anyway, I’m not sure that I can say the portal spell without your help.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to travel with a potential psychopath, but his Angelic was certainly much better than hers.
Anger flashed across Oswald’s bloodied face. “I can’t go with you. I’m needed here. In Maremount.”
“What good are you dead?” she shot back. “Give me the spell. I have a plan.”
Oswald glared at her, gripping the book with one hand and a knife in the other.
“Now!” The force of her voice surprised even her.
Reluctantly, he handed it over, still holding on to his knife in case she decided to betray him.