Celeste giggles and grabs her spoon. “You’ll be able to do this yourself with magic. Every witch and warlock can conjure stuff—as long as what they’re conjuring isn’t alive.”
“Conjuring…” I murmur, deep in thought. “So you’re not creating this food out of thin air?”
Celeste flicks her gaze to me, blushes, and focuses on her stew. “Err, no. Only the most powerful witches and warlocks can create something out of nothing. We conjure this food from our kitchen. We order the food the night before, and the cooks make it for us. All we do is materialize it in front of us. The Trinity no doubt told the cooks about your arrival, so they made a little extra of everything to give you choices.”
“Huh.” Izzy’s brows furrow, but she doesn’t comment further.
A second later, a basket of bread floats in the air in front of us, and both Izzy and I take a small roll.
“You going to conjure food for me?” I ask, turning towards Dyson.
His plate is full of steak, potatoes, and vegetables.
The warlock grins, his mouth full of food. “Nah. If you want to eat, learn to conjure yourself.”
“Asshole,” Izzy mutters with a roll of her eyes.
Then, without another word, she slides her bowl of stew closer to me so it’s directly between us.
I give her a grateful smile.
The stew isn’t the greatest meal in the world, but it’s better than nothing, considering I skipped breakfast and lunch. I would happily eat my own arm if I could.
Almost immediately, the whispers and giggles from the assembled witches and warlocks cut off, replaced by an unnatural silence. Izzy and I exchange a look before focusing our attention towards the front of the room, where three women stand behind a table on a raised dais.
The Maiden, Mother, and Crone.
Soraya seems to be staring directly at Izzy and me, her expression inscrutable, while the Mother purposely looks anywhere else. The Crone is scowling, her bony arms crossed over her chest.
I notice, somewhat belatedly, that the Mother has a bandage wrapped around her hand. What the fuck happened there?
“Thank you all for coming.” The Mother’s clear, elegant voice rings out through the room. “I’ll let you all get back to eating in a second, but first, we have a few very important things to discuss.”
“Travan has returned,” the Crone interrupts, her scratchy voice a startling contrast to the Mother’s lyrical one.
Agitated murmurs and whispers ripple through the crowd.
“He has, of course, returned to the shifters,” the Mother continues, her gaze dipping to her bandaged hand. “We don’t believe he’ll be a problem, not when we have what he wants, but his reappearance is cause for alarm.”
They have what he wants?
And who the hell even is this Travan? Why do I keep hearing his name?
“Unfortunately, we need Travan, though I doubt we’ll receive his compliance anytime soon.” The Mother’s lips firm, stretching into a taut line. “But that’s not all.” She waits until everyone is staring directly at her before continuing. “Hunters attacked the shifters.”
This time, no one reacts audibly, though a heavy tension saturates the air. Izzy’s face has turned stony, and I desperately want to reach for her, hold her to me, tell her that everything will be okay. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to grab her right that instant.
“We have reason to believe that we may be their next target.”
The silence detonates as hundreds of witches and warlocks process that announcement simultaneously. A few people gasp, a couple witches cry out, and someone else screams their denial.
The Mother holds her hands in the air, waiting for silence.
“The Hunters have been searching for the covenstead for centuries. Right now, only our wards keep our location a secret, but they’ve been growing weaker with every passing day. We must act quickly if we are to protect our people.”
A murmur spreads through the room, and a shiver creeps down my spine.
Dyson shifts beside me, folding his arms over his chest. I can tell he wants to say something, but for some reason, he bites his tongue.
