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Colby sat in the dirt. A small dome of her magic wavered in the air behind her. Within the dome lay a molten glob of metal with a ruby in its center.
“It can’t be.” I reached for my throat, and my fingers brushed tender skin. “It’s gone?”
I traced my neck, marveling over this new sense of weightlessness, a relief so profound I lacked words to describe it. I was free.
Free.
“You had a seizure,” Colby explained softly. “I did too.”
“You started glowing—and screaming—and the Hunk melted across your chest. I pried it off and flung it on the ground, and it burned the hell out of me.” Marita held up her hands to show me her blistered fingertips. “Colby came out of it first, and she rushed to contain the Hunk while Derry started chest compressions to get you breathing again.”
“We were about to ask Colby to drop her ward and shift her focus to healing you.” Derry ruffled his hair. “Thank God, you woke up before we had to make that call.”
Examining the Hunk from where I sat, I couldn’t believe it. “The pendant is…”
“Amoebic?” Colby suggested, her voice brighter. “It reminds me of melted ice cream.”
“Yes.”
“We need to go after Saint.” Marita drew my attention. “As soon as you can stand, we’re moving out.”
“Dad?” A pang hit me in the center of my chest. “What happened to Dad?”
“He got stuck.” Colby’s wings drooped. “He freed me, but he couldn’t free himself.”
Murky thoughts churned as I tried catching up to them. “Stuck?”
“A spell.” Her voice wobbled. “It grabbed him like fly paper.”
I wished I could summon Mom, ask her for his location, if he was okay, but summonings only worked on vengeful spirits. Notloinnirsor familiars.
“Since Frosty the Snowgiant was the welcoming committee, I’m guessing this means the director has Saint.” Marita wet her lips. “He can’t turn Saint, right? Because that would be bad.”
“No.” I hesitated, a nebulous worry nagging at me. “Dad is the better witch.”
Narrowing her eyes on me, Marita rubbed her arms. “That pause concerns me.”
“I’m trying not to get ahead of myself.” I dipped my chin. “We don’t know if it’s the director who has him.”
“Do you think Luca has figured out Nan is dead?”
“As heavily as she relied on her? Yeah. It’s safe to assume she knows.”
Maybe not that Nan was dead but that she wasn’t coming back.
“Then it makes sense,” Derry reasoned, “that Luca would consider accelerating her timetable.”
“The director is the point of all this,” Marita countered. “Would Luca still even want your dad?”
There was a debt there. We all knew it. Maybe she decided it had finally come due.
If the director had captured Dad, I had a few options. Trades he might consider. Emphasis onmight.
If Luca held Dad captive, I had a problem. I had nothing to offer her. Nothing she wanted.
Nothing except…
Back when I had assumed the Maudit Grimoire was the Proctor Grimoire, it had been a hot commodity among the rogue black witches who were loyal to Luca. But had it been a rewardshe offered her faithful? Or had she wanted it and been willing to give them something of equal value if they brought it to her?
