A Witch's Feast

by C. N. Crawford

Alan plucked a pink flower from the edge of the banquet table and handed it to her. “For you, my virtuous lady.”

  Fiona smiled, weaving it into a lock of her hair. She took Alan’s arm to step through the grove toward the party. Despite the humid air, her skin prickled with goosebumps as they crossed toward the gardens. I know there’s something Tobias isn’t telling me. And I have a feeling it’s going to get us both into trouble.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Fiona

  Her arm looped through Alan’s, Fiona hobbled toward the party in her stiff shoes. They slowed their pace as they approached the banquet tables that stood between he gardens and the river. Tobias’s caginess was making her stomach clench. Why did he have to rush off so quickly? And what the hell does he keep looking for?

  More guests had trickled in through the gardens, some sitting at the small tables with champagne flutes and plates of h’ors d’oeuvres. None of them seemed to mind the horrific wail emanating from the crypt.

  Iron candelabra stood on the tables, each draped with strings of pearls. In the darkening evening, the tabletops twinkled with the candle’s red, dripping candles.

  A string quartet tuned their instruments alongside the dance floor, and above the parquet tiles, colorful, round lanterns dangled from the boughs of magnolias. Strands of tiny white lights glimmered between them. The effect was like tiny planets suspended among the stars.

  As the music swelled, a waltz partially drowned out the mournful wailing of the Fury.

  Fiona squeezed Alan’s arm. “This is amazing. If the Purgators weren’t psychopaths, I think I’d consider joining them.”

  Alan pulled his wolverine mask over his face. “Fiona, I’m sure we can get invitations to cool parties without selling our souls to a cult.”

  They paused for a moment by a buffet table beset with bowls of fruit, pecans wrapped in prosciutto, and smoked salmon canapés. Fiona attached her mask’s gold ribbons behind her head. When it was secured, they continued further into the gardens, admiring the guests. Up close, the costumes were stunning. Some guests dressed as animals with furry masks like Alan’s, and others as mythical creatures: a harpy in a yellow feathered mask, a mermaid in a sparkling sea-green dress, and a grinning centaur.

  They drew closer to the center of the gardens, looking out for Mrs. Ranulf and any cocktails they could usher her way.

  Two men stood conversing by the statue of the chained woman. One wore a goat mask with swooping, bone-colored horns. The other sported a large set of feathered, gray angel wings. The angel turned as they approached, and Fiona’s mouth went dry. He wore a stony, gray-streaked mask that covered the top half of his face. It looked just like the weeping statues in the gardens. Security guards stood on either side of him, and a ruby chalice gleamed from his throat.

  When she and Alan had squeezed past him, Fiona inclined her head. “The angel back there. I think that might be Senator Ranulf.”

  “Where’s his wife?” whispered Alan.

  “Probably waiting for her grand entrance. I imagine Munroe is doing the same.”

  The houses’s river entrance opened, and Jonah wandered out, pulling on a gray mask. He wore a rumpled shirt and pants. Earlier, he’d said something about dressing as cement. Sadie followed, clad in one of Munroe’s blue cocktail dresses. She’d painted fat blue raindrops onto her mask, and periwinkle ribbons dangled from her blond ringlets.

  A server with flaxen hair in a bun approached Fiona with a tray of flutes. “Champagne?” she said with a perky smile.

  Oh good, no one has told her our ages. Fiona grinned. They could ply Mrs. Ranulf with alcohol all evening. “I’d love some, thanks.” She grabbed two, handing one to Alan.

  Jonah was at her side in an instant. “Sweet.” He took two glasses off the tray, handing one to Sadie. “Why not indulge in an evening refreshment, darling?”

  Sadie straightened in her best attempt at looking sophisticated. “Of course. Champagne after working in the office all day always calms my sciatica.”

  The server gave them a confused smile. “Okay.” She moved on to someone dressed as a blue and gold dragon.

  Sadie grinned, taking a slug of wine. “I’m really good at acting older.”

  Jonah pushed his mask up on his forehead, eyeing Fiona from head to toe. “You look hot. Like, seriously hot. You found that dress in the basement?”

  Sadie jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

  “It was at the bottom of a trunk.”

  “Nice.” He grinned appreciatively before Sadie yanked him toward the dance floor.

  The wooden door swung open again, and Munroe stepped out, arm in arm with Tobias. She looked even more beautiful than before, her pale skin shimmering with opalescent makeup. Her hair was swept up on her head, sparkling with little white crystals. With his warm complexion and flaming mask, Tobias was the perfect fiery complement to her frosty aesthetic. Munroe’s face shined as she slinked into the garden, rubbing Tobias’s upper arm with her palm. In the falling darkness, it took her a moment to notice Fiona.

  Fiona had a sudden temptation to down the champagne, but she resisted. Munroe stepped closer, a hand slithering up Tobias’s sleeve, and the smile fell from her face. Her eyes blazed. “Where did you get that dress?” she hissed.

  Alan answered for her. “The basement. Same place I got my suit.”

  “That dress is not from the basement.” Her fingers flew to the silky fabric at Fiona’s shoulder. “Did you use magic to conjure this? My mother will have to hear about it.”

  It took all of her self control not to throw her champagne in Munroe’s face. “You can tell your mother if you want, but she won’t believe you. She thinks you’re an idiot. And I can’t say I disagree.”

  Munroe’s nostrils flared, and an angry blush crept up her chest.

  “Not now, Fiona.” Tobias stepped close, his voice a harsh whisper.

  Munroe clenched her teeth. “Yeah, Fiona.” She seemed to think Tobias was her protector.

  The sound of a microphone’s feedback broke the tension, and Fiona winced, jamming her fingers in her ears. They’d become more sensitive since she’d learned to transform into a bat.

  “If I could have everyone’s attention…” a voice boomed from the microphone.

  With a final glare at Fiona, Munroe tugged at her date’s arm, pulling him toward the dance floor. “My father is about to speak.”

  Frowning, Fiona strolled after them, Alan close by her side. He leaned into her and whispered, “Stay focused. The plan is to get Mrs. Ranulf drunk, not to fight with her daughter.”

  At the end of the garden path, a small crowd had gathered around the dance floor. The weeping angel stood in the center, colored lanterns glowing against the dark sky above him. “Welcome, everyone!” he boomed into the microphone, his toothy grin a grotesque contrast to the mask’s dark streaks. His back was rod-straight, and he gripped a champagne glass. “I thank you all for coming this evening.”

  She looped her arm through Alan’s as they reached the edge of the dance floor. They stood wedged between a golden-feathered phoenix and a red wolf.

  “We are here, of course, to celebrate. Every remaining member of the witch army in Boston has been hunted down and slaughtered. That mission, at least, has been accomplished.” The senator’s guests cheered, and he lifted his glass. “But we are also here to raise money for a worthy cause. With your help, Americans for the Sanguine Brotherhood will help to keep America safe from the threat of witchcraft. There are more evil armies coming. And with the help of my dear wife Vera…” He thrust out a hand.

  The crowd turned to look at Mrs. Ranulf, walking gingerly along the path in a white ball gown. Ivory angel wings arched from her back, and she wore a platinum Georgian-era wig, the curls piled high on her head, glittering with crystals. A smooth, alabaster mask covered the top of her face.

  “With my wife’s help,” the senator continued, “I believe we have recruited some new members to our cause. Tonight, we celebrate n
ot only the recent victory, but the sanguine reawakening!”

  At the last word, a chill rippled over Fiona’s skin. Reawakening?

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Fiona

  Alan held out his hand to Fiona as the string quartet launched into a familiar waltz—Strauss, maybe. She clasped his hand, and he guided her across the dance floor with an unexpected grace, his arms outstretched. Her bare feet padded over the tiles. While they twirled, she caught sight of Munroe’s pale hand pulling Tobias as close as she could.

  Alan glanced over Fiona’s shoulder. “Mrs. Ranulf is halfway through her drink,” he whispered. “When she’s finished, you should grab another to hand to her. I’ll get the next round.”

  “I’m on it. How did you learn to waltz?”

  “My mom made me take ballroom dancing in middle school.”

  “Do you know what this piece is called? It’s beautiful.”

  He cocked his head. “You know, I think it’s Viennese Blood.”

  She shuddered. “Of course.”

  A heavy scent of roses hung in the damp air, mingling with the smell of decaying plants by the river’s edge. Fiona tilted back her head, glancing at the colored lanterns that dangled from the trees.

  Alan spun her, and she caught another view of Mrs. Ranulf. Her glass was empty. “Okay, she chugged that one down. Time to find her another.” She pulled away from her dance partner, glancing back at Tobias. He glided across the dance floor with a beaming Munroe. The ice princess was whispering something to him, though his eyes were elsewhere—scanning the river as though he were waiting for someone to roll up in a boat.

  Mrs. Ranulf stood by the edge of the dance floor, engaged in a lively discussion with a man dressed as a fox. The blond server wandered toward Fiona, who grabbed two glasses of a pink cocktail. Mrs. Ranulf’s favorite.

  She sidled up to the fox and the angel, taking a sniff of the drink. It smelled sweet, fruity—and very strong. Unless Mrs. Ranulf has the tolerance of a sailor, a few of these should do the trick.

  When she saw Fiona’s dress, Mrs. Ranulf’s fingers flew to her lips. “Fiona! What a resourceful girl you are. If I’d known such a beautiful dress lay in our basement, I’d have snatched it up myself.”

  Fiona grinned broadly. “You couldn’t possibly look any more divine than you already do.”

  Mrs. Ranulf’s chest swelled, and she smiled before a frown creased her brow. “Are those alcoholic beverages?”

  Fiona feigned embarrassment—a quick laugh and a downward gaze. “Oh. Do these have alcohol? No one told me.”

  Her pale eyes glimmering, Mrs. Ranulf plucked the drinks out of Fiona’s hands. “I’ll take those, Miss Forzese.” Her eyes flicked to the fox. “I don’t normally indulge, but someone has to keep these young people out of trouble.”

  Fiona eyed the silver chain around Mrs. Ranulf’s neck. The key was nestled in her cleavage. “Well, I guess I’ll get back to the waltz.” She nodded, a smile plastered on her face, and turned back to the dance floor.

  Alan was no longer there, but among the whirling birds, butterflies, and woodland creatures, fire and ice still glided across the dance floor. Fiona’s stomach fluttered. How does Tobias know how to move so gracefully? There’s no way he took ballroom dancing in Maremount. The pair danced closer to the edge of the dance floor, Tobias’s movements both fluid and exact. Munroe’s eyes glowed, but Tobias’s darted around, scanning the trees and the sky—searching for something. He’s waiting for something to happen.

  Munroe shot Fiona a victorious look before they whirled away again into the menagerie of dancers. A breeze chilled Fiona’s bare back. She felt a pang of emptiness, missing her best friend.

  A warm hand brushed her skin. A dark-haired man with a gold mask—beaked, like a bird’s—stepped in front of her. He bowed, holding out his hand. “Care to dance?”

  She should say no. She was on a mission, after all. But Mrs. Ranulf was loaded up with two cocktails, and Tobias seemed to be enjoying himself with Munroe. Oh, why not. She grasped his hand, stepping onto the dance floor. His face was completely obscured by the mask, but there was something appealing about his athletic frame. She had the feeling he was younger than most of the guests.

  He slipped an arm around her back, and they joined the dancers, whirling through the crowd like eddies in a river.

  She draped her hand over his shoulder. “Are you some sort of bird?”

  “A plague doctor, actually. They wore these to keep out the lethal miasma and the stench of death.” The mask muffled his voice.

  “It’s very pretty for something associated with the stench of death. Pretty and creepy.”

  “Some would say that suits me perfectly.”

  As they spun in a blur of color and lights, she thought of the twirling figurines in a music box she’d once owned.

  He leaned into her. “Do you always linger on the edges of dance floors?”

  “I’m not usually at this sort of party.”

  “Neither am I, to tell the truth.” His fingers were soft against the bare skin on her back. “I’m usually engaged in more solitary pursuits.”

  A dirty thought flickered through Fiona’s mind, but she resisted the temptation to voice it. “Like what?”

  His hand rested lightly on her back, but his grip on her hand was firm. “You could say I’m the creative type.”

  “And you’re here to support the Sanguine Brotherhood.”

  “Not at all. I’ve had a devastating day, and I’m just here for the beautiful women and the drinks to cheer myself up. I’m secure enough in my masculinity to drink a pink cocktail.”

  She smiled before a horrible thought churned her stomach. “They’re not made of blood, are they?”

  He threw back his head and laughed, a throaty chuckle. “No. I think they’re called strawberry-tinis.”

  “You must be very sure of yourself to drink something called a strawberry-tini.”

  “I’m not going to pass up a good thing when I see it.”

  She had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about the drinks. There was something oddly familiar about him. Comfortable too, his easy manner so different from Tobias’s caginess.

  For a moment, she caught a glimpse of Tobias over his shoulder. He wasn’t dancing anymore. He was just—glaring. Jealous, probably. Serves him right.

  Another twirl, and she caught a glimpse of Alan standing by the edge of the dance floor. He had something metallic gleaming in his hand and a smile on his lips. He has the key. Her mind suddenly sharpened. It was time to find Mariana.

  “I have to go,” she said breathlessly.

  “So soon?” The stranger was reluctant to release her hand as she pulled away. But before she had the chance to say another word, someone ripped off the plague mask from behind. The deep blue eyes staring into Fiona’s were at once haunting and terrifying. Jack.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Tobias

  Tobias flung Jack’s mask to the side. For a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt when he caught a glimpse of Fiona’s horrified face. But the guilt was quickly replaced by a molten rage that ignited his limbs with an otherworldly power. His lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl, and he gripped the athame in his hand.

  Jack turned to him with a calm smile, black curls unruffled. His peaceful expression only inflamed Tobias’s anger.

  Jack’s eyes darted to the athame. “So that’s where that went. You know, I’ve been looking it that all over.”

  Heat roiled beneath Tobias’s skin. The goddess took hold of his body. Munroe was shouting something behind him, but it was as though her voice was underwater. I need to move the crowd away before my wrath incinerates them all.

  He lifted the athame, chanting a barrier spell to repel the guests, and as they stumbled back, he arced it around his body. Flames erupted around him, enclosing him in a burning circle with Jack. Somewhere in the distance, Mrs. Ranulf shrieked. Let her scream. He’d taken the red dust and the chalice pendants from
the guards hours ago. Pocket-picking was an easy enough task with the goddess’s grace flowing through his body.

  In the circle of flames, he stared into the face of the man who’d burned his city—the man who’d tortured his neighbors, who’d starved Eden and left her broken body to rot in the square. His features were pretty as a courtesan’s, but Tobias could see the gray-veined spirit of death lurking beneath his porcelain skin.

  There was no alarm in Jack’s blue eyes—just cool amusement.

  Tobias prowled toward him. I’ll tear that look from his face. He slashed the athame downward, and a flame shot from the blade straight at Jack’s heart. Jack held up a hand, blocking the attack. Another slash of fire, and a look of concern crept onto Jack’s face. Tobias’s body was ablaze as he slashed again. Jack blocked it again, but this time, sweat trickled down his temples.

  Tobias was a simmering cauldron of rage. Fire traveled down his arms, erupting from his fingertips. Flames seared the air. Jack crouched and then leapt upward, gripping a tree branch, its leaves singing with Tobias’s fire. In a single smooth motion, Jack swung his legs over the bough, standing upright. Tobias swung the athame again, unleashing a burst of fire at Rawhed. Black smoke swirled from the magnolia’s scorched leaves. In the next instant, Jack was on the ground again, gripping a twig in his hand.

  Tobias stiffened. Right. The tree god.

  “You see,” Jack grinned. “I’ve got my own wand now.” With a lazy flick of his wrist, a strand of black vines unfurled from the wand, striking Tobias in the chest. Winded, Tobias gripped his heart as it filled with a gnawing dread. He stumbled back. A sharp emptiness spread through him, until Eden’s lifeless face flashed in his mind.

  He clenched his fists, and the fire inside him raged again, hotter this time. He dropped the athame, letting out a roar. A primal part of him—no longer just Tobias, but something older than language itself—surged through him. I left London in ash. I burned Rome. I rained fire on Pompeii. His scream was no longer his own, but something deep and fluid, from a distant age.