A Witch's Feast (26 page)

Fiona arched an eyebrow at Alan. “Still hungry?”

“Kind of, yeah.” He picked up a chicken wing, biting into it. “Oh God. It’s really good. Dead, too.”

Fiona picked up a cranberry tart, her stomach rumbling. “I’m going to eat this while we do the other spell. I can multitask.”

She took a bite, watching Tobias tear into a thick slice of ham on fresh bread. She still had an odd feeling about him—it was almost as though half his mind had been left in Maremount. He didn’t seem to be fully present most of the time.
Maybe a truth-telling spell would come in useful for him, too.

She finished the tart in a few bites and grabbed an unpeeled egg as Tobias handed her the second spell.

She looked it over. “Something to do with a spirit, you said. What’s our plan if it calls up a demon of some kind?"

Tobias took another bite of his sandwich. “You two run. I’ll take care of it.”

Alan wrinkled his forehead. “Getting a bit cocky these days, aren’t we?”

Tobias gave him an irritated look. “I’m
a trained demon-fighter
.
”

Alan was unable to suppress an eye-roll.
 

Fiona ignored them, focusing on the Angelic. Once again, she pieced together the sounds until the aura tingled over her skin. She tensed, momentarily anticipating a demon bursting forth from the ground.
 

But it wasn’t the ground that started shifting. It was the egg clutched in her left hand.

Grimacing, she lifted it closer to her face. “Guys. Something is happening to the egg.” Thin white arms sprouted from its side, and humanoid features formed on its surface—two large, blinking eyes. She felt queasy as a mouth formed on the shell, and she shoved the creature into Alan’s hand. “This is disturbing.”

Alan held it up, and the egg coughed, rubbing its eyes with its tiny white fists. “Hark! What now, sir?” He had a surprisingly gravelly voice for an egg.

Alan stared at the creature in his hand. “Um, hello.” He looked up at Fiona and Tobias. “I don’t think this is going to help us.”

The egg folded its arms. “Pray, how d’you mean
help
, sir?”

Alan’s eyes opened wider. “The… you know. Egg with a face. We’re trying to find some sort of spell that will help us locate our friend. She’s lost.”

The egg winked. “Lost her virtue? Ravished by a rake? A cockle-brained—”

“No,” Alan interrupted. “The Purgators took her.”

It waved its arms. “A French pox on them!”

Alan crossed to the table, placing the egg down gently next to a pudding. The egg continued to rant. “A mistress is like a rum flip. One sip—”

“These spells are duds,” said Alan. “We need a new plan.”

Fiona raised a finger. “Mrs. Ranulf was wasted the other night.”

Alan frowned. “Drunk? When?”

“When I was sitting on top of Tobias.” Heat rose in her cheeks as they both stared at her. “I mean, when we snuck up to the holding cell. She was stumbling all over the place with a pink cocktail. And she had the key around her neck. If there hadn’t been red dust everywhere, I could have snatched it right from her.”

Alan grinned, nodding slowly. “So we need to make sure she stays near the cocktails tonight. And then someone needs to get her alone.” He turned to Tobias. “Any chance you can charm the older Ranulf lady as well as you charmed the younger?”

Tobias was squinting at the river and didn’t respond. Fiona hit his arm. “Are you even listening?”

He held his arm, glancing at Fiona. “Ow. Yes, we need to get her drunk. Don’t worry.”

She frowned. “What do you keep looking for?”

Ignoring her question, he put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find Mariana soon. I can feel it.” His thumb lingered on her neck for a moment, his fingers unnaturally warm. “Just—stay near me at the party. I have to go now.” He said it with conviction, but didn’t move. He wrapped a finger around a curl by the side of her face. “Find me in ten minutes.” He stared into her eyes before turning to stride off though the trees, the breeze ruffling his hair.
 

Alan stared after him. “He’s getting weirder. I didn’t think that was possible.”

A gravelly voice shouted. “For what purpose should a woman learn magic, only to grow cuckold’s horns on her husband’s head?” The egg was engaging in some sort of soliloquy, his hands spread wide before an audience of green macarons.

She bit her lower lip. “Everything’s getting weirder.”

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.
 

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 not only the recent victory, but the sanguine reawakening!”
 

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

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.”