Maeve looked back down at the dagger. Her hand crept up to her neck. Concealed beneath her sweater were her own markings that would never heal. Her veins ran black from Mal’s dark magic.
Mal took a seat next to her on the edge of his bed.
He closed her hand around the dagger. “On you at all times.” He grabbed the back of her head and brought their foreheads together. “When I return, I will be the Dread Prince, and you will be my Dread Viper.”
Maeve’s heart swelled. She pushed herself closer to him, their noses brushing.
Their lips pressed together in a silent goodbye.
Chapter 59
Maeve was seated in a comfy, ornate wooden lounging chair in the back sunroom of her Grandmother Agatha’s lavish cottage, preparing her mind for a conversation she had avoided for months.
Her father’s mother had a way of getting hard truths out of Maeve, and was considered the only witch alive that could talk some semblance of sense into her young rebellious granddaughter.
The doors to the main room were open, letting sunlight pour onto the old dark walnut floors. A pot of tea and two teacups appeared on the table between them.
“So,” said Agatha in a business-like voice. “I hear you nearly died.”
“Which time?” Asked Maeve, with the hint of a smirk on her lips.
“Some dark magic you’re dabbling in,” said Agatha. “Though I expect nothing less from my youngest son’s offspring.”
Maeve didn’t respond and let Agatha speak.
“Speaking of death,” said Agatha, waving her hand to pour herself another cup of tea. “I heard Vetus Willus died.”
Maeve turned her head to her Grandmother slowly and said calmly. “You knew her?”
“Hated her. Too much money and no class,” she huffed. “She wouldn’t shut up about all her favorite collections.”
“Funny,” said Maeve. “Mal had just met her at the St. Beveraux’s Christmas party. But you didn’t introduce them.”
“Funny,” said Agatha. “Was it Ophelia St. Beveraux who did?”
“You sent him to that party to meet her? You told him to get close to Ophelia?”
Agatha sipped her tea. Maeve leaned forward in her chair. “How did you know I’ve nearly died three times this year? Did Father tell you or someone else?” Asked Maeve, beginning to understand that Mal and Agatha were communicating with one another more than she realized.
“I don’t really need to answer that question, sharp as you are,” said Agatha.
Maeve loosed a laugh.
“Did you get it?” Asked Agatha gruffly.
Maeve nodded and studied her grandmother with appreciation. She nodded. “And then some.”
Agatha smiled.
“Why don’t you ever come to parties anymore?” Asked Maeve.
“Ambrose, keep me informed.”
“Don’t you miss it?”
Agatha chuckled, “No, dear, it was a welcome relief, truth be told. Not having to face all those arrogant bastards all the time.”
Maeve laughed. “I can’t disagree. I’ve grown tired of pretending to smile at them.”
