Raised voices drew our attention. Mullo argued with a pair of fishermen with red-and-black scarves around their necks. Matching flags fluttered atop the masts of two fishing boats tied to the dock.
The demons’ language was a guttural mix of growls and harsh consonants. I understood enough to make out most of the words.
“What are they saying?” Portia whispered.
“Mullo wants passage across the bay,” I said. “The demons are refusing. They say the sea is too dangerous this time of year.”
One of the demons gestured sharply, and I caught a single word that made my blood run cold.
“Asmira.”
Portia gasped. “The Oracle…”
Albie nodded grimly. “He must be on his way to bargain with the Oracle of Asmira. That’s where he traded his fertility for more power.”
Mullo’s voice rose as he switched to the Common Tongue. “I’ll pay triple your usual rate.”
The demon with the darker horns shook his head. “No amount of gold is worth angering the Oracle’s guardians.”
Mullo narrowed his eyes. The air around him shimmered with heat.
The second demon summoned a fireball in his palm. The flames danced over his fingers as he took a step forward.
A cold, vicious smile curved Mullo’s lips. He flicked his wrist, and fire erupted in his hand. But instead of attacking the demons, he sent it streaking toward one of their boats.
The vessel exploded into flames. Demons on the dock shouted and scrambled to push the burning boat away from the others before the fire could spread.
Mullo lowered his hood, revealing his black hair and eyes. The embroidered collar of his barasta showed above the top of his cloak. “Careful, demon,” Mullo said softly. “You’re not the only master of fire.”
The fishermen shrank back, fear replacing their defiance. They were mortal, their lifespans not much longer than a human’s. Mullo was centuries old and the most formidable fire witch in the world.
Portia grabbed my arm and spoke in a fierce whisper. “This is my chance to stop the Curse before it starts.”
I looked at Albie, who shook his head. “We need a plan first,” I told Portia.
“There’s no time for a plan!” she said.
On her other side, Albie caught her arm. “Portia, listen?—”
“Let me go!” She thrashed between us, her voice rising. Ghostly, shimmering scales rippled down her arms.
I pulled her against me and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Quiet, lass, or you’ll bring every demon in this village down on our heads.”
She bit my palm.
“Fuck,” I muttered, tightening my grip. She fought harder.
Mullo climbed into the remaining boat. The fishermen followed with their eyes down and their movements jerky with obvious fear. Within moments, they’d pushed off from the dock. Wind billowed the boat’s black sail as they headed out to sea. The ship Mullo had set aflame sank beneath the water.
Portia screamed behind my hand, but the racket on the wharf drowned her cry.
I waited until Mullo’s boat was a dark speck on the horizon. Then I released her.
She whirled on me with fire searing her irises. “How fucking dare you?”
“We can still go after him,” Albie said, stepping between us. “But we need a strategy first. Mullo Balfour is the most powerful witch in ten generations. If we approach this impulsively, we could make everything worse.”
“Worse?” Portia’s voice dipped, her dragon deepening the sound. Scales rippled across her neck and jaw. “How could it possibly be worse than a Curse that’s going to kill our females?”
