Ellie tugged on her hand, pulling her off-balance. Ellie, the same woman who said she’d rather die than be a witch, would not wantanyaffection from Prospero. And she certainly wouldn’t want to bemarriedto her.
Prospero sounded every bit the uptight Victorian she had once been as she retorted, “Truly, I must go—”
Any further words died as Ellie leaned forward and kissed her to silence.
Prospero’s lips parted reluctantly as Ellie pulled her closer. Prospero’s good sense considered fleeing at the feel of the woman shewantedbecoming pliant and very eager to stay in her arms.
Which I don’t deserve.
Prospero detangled herself. “Good night, Ellie.”
Then she turned and walked away. Apparently, she couldn’t trust herself to kiss Ellie—not if she was to be tangentially ethical.
No more kisses.
No more anything.
After she left Ellie, Prospero strode through the castle hall and into the main foyer. A few witches gave her curious looks, and some of the staff looked away as if she were a monster they had stumbled upon. She straightened her spine and exited the front of the castle to head toward Lord Scylla’s home.
Scylla was one of the few witches she was likely to call afriend.They had no subterfuge between them, so it was no surprise to receive her summons that morning. When Scylla’s door drifted open, Prospero found herself in one of the most nondescript spaces in all of Crenshaw. The room was what Scylla called “open concept”—which as far as Prospero could see meant empty. No interior walls dividing rooms. Minimal furniture. From any position, a person could see everything other than the toilet and washing area.
And what Prospero saw was Cassandra, madam and seer of Crenshaw, sitting there waiting. Until recently, she was one of Prospero’s most trusted allies. Since Cass was in Scylla’s home, Prospero realized that the decision to meetherewas a strategic move. Cassandra was banned from so much as approaching Prospero’s house, but here at Scylla’s home, there was no such edict.
“Why?”
Lord Scylla gave Prospero a look that was somewhere between “are you serious” and “don’t push me.” She lifted her chin in a regal way. “Because we are friends, even though you are irritated with her.”
Amusement simmered under the grumbling admonishment. Scylla was a striking woman, one of the few who dressed in what had been called “men’s clothes” before Prospero became a witch. Unlike Prospero,who preferred her suits to all other options, Scylla favored casual trousers and blouses when at home. Her throat was even bare at the moment.
Prospero glanced at Cassandra before returning her focus to the bottle of some strange liqueur that a hob had deposited earlier. “She deceived me.”
“Imanagedyour moods, P.” Cassandra lifted the bottle and poured three glasses half-full of a dark red liquid that looked almost too thick to drink.
Aside from the exasperation in that brief statement, Cassandra was uncommonly subdued, as if she was trying to match her mood to Prospero’s temper. The usually vivacious seer was… dimmed. Typically, Cass was a bundle of motion and joy, so much so that her plain hair and plain features were transformed into Mona Lisa beauty. She was voluptuous, energetic, and most residents of Crenshaw found her irresistible.
“Elliehasto be in Crenshaw or… things go wrong.” Cassandra pronounced this in the way that she said all things, as if she were infallible.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have put her in peril,” Prospero snapped. She tossed back the cherry-tasting syrup, not sure if the taste or the burn was worse.
“Look.” Scylla pointed at one woman and then the other. “I need you to hush your mouth for a moment, and I need to know exactly whatyouknow that you aren’t telling P, and both of you need to check the attitude.”
Cassandra smothered a smile. “Without Elleanor Brandeau, Prospero will die.” Then she shrugged. “And without Prospero, we lose.Magicdies. We all die.”
“Well, fuck,” Scylla muttered.
For a moment, they all sat in silence.
Then Cass looked at Prospero. “You are upset, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Youmatterto me.”
Prospero opened her mouth to reply, but Cass held up her hand.
“But this is also about our home. Ourpeople.Without you, Scylladies. I don’t know how or why or when, but she dies.” Cass shot a sympathetic look at their friend, emptied her glass, and continued, “Then Walt. Sondre. Me. All I could see was a field of dead. Familiar and unfamiliar witches… and the only way to stop it is to protectyou.And that meant bringing Elleanor here. So I won’t apologize for the things I did to bring your wife to our world.”
Then she stood, dipped in an odd little curtsy toward Scylla, pivoted, and walked away.
“I hate prophecies.” Scylla grabbed the bottle with one hand and shoved the third, still-full glass toward Prospero.
“She could have told me. Or you…” Prospero scowled in the general direction of Cassandra’s departure. “Cass keeps everything to herself and—”
