“That's rosemary; the petunias are in the floral section.”
“I know its rosemary, I'm a witch for fuck's sake, but pouting among the rosemary didn't have the same ring to it,” he growled. “Now, get your ass in gear and help me hunt down a killer witch.”
“Yes, Sir!” I stood and saluted, another whiff of rosemary hitting me. This time, it did wonders to clear my mind.
Chapter Forty-Eight
An elite team of witches had been gathered to hunt down Eleanor. They stood in formation, dressed in black with their hair bound away from their stoic faces with strips of leather. The Witch Leaders themselves would be commanding the hunt and the rest of us would assist. At least, that's what the Witch Leaders thought.
“Do not kill Eleanor unless absolutely necessary,” Vivian said to the group. “We want her brought back to Coven Cay to stand trial.”
I glanced at Verin and he narrowed his eyes at me. He was there for vengeance and he intended to get it. Nothing Vivian said was going to stop the Blue Dragon from getting his pound of flesh—likely a killing pound. Besides, a trial was unnecessary; Eleanor had already been found guilty. It was time for the execution. I nodded at him in understanding and unity; he wasn't the only one out for witch blood. Verin grinned in wicked anticipation.
“We tracked Eleanor to an island in Thailand.” Vivian looked at her watch. “With the time difference, we'll be making our approach in afternoon sunlight but we've decided not to wait for nightfall. Eleanor will likely be prepared for us. Be on guard for traps and other obstacles. She is an accomplished Water Witch with an extensive repertoire—one of the most talented students I've ever had. Be prepared for water attacks and conjurations as well as the crafts every elemental witch can construct.”
“Conjurations,” I murmured.
Vivian's speech muted as a memory played in my head—Scylla streaking out of her cave to attack Verin's soldiers. She had bled but it hadn't been from my music. Could she have been a conjure—an illusion without substance? That would explain why my magic hadn't worked on her. But how could a conjure grab one of Verin's soldiers?
“What is it?” Verin was suddenly standing beside me. “Are you all right?”
I flinched. I'd been so distracted by my thoughts that I hadn't seen him move. “That first fight with Scylla, when we hunted her and my magic didn't affect her.”
Verin grunted.
“I'm wondering if Eleanor had been nearby, conjuring an image of Scylla. It would explain why she swam into an army of dragons without any hesitation.”
Verin made a thoughtful sound. “It would also explain why it felt as if I were only slicing through water when I attacked her.”
“It did?” I lifted my brows at him. “Why didn't you say something?”
Verin shrugged. “I didn't give it much thought. Dragon claws are sharp.”
I made a relieved snort.
“You're happy about this?”
“It means that Scylla—and by extent, Eleanor—didn't find a way to nullify my magic.”
Verin grunted again. “Good.”
“Verin, in the hallway—”
“Elaria, don't do this,” Verin said under his breath.
“What? Insist that you confront what you feel for me?”
“I've confronted and admitted it,” he growled. “What I can't do is give in to it. So, whatever you're thinking, please, keep it to yourself. If you love me as you say, you won't make this harder on me.”
I sighed in frustration. Odin said to do anything I had to do. But what if that anything included hurting Verin?
“There has to be a way to compromise with your people,” I tried again.
Verin growled, turned on his heel, and went to stand on the other side of the witch formation.
Sure. Whine at him until he wants you. That's working great,RS mocked.
What do you suggest?I countered.
