The only thing out of place was the cloaked figure. They lifted their hands and unbuckled the clasp at their neck. The heavy material fell to the floor, revealing a tiny woman dressed in bright pink capri pants and a white tank. Her blonde bob framed a heart-shaped face with piercing blue eyes.
She grinned at us. “Sorry for the theatrics,” she said in a soft Irish accent. “Got to keep up appearances.”
A door on the opposite side of the room opened, and another six people piled inside, men and women ranging in ages from early twenties to late sixties. Each bore a wide smile as they draped themselves around the room. They dressed in everything from jeans and sweaters to short flirty dresses.
“This is not what I expected,” Hudson muttered.
An older guy, sporting a thick head of silver hair and a matching beard, waved at the space on the sofa opposite him they’d left free for us. “We can get our ceremonial robes if you’d prefer, Daughter of Death?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
I took the offered seat, but Hudson remained standing behind me with a reassuring hand on my shoulder, showing me he had my back. “Cora is fine, and no thank you.”
His gaze lifted to Hudson. “We are honored that the Principal has accompanied you today. Warm greetings to you both.”
Hudson grumbled something behind me I couldn’t make out. Was he speaking a different language?
I tipped my head back and stared up at his smug face. The guy who seemed to be in charge answered in the same choppy language, and both of them chuckled.
Umm, what the fuck was happening? I narrowed my eyes as Hudson’s thumb stroked the side of my neck in reassurance.
“Later,” he mouthed.
I huffed and tore my gaze from his.
The blonde-haired, petite woman bounced onto the sofa next to the old guy. They had the same eyes. “Took you long enough,” she said with a clap. “Can’t believe you are finally here. I’m delira and excira.”
My brow knits. “I got here on your impossible time scale.” The other part of her words I couldn’t understand.
“No, silly. We’ve been calling you for months.”
They definitely hadn’t. I tilted my head. “How?”
“Peach Tree? We sent Caleb to you.”
My mouth dropped open. Damn, my grandmother wasn’t lying when she said everything was connected. We’d been looking at this all wrong, like individual attempts at a hostile takeover, when it was, in fact, a coordinated and consistent attack.
The older guy side-eyed her. “This is Liza, my granddaughter, and she tends to let her mouth run away with her. I’m Cillian, the high priest of the House of Donn. Don’t let the title scare you. Nobody gets sacrificed these days.”
Good to know they had moved with the times.
“Were you responsible for the burned eyes in Peach Tree?” It was something that kept me awake at night, not knowing who or what was the cause.
He nodded. “Yes, but they were already dead. You were supposed to follow the trail to us.”
“A phone call or email would have sufficed,” Hudson said.
Cillian cocked his head. “True, but eyes are the windows to the soul. Do you know how powerful they are?”
“You use the eyes for what? Soup? Spells?” The surrounding folks rumbled with laughter. I shook my head. “Actually, don’t answer that.”
Two more people entered the room with a tray full of cups, saucers, and a steaming teapot. Watercolor flowers decorated the delicate bone china, with no skulls in sight. I was a little disappointed.
Liza bounced back to her feet, reminding me of Maggie as she began pouring the tea into cups.
“Sugar? Milk?”
“Just a little milk for me,” I answered. Not that I would drink tea prepared by a group of people who worshiped a god who was fueling my grandmother’s evil plan. That was just asking for trouble.
“Same,” Hudson answered. He hated tea.
