A Witch's Feast (2 page)

Tobias’s dark hair lay plastered to his head. Under his sodden blue T-shirt, rage knotted his chest.

It had been nearly a week since he’d helped defeat the Harvesters in the Battle of Maremount, but a magical aura still charged the atmosphere. The air felt electrified even here in Boston, though philosophers had severed this city from Maremount long ago. In the chaotic aftermath of the battle, it had taken Tobias and Fiona a full day to find the rest of their coven. Tobias had been relieved to find them safe in a sports stadium converted into a temporary shelter. And now, his friends prepared to flee the chaos.
 

But Tobias had more immediate plans. He knew Jack’s address. He’d spent the past few days hunting a Harvester through the winding streets of the North End. He’d pulled the man into an alley, smashing his head against a cement wall until he’d given up his master’s secrets.

 
Tobias hugged himself in the frigid rain. The image kept replaying in his mind—the moment when Eden’s neck had snapped, and the world had stopped.
 

How stupid had he been when he’d first arrived in Boston?
If he’d been more focused, maybe Jack wouldn’t have slipped through his fingers. He’d trained with the Ragmen in Maremount, but had failed to hold a single weapon since arriving. Until now.
 

 
Turning the corner of a street lined with redbrick townhouses, he clutched an eight-inch chef’s knife in his right hand. It wasn’t as good as a pike, but he would need any advantage he could get against Jack. The last time they’d met in the Tuckomock Forest, a simple flick of Jack’s wrist had sent Tobias soaring to the treetops. He was the most powerful philosopher Tobias had ever encountered.
 

Still, Tobias had the element of surprise on his side. Once inside the building, he could turn invisible and take as long as he needed to sneak into Jack’s apartment undetected. He had no qualms about killing Jack in his sleep.

He pushed his drenched hair out of his eyes and examined the gold numbering on the side of a brick building to his right.
Number 27.
 
He climbed stone steps to a red painted door, scanning the list of names next to buzzers. Apartment number three, Jack’s, was unlabeled. But Tobias pushed a button near the top instead: Mitchell
.

A female voice crackled through the intercom. “Hello?”

“Delivery for apartment three. I need you to buzz me in.”
Does that sound right? Delivery?

“Oh. Um… okay.”

The buzzer sounded, and he clicked open the door into a white-walled hall. A stairway led upward, but Jack’s apartment would be on the ground floor.
 

Wooden boards creaked under Tobias’s feet as he stalked up the hallway. As he approached apartment three, he saw that the door was cracked open. He hadn’t expected that.
 

He gripped the knife tighter, pushing open Jack’s door. He stepped into a large central room, empty of furniture. To the right, a bare kitchen adjoined the room.

His heart hammered against his ribs. No sign of Jack.
A blessing in some ways, since he’d forgotten to use the cloaking spell before he barged in. He clenched his jaw, stepping in further to survey the high-ceilinged room. At the other end of the living room was a white door, probably leading to the bedroom.

Perhaps there would be some clue as to Jack’s location, but it wasn’t immediately apparent. Three domed alcoves set into the wall lay empty, and nothing hung on the dusty green walls. The only sign of Jack was the deep maroon droplets of dried blood marring the wooden floor—no doubt the remnants of one of his meals.

Tobias tiptoed to the bedroom door, shooting a quick look behind him before turning the brass doorknob. It creaked as it opened into a smaller room painted a deep red. Apart from an oak wardrobe, this room was also empty. A window overlooked the sidewalk, guarded by iron bars to protect the glass.

Another door to the right led to a white-tiled bathroom. After sliding open the glass shower door, he crouched, inspecting the floor. A swirl of earth remained near the drain, and a single black hair.
Jack.
Tobias plucked it from the drain and rose to grab a tissue from the counter. He carefully folded the hair into the tissue and tucked it into his pocket.

He rubbed his eyes, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His straight hair had grown unkempt in the past couple of months, and though he’d built up his physique in Boston, the past few days had taken a toll. He hadn’t remembered to eat, and his high cheekbones stood out sharply. Shadows underlined his dark, almond-shaped eyes. His skin, normally a deep bronze, had taken on a pallid hue.
I need to remember to keep my strength up if I’m going to defeat the beast.

He swallowed hard. Jack must have stood in this very spot not long ago, gazing at his own pretty face while drooling over Fiona and fresh human hearts.

Focus, Tobias.
He shook his head, returning to the empty bedroom and crossing to the wardrobe. Pulling open one of the heavy doors, he scanned its contents. Empty hangers jangled from a bar along the top and a few rumpled T-shirts lay below. On a shelf near the bottom sat a scrying stone. Tobias picked it up. It was as opaque as a crone’s eye. A crack ran through its center. Useless. No wonder he’d left it behind.

He crouched down, rolling open a drawer only to find it empty. But the second drawer was not. Behind three rows of neatly folded black and gray socks was a long, black leather satchel. A smile curled his lips as he pulled it out and carefully reached inside, his hand gripping a smooth hilt. Unsheathing the knife revealed a sharp steel blade with a smooth obsidian handle.
An athame.
It was nearly a foot long. He inhaled deeply. If he’d had this in the past few weeks, his encounters with the Harvesters would have been much more successful.

A white design marked the hilt: two concentric circles, the inner of which contained a triangle. It was the symbol of Emerazel, the fire goddess. A shiver slithered up his spine. This was a dangerous sort of magic.

As he ran his fingers over the inscribed seal, footfalls approached through the living room. Tobias’s stomach lurched, and he shoved the knife into his pocket, muttering the cloaking spell. Within his clothes, the athame was invisible.

“The Champion said it was left here,” said a guttural voice from the other room.

“We’re nearly the only ones still serving him, you know,” answered a deep voice.

Tobias’s pulse raced. Jack’s Harvesters were here. And they would know how to find the monster. He pulled the athame out of his pocket, and prowled into the living room. This was what he’d trained for.

Crammed between her schoolmates in an idling van, Fiona nestled against Mariana’s shoulder. The rumbling of thunder outside grated at her nerves, and her eyes burned with fatigue.
 

For three nights, she had lain awake on a stiff cot in a basketball court, listening to the echoes of crying and snuffling. But as soon as she’d closed her eyes and started to melt into the gentle embrace of sleep, she’d jerk awake again, Jack’s blue eyes vivid in her mind.
It was his fault my schoolmates died—his fault Tobias was forced to watch his girlfriend hang on the scaffold.
She swallowed, blinking back tears. She’d been an idiot to trust him.

 
To make matters worse, guilt pierced her whenever she thought of Thomas, left behind in Maremount with no one to help him. She had no idea if he was alive or dead. In a way, it was her fault he’d been left behind, since he’d been searching for her when the portal closed.
 

And where is Tobias right now?
She sat up straight, the thought prickling at the back of her mind. He’d been acting unpredictable lately. She hadn’t known him for very long, and he’d never said much about his past—nothing about his parents, or Eden. Even before she’d died.
 

Fiona’s gaze darted to Alan. He drew sea creatures in his notebook, a gentle buzz of music emanating from his headphones. He’d become more withdrawn in the past few days, too.
I guess that’s what happens when an ordinary person finds himself holding a bloody knife over a dying man’s body.

To her left, Mariana drew a spider web on the back of her hand with a black pen. Fiona leaned forward to peer over her friend’s shoulder at the rain outside. The wide expanse of concrete steps across from Faneuil Hall was nearly empty in the storm. Under the dark clouds, it almost looked like night. But even without the storm, Downtown Boston was deserted while everyone hid in their homes, locking their doors against Harvester attacks.

She glanced at the students behind her, mentally tallying the numbers. Math had never been her favorite subject, and yet a word problem popped into her head as though she were reading it from a book.
Fiona’s junior class included ninety-six students. Of those, twelve were slaughtered by an evil sorcerer’s army, and twenty-four are receiving treatment for injuries. Of the remaining mobile students, fifty-one will return home to the safety of their parents in other states. How many local schoolmates have been left displaced because either their homes are still under threat from the Harvesters, or their parents are out of the country?

She counted eight students around her, slumped in a van that smelled of sweat. Only Tobias was missing.
 

Munroe leaned forward in the front passenger seat, trying to get a better view out the windshield. She had arranged for this handful of uprooted students to stay at her home in Virginia until Boston was free from the attacks. She seemed to take an irritating pride in her role as savior. She turned to face her schoolmates, her pale skin shining against her deep auburn hair. “Don’t worry, everyone. We’ll be out of here soon.”
 

In the driver’s seat, a driver hired by Munroe’s parents scratched his gray hair, staring out the window. A blotch of sweat had spread up the back of his white T-shirt.
 

“So, are we still waiting for permission to exit the perimeter?” Connor, a golden-curled boy, called out from the van’s back seat.
 

“They’d better give it soon,” grumbled the driver. “The Ranulfs are paying me generously, but not enough to fight terrorists.”

Munroe whipped her head around. “The police officer is supposed to give us the go-ahead. It wasn’t easy to get a clearance, you know.” She crossed her arms over her black blouse.

Fiona cleared her throat. “We have to wait for Tobias.” She’d never find him again if they left him here. Philosophers from the magical city of Maremount didn’t exactly carry cell phones.
 

Munroe narrowed her gray eyes. “I’m not waiting around for him. If he doesn’t want to take advantage of my family’s generosity in offering their home and resources, that’s his decision. He can find a way back to England when the airport reopens.”

England. Of course.
Munroe still believed his lie about his origins.

Mariana inched forward in her seat, gripping Munroe’s arm. “Just give us a little while longer. It’s not safe for him here.”

Munroe crinkled her forehead in disbelief. “It’s not safe here for any of us. And don’t think I’ve forgotten that you two were friends with the Mather Witch. I’ll be watching you.” She pointed a manicured nail at Mariana’s nose.

Mariana swatted Munroe’s hand away. It was convenient for them that Celia was taking the fall as being the “Mather Witch.” She wasn’t here to protest.

Munroe edged closer, threatening to topple over the armrest. “My father is the head of the anti-witchcraft task force in Washington—”

Mariana stared at the ceiling. “Oh my God, we
know.
You’re very important.”

Munroe’s glossy pink lips tightened as she glared back and forth between Fiona and Mariana. “Look. You’re either with the witch-hunters, or you’re with the terrorists. It’s very important that we stick together in the fight against evil.” She shot Alan a sharp look. “It’s that simple. Got it?”

Alan yanked off his headphones. “Let’s not argue right now, since there could be Harvesters all around us at any minute. If these are my last ten minutes on earth, I’d like to spend them listening to Kraftwerk instead of listening to you all bickering.” He jammed the headphones back on his head.

The door slid open. A stocky, dark-haired man in a police uniform stared at them. Fiona’s throat tightened. Tobias was still missing.

The officer looked over the students, a clipboard in his hand. “Everyone on this van has been given clearance to exit the police perimeter at this time. Please stay safe.” With a quick nod of his head, he slammed the van door.

Munroe beamed. “I guess we’re ready.”

The driver turned the key in the ignition, and Fiona swallowed hard. The only thing stopping her from losing Tobias forever was the slow crawl of traffic blocking their exit.

Where the hell is he?

Two men stood in Jack’s empty living room. To Tobias’s right, a hulking man with a bulbous face and florid nose stared at the athame in Tobias’s invisible hand, seeming to float in midair. The man’s fleshy cheeks and jaded expression reminded him of an overfed king.
 

To Tobias’s left stood a thin man with a scraggly black beard, hunched over like a ragged heron. Each wore a pendant around his neck—a human-like face formed from branches and thorns. The men didn’t look particularly terrifying, but the pikes they carried could transmit several times the energy of his little athame. Still, Tobias had the advantage of invisibility and the agility of a lighter weapon.