MORGAN
“Can you find her?”
I don’t answer. The soft glow of the smooth marble basin of water shines up at me, the only source of light in the room, throwing shadows on the Black Table.
“Can you find her?”
My gaze flies up. “Jesus, Kingston.Stop. Stop.” I brush the hair out of my eyes so I can get a good look at him, and?—
“God, you look awful.”
Kingston scowls. As if I’m not simply telling him the truth. Or, really, telling him what he needs to hear.
Bastard.
“Can. You. Find. Her,” he repeats.
“I’mtrying,Kingston.” I sweep a hand over my basin. “Scrying isn’t GPS, okay? And I’m new at this. You want her found instantly, you should’ve tied an AirTag around her neck.” I set my jaw. “Or maybe not lied to her in the first place.”
He doesn’t answer that. Just leans back a little.
I almost want to roll my eyes. Love how he’s willing to believe in magic when it suits him. Love how I’m sure that if the Consistoryever so much as breathes down his neck about this, he’d have me burned at the stake.
“Fine,” he says, flat.
“Thankyou,” I say. “Now, as I was saying…”
I close my eyes again. Let my hands float gently back and forth over the surface. Back and forth, back and forth?—
When I open my eyes, everything is brilliant white. Shimmering. I’m immersed in the vision, shapes coming into form.
But I see it. See her.
Gwenna.
I shiver, in spite of myself.
And then I’m back to normal.
“And?” Kingston presses, as soon as my eyes are open. “You found her?”
“What good is having a stepsister who’s a witch if she doesn’t use her powers for good once in a while?” I give him a bitchy little smile. “Yes, I found her.”
“Where is she?” He pushes to the edge of his seat, like he’s about ready to leap out of his chair and run whichever direction I points. “Tell me.”
I don’thaveto tell him. I know that. I told him that. Gwenna’s my friend, first and foremost, and I simply want to know she’s okay.
But Kingston…
Kingston’s got it bad.
Got itwrong.
I can tell.
And maybe…
Maybe he needs one more chance.
“I will,” I say slowly. “On one condition.”
“Whatever you want,” he says. And I can tell he means it. “Name it.”
I lean in over the scrying basin, fixing my stepbrother with the most serious, most deadly look I can possibly give him.
“If you do get Gwenna back here, Kingston? You’re going to grovel likehellfor her forgiveness.”
