Mac and I pushed our way through the crowd, approaching Jeeves, who stood with the door already open. The frown on his face was dour as he looked at the two of us, and I could already hear him saying, “Good riddance,” as he shut the door on our retreating backs.
“Toodles, Jeeves, my love.” Mac wiggled her fingers in his face as she sailed by.
“Thanks,” I said, following her into the predawn.
The air was crisp and fresh, but still, heat seemed to suffuse me. I turned back to look at the tower.
Was the Devil watching?
It sure felt like he was.
11
Carrow
Mac and I hurried down the creaky wooden stairs of the Witches’ Guild, the sound of the party following us across the lawn. I glanced behind again, half-expecting to see the Devil of Darkvale staring after me.
He’d come to the party just for me.
But he wasn’t standing there. And neither was Jeeves. The door was shut, but the party was still making the leaning wooden building shake.
I turned back and hurried along with Mac, the early dawn sun beginning to turn the sky a light gray.
I liked Mac. I really liked having her help through this magical new world. But there was no fooling myself. I was alone in this. I had always been alone, and I always would be.
I shook away the negative thoughts—they were total bull—and stepped onto one of the narrow streets that led back toward her place.
Wait, was that where we were headed?
Exhaustion pulled at me, and I looked at Mac. “Do you mind if I crash on your couch for a few hours? I’m beat, and I don’t think we should try to sneak into the morgue in broad daylight. Too many people.”
She nodded. “Of course. Where else would you go?”
“There?” I pointed to a little wrought iron bench that sat in front of a shop selling enchanted witches’ hats of all styles and colors. “Unless there’s a hotel around forty pounds a night. Because that’s all I’ve got.”
“Yeah, you’re on my couch. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thank you.” I couldn’t believe my luck in finding someone like Mac to help me. I was going to need to pay her back big time.
As we neared her flat, I began to feel someone watching me.
The Devil?
No. His attention had a weight that made me prickle with anticipation and wariness.
This…wasn’t like that.
It felt almost like family.
I looked around the old street, which was dead silent in the hour before dawn. It was empty save for a few purple pigeons and the motion behind the shop windows—cauldrons bubbling away, enchanted clothing dancing, and quills writing on scrolls like their feathers were on fire.
Finally, my gaze landed on two small green eyes high against a building. There, on a ledge, sat a raccoon.
“Cordelia?”
Mac looked at me. “Who the heck is Cordelia?”
“That raccoon.” I pointed to the furry little creature.