Pulling the sunglasses off, I tucked one of the arms into the collar of my top and then glanced up and to the left, where a camera Roth destroyed had been. It had been replaced. Another good sign. I opened the door. There was no breezy jazz music playing. No clinks and clangs of dishes and utensils. My eyes had a bit of trouble adjusting to the dimly lit interior, but I recognized the woman behind the hostess table, and based on the way the dark-haired woman muttered an impressive stream of curses under her breath, she recognized me.

“Rowena—”

“Just so you know,” she cut in. “I am not cleaning up any messes this time. I was finding ash in places ash should never be for days.”

Considering that the ash she referenced was human remains of her fellow coven, I was thinking there really was no place that stuff should’ve been, but whatever. “Hopefully there’ll be no reason to leave a mess behind this time. Is the Crone here?”

Rowena didn’t answer for a long moment, but then she nodded curtly. She motioned for me to follow her.

Thank you baby alpacas everywhere.

We walked past the wall that blocked the dining area, and I tried to see everything that I could as quickly as possible. The restaurant looked a lot different from before. All the booths had been stripped out, along with all of the tables and chairs, all except one round table. It sat under a glittering chandelier, and there were three chairs. One was occupied.

“There you go,” Rowena said, and she pivoted, stalking back to the front of the restaurant.

“Don’t just stand there, girl,” the Crone, whose back was to me, called out. “I’m not getting any younger. You can have the seat to the left.”

Goose bumps prickled my skin as I walked forward. Obviously my appearance wasn’t a surprise. I swallowed and went to the chair she indicated, then sat down, able to see her more clearly. The Crone was old, like had seen the turn of the last century kind of old. Hair the color of snow, and her rich brown skin was heavily lined and creased, but her eyes were as sharp and as shrewd as ever. My gaze dipped to the front of her purple and pink shimmery shirt. It read DAYS THAT END IN AY ARE WINE DAYS.

I met her stare. “You were expecting me?”

“Of course I was.” The Crone smiled, and the creases deepened. “Don’t you remember? I told you the last time I saw you that you’d bring me something I’d never seen before. A real prize.”

Another wave of shivers broke out over my skin. “You did say that, but I... I haven’t brought you anything.”

“Not yet,” she replied, picking up what I suspected to be, well, a glass of wine. “But you will when you bring me the Fallen.”

14