Her face paled. She bit her bottom lip and glanced around, barely stopping on Pierce before launching into the story of her trip back to the Coven’s safe house for shifter halflings. Her emotions were all over the place.

“I told you they were fine, Sam.”

“I know. And please don’t misinterpret my need to see it as distrust in you.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “It’s been haunting me.”

That I understood more than she could ever know, so I simply nodded. “A clear mind is important for us right now, so I hope you got that.”

She nodded.

I arched one eyebrow at her. “I would take that warning seriously, by the way.”

“I will. Do you know his name?”

“Yaluk, I believe.” I glanced her up and down. “Go inside, Sam. There are showers and a closet of clean clothes. You smell like dragon and your clothes are covered in Florida. Do not let Sweyn catch you like this.”

She blanched. “Thank you.”

Without another word, she spun on her toes and raced through the steel door that led into Sweyn’s local lair. It wasn’t below ground as New Orlean’s was already barely above water, but it provided safety from the sun all the same.

Beside me, Braison let out a strangled gasp. When I turned, I found him staring with tears in his eyes. He gripped his chest and smashed his mouth into a straight line. Malik scowled but looked confused. Libby stepped around Malik and did a double take. Her eyes widened. Her mouth made the shape of an O. She reached out and wrapped her arm around Braison’s and held him tight.

I peeked over my shoulder and wasn’t at all surprised by what I saw—or who I saw. Walking toward us was a beautiful, tall brunette with deep and soulful brown eyes. She wore a raincoat, but I knew if that sleeve was rolled up there’d be a set of Roman numerals on her tan skin marked in gray. Not black, because she’d given her Mark up.

Paulina Putnam.

I’d known they were a couple from their first trip to Avolire in October. I’d made note of all the couples in The Coven. For them, love was their greatest strength and weakness.

“What’s she doing out here?” Braison’s voice cracked. He balled his hands into fists so hard his knuckles popped. “It’s too late. Or too early. It’s not safe⁠—”

“It’s never safe in New Orleans, Braison⁠—”

“She’s not from here though⁠—”

“She knows how to survive here, my friend.” Libby squeezed his arm. “She used to speak with the dead, remember? This city is full of spirits, she used to travel here monthly. I’m not surprised she found her way back.”

“Why? Why is she here?”