Oswald—the Fury—frowned. “What are you jabbling on about, you soft-headed pike-stroker?”
Tobias let out a long breath. That’s no Fury. He cocked his head, rising to gape at his blood-soaked friend. “Oswald?” He shot a glance at Thomas, clad in the tattered costume of a wealthy Maremount philosopher. “I don’t understand. How did you get here? Why aren’t you in Maremount?”
Thomas rubbed at the side of his neck. “We broke free from the Throcknell Fortress. We were nearly dead by the time we got to Celia. She helped us escape the city.”
Tobias’s jaw dropped. “No one breaks out of the Throcknell Fortress.”
Thomas shrugged. “Eirenaeus did. And he left me some clues.”
Oswald gripped a marble bowl in his hand. “Celia’s portal spell brought us to you. And I got us a Throcknell purse.” He reached into the bowl and grasped a handful of gold rocks the size of pebbles.
The philosopher’s stone. Oswald wasn’t his avenging angel. Apparently, Oswald was his guardian angel. It’s really him. He stared, disbelieving, before gripping his friend in a hug.
“Careful.” Oswald pushed him off. “I’ve got gold bits.” He eyed Tobias’s burned underwear. “Nice outfit.” He nearly smiled, until he noticed the scar on Tobias’s chest, and his features darkened. “Please tell me that’s not a demon—”
Tobias waved a hand. “I’ll tell you later. Anyway, you don’t look any better than I do.” Celia hadn’t spoken yet, and Tobias shot her a hard look. “The last time I saw you, you were selling us out to save your pearl-encrusted cousin.”
Her eyes glistened, and she looked like she wanted to hide her face behind her billowing white sleeves. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake.”
Thomas scratched his stubble. “She helped get us out. And she healed Oswald. You would not believe what we’ve been through.” His eyes were bloodshot, as though he hadn’t slept in weeks.
Tobias’s head throbbed. He’d have to sort through all this later. Right now, he had a green-haired stranger to bribe. He nodded toward the gold. “We’re going to need that.”
*
A few handfuls of gold was enough to buy them silence, the car, the young man’s cell phone, and the cans of Diet Mountain Dew that went with it. Tobias could have kissed Oswald, if he weren’t still covered in dried blood. Fiona, Alan and Thomas took turns driving through the day. In between driving, Fiona dialed her mother’s number over and over, increasingly panicked that something had gone horribly wrong. Her mother always answered, she said.
The news stations talked of nothing but the most recent terror attack. But they reported only two deaths: Connor, and a guard who worked for the Ranulfs. Both were now being hailed as American heroes. Connor’s accusation of witchcraft had been left out of the narrative. Tidier that way, Tobias supposed.
But the most heroic of all were the Ranulfs, of course, who had fought bravely against the witch attacks. The suspects’ names were all over the news, and Fiona cried when she realized she wouldn’t be able to see her mother for a very long time. They were going into hiding.
Tobias stared out one of the back windows. They’d finally made it out of the Washington, D.C. traffic, and the highways were empty here. “Tell me more about this place we’re going?”
Thomas turned to him from the front seat. “It’s known as Dogtown. The legend is that it’s ruled by werewolves who protect witches. Sorry—philosophers.”
“Werewolves?” Alan cocked an eyebrow.
Tobias shook his head. “There’s no such thing as werewolves. There are witches with wolf familiars. And they may have become a bit more lost in their beast side than they should have.”
Fiona tugged at the torn bodice on her dress. “Are you sure this place is real?”
Thomas turned to face the windshield again. “I never believed it was real. But now I’m ready to believe just about anything.”