Chapter 47

A Lesson in Respect

MOVING BEHIND THE TREES, I CIRCLED THE HOUSE. THE side door stood open. I scampered across the yard and in the open door.

When I stepped into the house, the first thing I saw was the necromancer Shaw's body. She lay crumpled at the foot of a narrow set of stairs. I checked each way before stepping through the door. Overhead I heard one, maybe two, steps of footsteps. I crept to Shaw's body. From the angle of her head, I guessed she'd fallen down the stairs and broken her neck.

What had happened here? It hadn't been more than an hour or so since Friesen had loaded me into the van. Now Shaw was dead, Nast was standing around outside, and Sandford was searching, with great reluctance, for Savannah. From what Sandford said, I gathered Savannah was at the root of all this. But how? Whatever the reason, I needed to find her before anyone else did.

As I moved past Shaw, the look on her face made me stop in my tracks. Her eyes were open so wide the whites showed all around the irises. Her lips were curled back over her teeth. And the expression… stark terror. Perhaps at the moment of her dying, an image flashed through her mind, that of some other necromancer sucking her soul from eternity and plunking it back into her broken corpse. Fitting, really.

I stepped over her and began ascending the stairs. They were enclosed on both sides and the passage was so narrow it was a wonder Shaw had fallen down them at all, and not become wedged in halfway. These must have been back steps, a secondary set probably leading from behind the kitchen.

The stairs exited through an open door on the second floor. When I had climbed high enough to see past the door, I paused for a better look. The door was at the end of the upstairs hallway. At the opposite end were the main stairs, the ones I'd been using when I was here. Of the six bedroom doors, one was wide open, two were partially open, and the other three were closed.

"Savannah?" someone called.

I jumped, then recognized the voice. Sandford.

"Savannah… come on, sweetie. No one's going to hurt you. You can come on out now. Your dad's not mad."

Oh, yeah, like that was a big concern. How old did he think Savannah was? Five? Hiding in a corner, cowering in fear of a spanking?

I listened for any return noise, but none came. Except for Sandford's voice and the creak of his shoes, the house was silent.

As I eased into the hall, something rustled overhead. Sandford's shoes squeaked as he stopped, as if pausing to listen. Footsteps sounded above me. I closed my eyes to follow them, then shook my head. They were too heavy to be Savannah. I guessed Anton or one of the witches was searching the attic for Savannah.

Sandford's shadow advanced out an open doorway near the end of the hall. I ducked into the other open room and slid behind the door while he passed. Another door opened, then shut. Footsteps receded.

I glanced around, finding myself in the bedroom I'd seen Greta and Olivia using. The dresser top was bare, the closet open and empty except for a sweater that had fallen on the floor and been forgotten. It looked as if the two witches had left in a hurry. Had they fled when they realized Nast suspected their motives in killing the boy? Or had something else scared them off?

I looked around again, then returned to the hall and pulled the bedroom door half shut behind me, as it had been when I found it.

Hands grabbed me, one going over my mouth. Then an exclamation of disgust and the hand shoved me aside.

"You don't give up, do you?" Sandford said. "I'm almost impressed."

"What happened?" I asked. "What's Savannah done?"

Sandford only snorted. He turned away and headed for the next closed door.

"Hey," I said, jogging after him. "Tell me what's going on. I can help."

"I don't need a witch's help. Just stay out of my way."

He flicked his fingers, sending me flying into the far wall. As his hand closed on the door handle, I cast a lock spell.

"Either I help you or I hinder you," I said, getting to my feet. "Now which-"

The door flew open. For a second, I thought he'd broken the lock spell. Then a man walked through, stepping off the bottom riser of the attic stairs.

"Anton," Sandford said. "You're okay. Good."

Anton turned, fixing Sandford with bright green eyes, a brighter green than I remembered.

"Did you call me?" he asked. His voice was nothing short of beautiful, a melodious tenor that reverberated through the hall.

Sandford frowned, as if confused by the voice, and shook his head sharply. "I'm guessing you haven't found the girl, have you? Come on, then. We'll head downstairs."

"I asked you a question, sorcerer," Anton said, stepping eye-to-eye with Sandford. "Did you call me?"

"No, but I can use you now. We'll-"

Anton turned to face me. In the dim light, his skin seemed to give off a glow of its own.

"Ignore her," Sandford said. "We need-"

"Did you call me, witch?"

As Anton stepped toward me, I instinctively backed up, hitting the wall. His hand reached out, as if for my throat, but instead cupped my chin and tilted my face up to his. At the touch of his hand, I jumped. The skin was hot.

"Did you summon me?'

Even if I knew how to answer, his hand held my jaw too tightly to speak. His grip was iron-hard, strong but not painful. His eyes searched mine, as if looking for his answer there.

"The girl?" he murmured. "A mistake. Yes, clearly a mistake. A forgivable one, I suppose. This time."