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waiting when Demetrius opened his eyes. Seconds later, Gryphon arrived. They followed Orpheus up a hill toward a small tent city made up of colorful fabrics. Flags flew in the wind, streamers of greens, reds, golds. A large pavilion with three flags marked with sun symbols took up the center area. As Demetrius glanced around, he counted twenty, thirty, maybe fifty witches in this gathering alone.
    Fifty witches. The darkness inside condensed even as disgust roiled through him.
    Faces turned their way as they moved into the camp. Voices died down and movement stopped. At his side, Demetrius saw Gryphon ease his hand toward the blade he kept strapped to his thigh. Even he didn’t completely trust his brother. Not when he’d led them into the center of a witch’s brew.
    Orpheus spoke in Medean to a young female standing near the pavilion’s door. Her eyes grew wide. She nodded and disappeared inside. Seconds later she came back with an older female, this one with long, straight, snow-white hair, a youthful face, and piercing blue eyes. The witch looked only about thirty, but Demetrius sensed she was much, much older.
    The witch’s eyes narrowed, passed from one to the next, and swept back to Orpheus. “These are not the Horae.”
    “No.”
    “They have no need for our services.” She started back into the pavilion, but Orpheus caught her by the arm.
    “We’re looking for one I brought through here days ago. The blond. You remember her?”
    She studied him closely. “The princess?”
    “Yes. Did she pass here in the last day?”
    “None crossed the portal as of late.”
    “What about the other portals?” Demetrius asked in a low voice.
    The witch’s gaze snapped his way and held. Knowledge passed over her eyes. Tension gathered in the air around them and anxiety pricked the edge of Demetrius’s control.
    She knows. The words reverberated in his head. There was a reason he steered clear of witches. They were too perceptive. And they recognized their kind with ease.
    “All requests come through me,” the witch finally said. “If the other portals had been crossed, I would know.”
    When she looked back at Orpheus, Demetrius let out the breath he’d been holding. But his relief was short-lived when she added, “Why do you come to me?”
    Orpheus held up the bracelet Gryphon had brought with them. “This was found in her room.”
    The witch muttered in Medean, but the words were too quiet for Demetrius to make out. Her gaze darted up. “Come.” She gestured with her hand. “Come inside.”
    Her urgency set off a tingling in Demetrius’s skin. He followed Orpheus and Gryphon as they ducked beneath the tent flap. The inside of the pavilion was set up as a gathering area, with a circle formed in the center, chairs and rugs scattered around the perimeter. A few females looked up from their conversation on the far side of the circle and went silent.
    Magick hung in the air, as did the scents of incense, herbs, and oils. A primitive part of Demetrius reacted to the scents, but he pushed it down as he focused on the witch again. She stopped near the circle, turned, and wrung her hands together. “That bracelet belongs to an apprentice of mine. I made it myself. But I fear she may have given it to her sister.”
    “Does this sister have a name?” Orpheus asked.
    “The sister…” The witch paused. “She’s just a young girl. She works at the castle during the day. Her name is Saphira.”
    Foreboding slid down Demetrius’s spine.
    “The princess’s handmaiden is called Saphira,” Gryphon said.
    “I know.” The witch swallowed, ran a hand over her brow. “Oh, dear. I think we may have a problem.”
    “What kind of problem?” Demetrius ground out. “What would your witch want with the princess?”
    The witch looked back to Orpheus. “Isis has gone missing as well. I thought perhaps she’d gone into Tiyrns to see her sister, but now I fear that’s not the case.”
    “Who in Hades is Isis?”