Page 44 of The Aether

“Sabrina wouldn’t have suggested it if she hadn’t seen a positive outcome, would she?”

“It could be as simple as Josie dying to protect us all. One never knows with my daughter. But death upsets her, so I’d say that isn’t her goal.”

The air around them contracted, and Sebastian straightened from the doorframe to face the room. Castor was the first to arrive, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts, and a lei around his neck. In his hand, he held an umbrella drink. His expression was so put out, Damian chuckled.

“You can’t text like a normal human?” Alex snapped.

“I’mnota normal human.”

His friend grunted. “Well, I’ve left my date for any predator to hit on. I hope you’re happy.”

“Please tell me she knows you’re not returning anytime soon.”

“I’m not a total asshole. I gave her a credit card with your name on it and told her to live it up.”

Sebastian barked a laugh as Damian shook his head. Wry amusement curled his lips. Alex would never change.

Next to arrive was Trevor.

“What’s he doing here?” Alex nodded toward him. “No offense, but Death Dealers make me nervous as fuck.”

“Look at you, learning modern slang. One wouldn’t think a warlock of your years would be so hip,” Trevor retorted.

Ice-blue eyes narrowed, Castor smiled, and the shark-like grin would’ve given anyone shivers. “A warlock of my years knows how to—”

Damian held up a hand. “Enough, gentlemen. We have bigger fish to fry.”

With one last warning look at Trevor, Alex gave Damian his full attention. “What’s going on, Dethridge?”

“Do you remember Morcant Thywyll?”

“The Arcane Dickweed?”

“That would be him.”

“What about him? Didn’t you off him a decade or so ago?”

“Yes. Also a few years back. Apparently, it wasn’t him. Or if it was, he’s returned from the dead. Again.” Damian crossed to the sideboard to refill his glass and pour one for Trevor. “I’d offer you a brandy, Castor, but it seems you’re happy with your fru-fru drink.”

Alex took a slurping sip to show he was unfazed by the dig against his manhood. “Who doesn’t love a strawberry daiquiri?”

Hard-pressed not to laugh, Damian gestured to the dining area. “I’m afraid time is of the essence. Josie’s been shot, and we need to let her die. But—”

Unfortunately, his wife had rushed into the room on the tail end of his comment.

She paled.

“What?”

Vivian couldn’t believe what she’d heard, and she stared at Damian, wondering how he could be so damned calm when her sister lay dying.

“Damian?”

Shaking his head, he swore softly and strode to her. Placing the tumbler in her hand, he ordered her to drink up. “You misheard, Viv.”

“I don’t think so. You said, ‘We need to let her die,’ as I walked into the room.” She downed the brandy with a gasp and shoved the glass back at him. “Why?”

“I was about to add that we would immediately revive her, but you distracted me.”

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