Page 51 of For Dear Life

“From the night Rory died?” I ask and glance behind me. Nobody. “The witches were there?”

“One of them definitely,” he says stiffly.

Chewing on my lip, I locate my phone and the picture. “Him?”

Leif nods curtly.

“Did you recognize either witch?” I ask Rowan.

“No. And he won’t like that you have his picture.”

“I took the photo subtly, Rowan.”

“Unlikely, Violet.” I open my mouth to protest. “He’ll know who you are,” Rowan continues. “What if the witches look for you?”

“They’re here for Oz.” I slide the phone back into my pocket. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“To do what?” asks Leif, voice rising in pitch. “Kill him?”

There’re a number of possibilities here and none will end well for Oz. Not that things are going brilliantly for him right now. “How many exits from the hospital?”

“Loads.” Rowan huffs.

“I don’t think we’ll get through into the triage area, Violet.” Leif pauses. “The main entrance and the place ambulances arrive are worth watching. You go. I’d rather stay out of sight.”

“And what if the witches take you too?” I say. “No.”

“If the witches are here for Oz, I doubt they’ll hang around,” replies Rowan.

“They might finish him inside the hospital,” says Leif. “Make it look like that’s how he died.”

“No. The witches want his body. Him,” I say.

Rowan wanders back along the pathway and stands in the shadows, to the left of where streetlights illuminate the way. I march after him. “Why did you walk away?”

He glances back at Leif. “I’m worried about him.”

“Leif’s remembered something. That’s positive,” I say.

“Mmm.” Rowan looks forward to the hospital entrance again. “Maybe.”

“I’ll send the photo to Dorian. They were officials—or pretending to be. They’re linked to Maxwell in some way.” I straighten. “This is exciting. We’re getting closer.”

Rowan’s eyes glint in the dark as he looks back at me. “Helpful yes, but exciting isn’t the word.”

I tap my lips. “They won’t walk out the front. Too obvious. Where’s this ambulance place? Or somewhere with less surveillance?”

“You sure about that?” asks Leif, who approaches us. “Reckon they expected us to look elsewhere.”

Three men walk across the pavers leading towards the sidewalk. The two witches and Oz. Walking without support.

“What the hell?” mutters Rowan.

A dark sedan pulls up close to the bus stop, and I scramble to get my phone from a pocket, ready to dart out and take more pictures. They already know I’m here and I want the witches to know that I’m onto them. But the three move too fast and by the time I’m ready, the car sped off around the corner, before I have a chance to read the license plate.

“They might be powerful enough to pull off what they did to get Oz out of the hospital,” comments Rowan, “but at least they needed to use actual transport.”

“Rather than blood magic?” I clench my jaw and glare at the place the car stopped momentarily. “Only witches with Blackwood blood mixed in their ancestry can use blood magic, and even then only basic.”

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