Page 51

“So it’s not a cure?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not.”

He huffed out a breath. “How much slower?”

“Weeks instead of days between treatments. Maybe longer.” She pulled her hands back from Korinnae’s arm. “I’ll need to monitor her, but she won’t need daily sessions anymore.”

Korrinnae looked between them. “So I’m not fixed?”

Ria smoothed the calf’s hair back. “Not yet. But we bought you a lot more time.”

“Oh.” The calf chewed at the inside of her cheek. “That’s still good, right?”

“That’s still good,” Ria said softly.

Asterion tightened his hold on his niece. It wasn’t a cure, but it was better than nothing, he supposed. Certainly, it was more than they had this morning. Still, the disappointment sat in his chest like a boulder.

Ria caught his eye across Korinnae’s head. She didn’t say anything; didn’t need to. The same frustration was written across her face, mixed with the stubborn refusal to stop looking that he’d come to recognize as the most fundamental part of who she was.

They drove back that same night. Korinnae slept the entire way, curled across the back seat with her head on a wadded-up jacket. Ria didn’t say much for most of the drive, flipping through Nikos’s notes by the light of her phone. Asterion kept his eyes on the road and his thoughts to himself. The next morning, they gathered at headquarters. Asterion and Ria walked the team through everything.

“So, it buys us time,” Liora said.

“Yes,” Ria confirmed. “Months for you, possibly days or weeks for Korinnae.”

Liora nodded slowly. It was good news for her. She’d only needed one treatment so far, and the Moonmoss would push the next one even farther out. “But it’s not a complete cure.”

“We’ll keep looking,” Maldenis said. “There has to be something else out—” His phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced at the screen and immediately sat up straighter.

“It’s my mother,” he groaned, then answered it. “Yes, we just finished the meeting…no, the Moonmoss can only slow it down…longer yes, but won’t cure it. Now, we have to get back—no, what is it?” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Alright.” Laying the phone down, he tapped on the screen. “You’re on speak⁠—”

“Good morning,” the crisp, efficient female voice cut through the room. “I have some urgent information to share with you all.”

“At least she said good morning,” Maldenis muttered.

“I’ve spent the last two weeks calling in every contact I have across three territories,” she continued. “The eastern archives had nothing useful. The curse specialist in the lower regions was a dead end. But my third contact came through.”

“And?” Elian asked.

“There is a warlock in the Upperworld. He is very old and very reclusive, but his knowledge of magical poisons is unmatched. If anyone can produce a permanent cure, it’s him.”

“Where?” Ria asked.

“His last known location was New York City.”

Asterion felt Ria go rigid beside him. New York. Her city.

“That’s good info, Melora, thank you. What’s the name of this warlock, and how can we get in contact with him?” Liora asked.

“Dorian,” Melora replied. “That’s the only name my contact had. I’m told he operates under a glamour and moves frequently. Finding him will take legwork.”

“Then we go to the Upperworld,” Ria said, already straightening in her chair.

Asterion stepped forward. “I’m coming.”

“Did you forget something?” Liora looked at him pointedly. “Like what you look like? You can’t just go traipsing around the Upperworld without getting noticed, even in New York City.”

“Hecate can glamour him,” Ria said. “She’s done it before for others.”