Chapter 7
Darien sputters, an angry red washing across his face. “How did you—?”
“Please. Like I care about your ward.” Prescott picks leaves from his shirt and then inspects his shoes with a sigh. “Hand-tooled Italian leather and completely ruined. You know, Springside has a perfectly lovely bed and breakfast.”
“You violated my ward!” Darien’s fingers flex at his sides.
“Call for retribution,” Prescott says. “Oh, wait. That’s right. You don’t need the necromancer community.” He turns to me. “Is there any coffee left?”
Stunned, I pull the thermos from my tote and give it a shake. “Little more than a cup.”
Now Prescott turns toward Darien. “You wouldn’t happen to have a third cup somewhere in there?” He waves a hand toward the tent.
Darien’s expression is filled with outrage and ice.
