‘Seth!’ Esme cried, sprinting up Pier Two on Monday morning.
He was leaning—more like loitering—against the wall outside the art room. As Esme approached, he glowered at her. ‘I thought you never wanted to talk to me again.’
She doubled over, clutching her shoulder, then lifted her head and braved his eye.
‘The elixir for my mum. It’s almost complete. But there’s one last thing I need. A petal of auroral nightshade.’
If she’d had any doubts about the veracity of the oracle’s prophecy, the expression on Seth’s face right then would have wiped them all away. His narrowed eyes grew wide with shock, then contracted again with disgust.
‘So … you’re just here to use me.’
‘You know where I can find it,’ Esme pressed. ‘Don’t you?’
He folded his arms. ‘Who told you I could help you?’
‘The s
