Esmeralda The witch, unlike the one who had helped us trace this one’s whereabouts, was every bit the cliche of what I imagined a witch who would curse babies with the gift of necromancy would look like. She looked old but terrifying, both her eyes were pure white, the left eye had a red ring in the middle. She was wearing what looked like a black Victorian dress and her hair was pinned up in a complicated bun. Her look was cold and fierce and Lucan stood up, putting me behind him. “You think to hide your enchante morte from me, child.” She took a step closer and looked down at my stomach. “Oh my, Lucan you have been a busy boy,” she said it sarcastically but her stone cold face never changed. When he frowned at her, she said, “do not tell me you do not realise what you have done

