Thunder crashes as though to announce the carriage’s arrival. Shyan is first to leap into the rain. She performs an elaborate bow and holds the door open for Cang to emerge. Fassn holds the seikum pelt above him once again.
They stand outside the lighthouse.
Cang turns to Shyan, not at all surprised. “We’re to dine with your witchy friend after all, it seems?”
“She does good work,” Shyan says.
“She makes the finest welt potatoes, and a sugary surdij sauce, and incredible plaintains,” Fassn says, his tongue lolling out to catch the rain.
Shyan catches Cang’s gaze and holds it. “Just don’t step into the magic circle.”
Cang chuckles. He calls out to Horton to wait for his return. Sullen, Horton nods, the rain cutting rivulets down his ruddy cheeks. He flinches at the movement of a groaning footman.
“Well then, Shyan,” says Cang. He smiles, showing off his filed purple fangs. “Show me to this magic circle.”