Chapter 33

The sun had set by the time we returned to Wulfie’s car, and neither of us were in the mood to huddle together in the trunk. Not only had Demeter been a complete and utter waste of time, but she had drained us of a significant amount of power.

Spots appeared before my eyes, largely because the magic had interpreted my protecting her from Griff’s wrath as an act of worship. Only Wulfie was in fairly reasonable spirits, and that was because he’d only dug up the paving stones.

Our driver tapped a few commands into his phone. “Ophois… would that be the key maker or the wolf shifter who makes the enchanted safes?”

I slumped forward in my seat and grabbed a bottle of Dragonade. The cool, citrusy liquid slid down my throat, infusing me with a little of the energy I’d lost to the wretched old crone.

“It’s probably the one who makes the keys,” Griff said. “If that Ophois doesn’t know what we’re talking about, we can try the next one.”

Wulfie twisted around in his seat and cleared his throat.

“