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One by one, all around the table, people started coughing and slumping forward in their seats. The only one who remained sitting upright outside of my coven members and Marcus was the man with the goatee.

And I had no idea what was going on.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Well, Raven," Julian drawled, "It looks like it's just you and us, tonight."

"Are they..." I sputtered into the now quiet yard, my voice growing louder and more hysterical with each word. "Are they dead?" I ended on an embarrassing shriek.

The bald man with the goatee, whom I was assuming was this Raven person, sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Calm down, honey," he said to me in a gentle voice. "I'm sure they aren't all dead."

How could he be so blasé about the whole thing was lost on me.

"None of them are dead," Julian said cheerfully. "Tell me, Raven, what do you have against my magical mix of vodka and hocus pocus? Hmm?"

I gaped at him. "What the hell did you put in that drink, Julian?" I ran my hand up and down the column of my throat and had never been more thankful in my life when the urge to cough didn't come over me. "What's going to happen to the rest of us? I drank that crap as well."

"Yeah, baby, you did," Quinton commented in an amused voice. "You drank the whole damn thing. But you also drank that purple shit he forced on us earlier. You're gonna be just fine."

I sat down in my chair, hard, and flopped back. That was a relief, but...

"And they're not dead, you're sure?" I asked cautiously.

"Nobody's dead, yet."

"We have to hurry," Marcus said as he stood up. "There's only so much time and the motel is big enough that it's going to take a while to search."

"Search for what?" I questioned. "And what are you going to do when they wake up angry and upset because they know you drugged them or whatever it was that you did?"

Now that was a terrifying thought, and the relief I had felt just moments before was gone in an instant. This was one of the worst things that could happen. It was very disturbing to be sitting at a table full of people who were face down in their food and looking dead.

"Why are you all standing around here looking like assholes and why is my daughter still here when she should have been taken home by now?" Rain asked from behind me, and I jumped to my feet and whirled around.

There he stood, with his trench coat flaring out behind him, looking dangerous. I wasn't sure what surprised me more, his sudden appearance or the death grip he had on a scared looking Annabell's bicep. Her feet were dangling in the air, her pretty face turned up to him, and she whimpered.

Rain shook Annabell as if she were a rag doll, making her cry out in pain. For the second time tonight I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"I caught this little firecracker trying to make a run for it. Boy does she got a mouth on her." He shook her roughly again. "You can't have any witnesses though. Not to tell the tale when your Council wakes up."

"Rain," Quinton hissed as several of the others cursed under their breath. "You cannot be here right now."

Rain's face went cold, dead, and he threw Annabell down at Quinton's feet. "Don't you dare tell me what I can and cannot do. Not while you're off with my daughter. Scratch that, not ever."

"Quinton," Annabell cried in a pathetic voice. "Help me." She grabbed the front of his jeans and clung to him.

Quinton looked down at her in disgust. "Get your filthy hands off me, Annabell," he snarled, "before I'm forced to remove them myself, and we both know you don't want that."

She jerked away from him and landed sprawled out on her back on the grass, her red hair fanned out all around her. The barely there, teal dress she had on rode high up her thighs, exposing things I did not need to see. It was no surprise to me that Annabell had not worn underwear to this event.

A wave of magic flickered over her face, like a cloud before fizzling out. Her scars were exposed to us all.

"Why do you cover your face up and hide your scars?" Quinton asked in a harsh voice. He raised a finger and pointed harshly at me. "You see our beautiful Ariel? She has a scar on her face and she doesn't hide if from the world and she's never tried to. Then again, she didn't earn hers the way you did."

"I betAriel," she sneered my name, "didn't get hers by being viciously attacked by a fucking madman."

"Actually," I put in, "I did. But, unlike you, I was physically attacked. Yours was physical in a sense that you were physically harmed, permanently so, but it's not the same thing at all."