The Wicked In Me

Six Months Later

Driving along the unpaved roads that cut through a labyrinth of tall, weathered trees, Wynter felt her hands flex on the steering wheel. “This could be a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.”

Riding shotgun, Delilah tossed her a sideways glance. “You said that when we ate at that Indian restaurant with the dodgy reviews last night. That turned out okay. No one got the shits.”

“I don’t know about that,” Xavier piped up from the backseat, his nose wrinkling as he cast the sleeping female on his left a brief look. “Anabel’s been farting past herself, and some of those farts sounded wet.”

“Shh,” said the elderly woman on his right, her face in her book. “This is finally starting to get good.” In other words, it was a sex scene. Hattie read erotic books like it was her job—the filthier the better, in her opinion.

If there was one thing Wynter wouldn’t have expected when she set off alone, it was that she’d pick up some ‘strays’ while on the run. But after she’d saved herself and a bunch of captives from bounty hunters—yes, the Aeons had put a price on Wynter’s head after she fled—four of said captives had decided it would be good for them all to stick together.

At first, she’d protested, but then it had occurred to Wynter that it would be better for her to travel in a group. Like her, they were witches. The people on her ass were looking for a lone witch, not what would appear to be a coven. And if the hunters did find her again, well, it wouldn’t be bad for her to have some backup. Especially from a bunch of beings who had a streak of crazy in them.

Things hadn’t been easy since the day she’d fled Aeon. She’d expected the Aeons to send someone to do the job that Wagner had failed to do, of course. The first hunter had tried to kill her. So had the second. But after that, they’d began to come for her in groups. None of those groups tried to end her, though. They’d all wanted to return her to Aeon. They’d even come equipped with tranquilizer guns. According to the bounty hunters who’d almost captured her, the Aeons now wanted her alive.

She could guess why.

What she needed was a place to go where they wouldn’t dare venture. A place run by people who took in fugitives and who wouldn’t be afraid of the Aeons.

There was only one such place she could think of—Devil’s Cradle. Also referred to by many as ‘the Home of Monsters.’

It was founded by seven beings—quite simply referred to as the Ancients—who were banished from Aeon a millennia ago after a war broke out between the immortals. A war that came about after Cain, Azazel, Lilith, Seth, Inanna, Ishtar, and Dantalion sold their souls to Satan in exchange for power. As you do.

Or so the story went, anyway. Wynter wasn’t so quick to believe anything the Aeons claimed.

The Ancients been given many titles, including the Soulless Ones and the Seven Judges of the Underworld. Neither of which were comforting. The Aeons had only referred to them as ‘the Condemned.’

She’d learned plenty about the Ancients since going on the run. They lived in an underground city beneath the town. Like the Aeons, they didn’t procreate, rarely ventured outside during daylight hours, and were able to put themselves in a state of deep Rest.

Not all people believed that the Ancients truly threw their lot in with Satan, but it was confirmed that—unlike the Aeons—they could grant various things in exchange for other people’s souls. Power, beauty, fame, fortune, good health, longevity. Anyone who struck deals with them were considered their property and bore the mark of whichever Ancient they subsequently served.

Cain appeared to be the most feared. The Aeons had only ever spoken of him in hushed whispers. He’d apparently led the rebellion all those years ago, and he was considered by many to be the most powerful of the seven Ancients.

In spite of all the rumors, her little crew was all for her plan to move to Devil’s Cradle. They were tired of being on the run. But in Wynter’s opinion, there were worse things. Like being executed because an Ancient felt bored. It was said that they weren’t sane in the truest sense of the word. Some people also described them as fickle and cruel, so it was a relief for many that the Ancients seemed to have no interest in leaving their corner of the globe.

Wynter squirmed slightly in her seat. “I just hope I’m not leading us to our deaths.”

“I don’t think we’ll have a problem being accepted there,” said Xavier, running his fingers through his tousled brown hair—which was often the closest thing he did to combing it, yet it always looked purposely styled. Just the same, he rarely exercised, yet his body was lean and solid.

“We might not even be granted an audience with an Ancient,” said Wynter. “They don’t always agree to see people. And when they do, they’re not always in the mood to be helpful.”

“We have no Plan B, though,” Delilah pointed out.

“I proposed a Plan B,” said Xavier.

Swerving in her seat to look at him, Delilah frowned. “Bombing Aeon was not a realistic plan. For starters, we don’t have explosives—”

“That could be remedied,” he told her.

“I’m not seeing how.”

“You have so little faith in me.”

“It’s hard to have faith in a chronic liar.”

Wynter’s lips twitched. He would in fact lie about anything, including his very own name. Also, if he didn’t like someone, his answer to the problem was to kill them. Really, it was little wonder he had a price on his head. She suspected that his struggle with scruples came from having been raised in a coven that practiced the dark arts. He’d left, wanting to go his own way, and now followed the right-hand path. Mostly.

Delilah sighed and then faced the front. Bracing her elbow against the car door, the Latina started plucking at the short, tight curls that framed her stunning face. All long legs and smooth olive skin, she snagged attention wherever she went. “I still think you should tell the Ancients that you were exiled from Aeon, Wyn. Having that in common with them might help.”

Wynter shook her head. “For all I know, they have a loose alliance with the Aeons. It’s unlikely, but it isn’t impossible. Of course, it’s more probable that they despise the people of Aeon. But if so, that could extend to me even though I’ve been banished. I’m not taking any chances.”

If she’d thought that the Ancients would demand her personal information, she wouldn’t have chosen to head there. But she wasn’t worried that she’d be asked to part with any of her secrets. Another attractive thing about Devil’s Cradle was that no one cared where you came from, what brought you there, or what happened in your life before you arrived. Everyone got to start afresh.

“What do you think the price will be to live there?” asked Delilah.

Wynter puffed out a breath. “I don’t know, but I don’t doubt that it’ll be hefty.” Just as there had been a big price to pay for being accepted into Aeon. “But if we can’t pay it, well, no harm done. We can leave and take our chances alone.”

The problem was … she suspected she wouldn’t survive long if she did. The Aeons would just keep sending people after her, and the groups they sent would just keep getting bigger. Wynter might be a monster of sorts, but she wouldn’t be able to fight the Aeons and their people alone.

Finally, the trees around her thinned out. She drove onto a vast prairie land. And as she spotted the badland-type landscape beyond it, she knew she was close to the town.

A few days’ drive from here, Aeon was a beautiful place with all its lush land. But as Wynter looked at all the cliffs, crooks, hills, and multi-colored tall, rock spires in the distance up ahead, she found herself more in awe of this place than she’d ever been of her old home. There was a surreal, haunting, primal beauty to all the stark, untamed, rugged landscape here.

She’d half-expected to come up against some kind of shield before getting this far, or to at least be stopped at an outpost and forced to state her purpose. But there were no magickal wards, no forcefields, no border control of any sort.

As she continued to follow the dirt road that cut through the prairie and led to the base of the rocky terrain, she kept a careful lookout for signs of life. But there were no guards stationed anywhere, and no one seemed to be patrolling the area.

And then she got it.

A smile curved her mouth. They didn’t stop potential enemies from entering the town, because they believed in letting their prey come to them. It was a trap, really. Any enemies would arrogantly stroll into the heart of the Ancients’ territory … and then they’d be taken out.

Cocky, but smart.

Reaching the end of the prairie, she drove through crannies, under arches, and then shot through a short tunnel. Exiting it, she felt her lips hitch up. Oh, they’d arrived.

“Looks like a cross between a military compound and a coastal town,” said Delilah, leaning forward slightly.

Houses of various shapes, sizes, and colors bordered a pretty plaza. Beyond them were warehouses, pastureland, and utility structures. Trees, shrubs, lakes, and steep mountains lay on the outskirts, almost framing the town.

There was no shortage of people hanging around, even at this late hour. A few meandered along the plaza’s cobbled paths. Others stood outside houses or bars or other establishments. One particular group was gathered around a bonfire, laughing and drinking.

Since no particular place shouted, You’ll find an Ancient here, she pulled up at the curb and asked one resident where she should be looking. Even as he eyed her warily, he easily gave her directions to “the Ancients’ base,” which was apparently some kind of stately building.

Wynter thanked him and drove on. “I half-expected him to be rude or not answer. I mean, everyone we spoke to about this place was clear that the people here aren’t all that friendly toward outsiders.” Maybe he hadn’t been an ass because he’d once been in their position.

“Ooh, I see a herbalist store,” said Delilah. “I wonder if they’re hiring.”

Wynter slid her a frown. “Uh, not sure that’d be the best place of work for you.”

Delilah’s back snapped straight. “I am a master with herbs.”

“Undeniable,” said Wynter. “But you like many of your concoctions to have horrific side effects.”

“Only if I don’t like the personality or intention of the customer who buys them.”

Delilah had once made a living from selling forbidden concoctions on the black market. But they always had ‘side effects.’ So, for instance, a guy looking for a date-rape potion would suddenly find himself suffering from a case of penile necrosis even if he hadn’t himself ingested the concoction. In short, the magick backfired.

“I like to be a vessel for karma,” Delilah added, lifting one shoulder in an unapologetic shrug.

“But your old customers didn’t, and so came the backlash. I suspect there’ll be people here you won’t like. I don’t want to have to kill someone because they threatened you.”

“Aw, you’d do that for me? You’re such a good Priestess. I just love our coven.”

Wynter’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I am not a Priestess.”

“Every coven has to have one,” said Delilah, her eyes dancing.

Which was why Wynter had firmly decided that … “This is not a coven.” But Delilah persisted with this shit just to irritate her. “All I’m saying is that we’ll struggle to keep a low profile if you’re mutating the bodies of people you dislike.”

As she pulled up outside tall iron gates that surrounded a dark, gothic, three-story Victorian manor, Wynter let out a low whistle. The building was as impressive as it was imposing. Slate multi-faceted roof. Towers and turrets. Decorative trimming. Wrought-iron balconies. Wide wrap-around porch. Stained glass in the door and arched windows.

“Some base,” said Xavier, shifting forward in his seat.

Yanking up her metaphorical bootstraps, Wynter reached out of the open car window and pressed the intercom button on the security post.

After a few moments, there was a crackle of static. “Can I help you?” a rough voice asked.

“I’d like to talk to an Ancient, if possible,” she said, not bothering with chit-chat.

“About?”

“Applying for residency.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then a buzzer sounded. The gates slowly swung open.

“So far, so good.” Her pulse beating faster than she’d have liked, Wynter drove up the long driveway and parked behind one of the few cars that sat outside the manor. “Xavier, wake Anabel.” Wynter slid out of the vehicle and opened the rear door for Hattie.

Holding up her book, the old woman pointed at a page. “Girl, what’s anilingus?”

Wynter felt her head jerk back. “What are you reading?”

“Erotica at its finest,” Hattie replied.

Wynter waved her hand, not sure she wanted to explain the concept of rim jobs to an old woman. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Hattie awkwardly exited the car, looking all stiff and frail. It was a total act. She wasn’t quite as harmless as she liked to appear. That said, you were safe with the darling woman as long as you didn’t attack her or marry her. She’d killed every one of her husbands. She was the group’s very own black widow.

Rubbing nervously at her arm, Anabel crossed to Wynter and the others, looking upon the manor with sheer dread. But then, pretty much everything made the blonde nervous. She was most in her element when in the kitchen making potions, where she wasn’t required to interact with anyone. “So this is where we die,” she said, her voice solemn.

Delilah sighed. “You say that almost wherever we go. We’re not going to—oh my God, what is that smell?”

Anabel lifted her chin. “Farting is a normal bodily function.”

“Not if it smells like something died up your ass.”

“I don’t handle ethnic food well.”

Wafting his hand, Xavier grimaced. “Just please don’t unload anymore of those farts until we’re away from the Ancient.”

Anabel sniffed. “You’re all so dramatic.”

Delilah snickered. “You’d know all about that, Miss So This is Where We Die.”

The blonde pointed at her nape. “I can feel death’s breath on the back of my neck. I know that feeling all too well. And maybe if you remembered all your past deaths, you’d be a little more understanding.”

Groaning, Wynter raised a hand. “All right, let’s stop there.”

Anabel often saw her potential demise everywhere—the paranoia came from her soul’s ability to retain memories and skills from past lives. When you recalled every death, you also remembered just how easily life could be snatched right from under you.

None of the crew were entirely sure if she was in fact the reincarnation of Bloody Mary or if she simply believed it because she’d experimented on herself with one too many of her potions over the years. Whatever the case, if you called for Mary, Anabel’s demeanor would change in an instant and she’d happily kill anything standing in her path.

“In case you’ve all forgotten, we have somewhere we need to be.” Wynter exhaled heavily. “Fingers crossed this goes well.”

She walked to the porch, unable to fully admire the ornate trim work and gingerbread cutouts while her gut was in knots. A lot rode on whatever happened next. As Delilah had pointed out, they had no Plan B.

Reaching the door, Wynter pressed the bell. Close-up, she could see that the stained-glass pane depicted mythical scenes of some sort. Nice work.

Finally, the door opened. She’d expected a butler. The dude in front of her was rugged and masculine with an outlaw-warrior vibe. Gargoyle, she sensed. He wasn’t Wynter’s type, but he was definitely hot.

Patting her faded red hair, Hattie smiled up at him. “You look just like the highlander on the cover of a book I read recently. Do you know what anilingus is?”

Wynter felt her eyes drift closed. Unfuckingreal. It didn’t help that Xavier had choked on a laugh, or that a silently chuckling Delilah was leaning against Wynter as if unable to support her own weight.

Clearing her throat, Wynter opened her eyes and cast the man in front of her an apologetic smile. “Just pretend they’re not there. I often do.”

He grunted, moved aside, and waved them in with a sweep of his arm.

Stepping into a very grand hallway, she saw that the Old World feel continued inside the manor with its high, vaulted ceilings, carved columns, ornate lighting, imperial staircase, and decorative moldings. Wow.

“All of you wait here,” the gargoyle instructed.

Wynter nodded and watched him stalk away, wondering just which of the Ancients she’d find herself facing. She then turned to Hattie. “Haven’t we told you not to ask strangers sex-related questions?”

“I just want to know what this anilingus thing is,” said Hattie, all innocence. “He was a strapping man, so I’m sure he’s popular with the ladies—he seemed like a good source of information.” She pointed at the page of her book again. “I’m thinking it’s possibly back-door finger-fun.”

Back-door finger fun? Seriously?

“More like tongue-fun,” said Xavier, a smirk playing around the edges of his mouth.

Hattie’s hazel eyes went wide. “Ooh, really? My, my, my. Do people wear tongue protection when they do that?”

Wynter sighed and scrubbed a hand down her face. They were all whacked. Every one of them.

*

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Cain flicked a look at Azazel and reminded him, “I rarely joke.”

“I thought you were just in a bad mood because you had to fire one of your aides. I know you have no patience for conducting interviews.”

Cain sighed and crossed to the vintage liquor cabinet. “Firing him was probably an overreaction on my part, but my mind isn’t in a good place right now. I’ve been awake too long. I haven’t Rested in over five centuries, and I’m feeling the sting of it.”

Azazel sat on the sofa. “I sensed that you were struggling; I just wasn’t sure how badly.”

Cain poured whiskey into a tumbler. “The numbness wasn’t so bad for a time, because things pierced it here and there, but that very rarely happens now. And that’s the problem. It’s emotion that makes a person feel alive.”

When you’d lived so long that you’d experienced the same emotions over and over and over and over—anger, sadness, grief—they eventually lost their power over you. And when you no longer experienced the feelings that made people hesitate to hurt others, like empathy or remorse, it left you capable of many things.

Azazel thrust his hand through his dark hair and gave a solemn nod. “We’ve all hit that stage at some point where you start seeking other ways to make you feel alive. Adrenaline rushes. Doling out pain. Receiving pain.”

“And it’s never long before those things lose their shine, because boredom is our constant and closest companion.” Cain knocked back some of his drink. “I’ve stopped wanting things. The only thing I really crave is retribution—that never goes away, never will. But other than that? There’s nothing.” When there was nothing you wanted, you were just drifting, floating, aimless. “And now there are times when my mood goes black. It’s not anger. It’s not rage. It’s a dark state of mind, and I don’t like the thoughts I have when those moods take me. I need to click the reboot option.”

No more than two of the seven Ancients ever Rested at a time. The sisters, Inanna and Ishtar, had chosen to Rest three centuries ago. Ishtar had woken early, which meant Cain could now sleep if he wished.

“If that’s what you need, I’m behind you.” Azazel cocked his head, his blue eyes sharpening. “You ever worry that one day we’ll wake and find that the Rest didn’t do shit for us?”

Considering it had been an eternally long time since it had made him feel truly refreshed … “Yes. When we were first banished, I swore vengeance would one day be ours. I didn’t think we’d still be trapped in this place so many years later.”

“You’ve given up hope that we’ll ever be free?”

“No. I never will. But essentially being caged is wearing on us all, isn’t it? That’s why our Rests are becoming less and less restful.” People thought that Cain and the other Ancients stayed in Devil’s Cradle by choice. In truth, they were stuck here, courtesy of the Aeons. “But we can’t open this invisible prison unless we kill the four who created it, and it’s impossible to do that when they won’t step foot on this land.”

“At least we can take comfort in knowing they’ll hate that we still live. The Aeons were sure we’d all lose our shit on being confined and that we’d then turn on each other. They underestimated us on so many levels. They probably have no idea how prepared we are for war.”

“All the preparations mean nothing if we can’t make them bring that war to us. We have no way to take it to them.”

Azazel swept his hand down a face that females everywhere sighed over. He’d been described by more than one woman as having the look of an avenging angel—which might be why he’d been mistaken by humans for a fallen-angel-turned-demon.

“I kept thinking that, annoyed we still live, they’d come to finish us off at some point,” said Azazel. “Particularly you. With the exception of your mother, they hate that you’ve ever breathed.”

More, they upheld that Cain had no place on—or beneath, as it were—this Earth. In his opinion, he had as much of a right to exist as anyone else. He understood why the Aeons felt differently. He simply didn’t agree. “I thought they’d come to rescue Seth, given how convinced they are that I brainwashed him into joining our side.”

Azazel snorted. “They don’t know your brother half as well as they think they do.” He briefly glanced out of the window, adding, “He’ll be disappointed that you plan to Rest awhile, but he’ll understand.”

“I don’t intend to Rest for another few months. I have to settle several matters beforehand. You’ll all have permission to wake me early if a situation warrants it.” Cain sank onto the other velvet sofa. “You know, you didn’t tell me what brought you here.”

Azazel’s eyes lit up. “Ah, well, I heard something you’re going to find very interesting. It’ll put a smile on your face like nothing else can.”

“Go on.”

Azazel paused, no doubt for effect. “The land of Aeon appears to be perishing.”

Cain blinked. “Perishing?”

“It’s as if some sort of wasting disease has settled over the town. It appeared six months ago, and it’s eating away at the land, drying up the water sources, and poisoning the fruit and vegetables that grow there. Not sure if it has also spread to the city beneath it—our source still has no access to that part. But just the thought that the same blight could be there …” Azazel’s mouth curved into a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, I like it.”

“Your source must have been fucking with you. The Aeons can effortlessly combat environmental decay—they’re masters of elemental power, after all.”

“Oh, they’ve tried to fight the outbreak every step of the way.” Azazel stretched out his long legs. “But whatever’s afflicting the land hasn’t responded to their attempts in any way. It keeps steadily spreading, no matter what they do.”

Frowning, Cain shook his head. “That makes no sense.”

“But it does make me smile. You want to as well. You know you do. Go on.”

“If the land was really contaminated—”

“My source swore it was true. He seems fucking terrified. I’m not surprised, because the decay isn’t even the worst of it.”

“How so?”

“People are getting sick.”

All right, now Cain knew the guy’s source was talking shit. “No way am I buying that.”

“It’s happening, I’m telling you. Only the mortals have been affected, though. I heard it’s like the black plague on steroids.”

“Come on, Azazel, the healers there are some of the best in the world.”

“Which is why no one has died. Yet. I mean, think what will happen if the healers run out of steam.”

Cain took another swig of his whiskey. “You’re not even a little skeptical?”

“I was at first, but my source isn’t that good an actor. His fear was real.”

“You sure it’s not that you’d simply love for it to be true?”

Azazel hummed. “Maybe. Can’t deny that I’d like the prissy Aeons to suffer for what they’ve done. They’re oh-so proud of their land. Those who don’t live in the underground city might not realize that it features the biblical Garden of Eden, but we know. And we also know that any damage to their pride and joy would hit them where it hurt. Infecting it …” Again, Azazel grinned. “Someone should have thought of it sooner. It’s a fucking genius way to piss those assholes off.”

If it wasn’t pure bullshit.

“Strange that no one’s come here accusing us of being responsible for it. We were always their scapegoats. I would have thought they’d blame us right off the mark for something like that.”

“Assuming it’s actually happening … they’d blame us, but they wouldn’t contact us. They wouldn’t want us to know we’d succeeded in what they believed we’d attempted to do.”

“Ah, true.” Azazel draped his arms over the back of the sofa. “Well, my source had no theories for what could be causing the decay or the plague. He said nothing had happened recently that could be connected to it. A keeper seems to have run off with an exiled resident at around the same time that the problems began, but that’s it. I wonder if they’re sick too or if they’ve had a lucky escape from whatever’s running rampant through Aeon.”

“They won’t be so lucky when hunters track them down.” Those hunters liked their prey to die hard.

“Considering most of the people in the town are kind of preoccupied with the blight and pestilence, I doubt the rogues are anyone’s priority.”

The door swung open, and Cain’s younger brother stalked inside, the image of agitation.

Cain eyed Seth as he took another sip of his drink. “You all right?”

He grunted, planting his hands on his hips.

“Let me guess,” began Azazel. “Ishtar.”

“I don’t know what bothers me more,” said Seth. “That she’s playing stupid games again, or that she thinks they’re going to work.” His amber eyes narrowed at the expression that crossed Azazel’s face. “Wait, you thought they might work?”

“She’s exceptionally good at getting under your skin,” Azazel defended. “Ishtar knows you too well. She knows what buttons to push. And you’re a sickeningly forgiving person.”

Yes, but Seth was … different from the other Ancients. Good. Noble. And brave enough to side with Cain and the others while the rest of their family fought them head-on and drove them out of their own home.

“I do forgive her,” Seth confirmed, slumping onto the sofa beside Cain. “But when I forgave her, I also let her go and chose to move on. I wasn’t pining for her while she was Resting. It’s been centuries since I’ve touched her. She talks like it was last week. That’s when she’s not flirting with Solomon in the hope of getting a reaction out of me,” Seth added, referring to a mage in her service who’d never gotten along with Seth.

Cain braced his glass on his thigh. “She’s probably hoping you’ll both compete for her.” Anyone who didn’t know Ishtar would think she was a typical attention junkie. She did love to be admired and fawned over, but it wasn’t about attention. It was about power. She craved the feeling of power she got from having others yearn for and fight over her.

Seth looked at him. “She came onto you as well, didn’t she?”

Cain only nodded. He hadn’t slept with Ishtar in over eight centuries and yet, like with Seth, she’d spoken of their time together as if it had been recent.

Azazel linked his fingers behind his head. “Well, she didn’t hit on me.”

“She would have done if you didn’t loathe her,” said Seth.

Azazel’s brow creased. “I don’t hate her. I just like to pretend she’s dead.”

Seth sighed. “I have to say, that sounds like hate to me.”

Azazel gave an indifferent shrug. “It’s a weird point of pride for her that she’s had two brothers, you know. It’s like she thinks you two broke some kind of bro-code for her.”

Holding back a snort, Cain downed more of his whiskey. In truth, Seth had spoken with him before getting involved with Ishtar, wanting to be sure that Cain would be fine with it. Cain’s only worry had been that she’d shit all over Seth.

“Really, I brought all this on myself.” Seth skimmed a hand over his close-cropped, dark-blond hair. “I saw how she was with Cain; I ignored the red flags. But it was like with Lilith and Dantalion. When they were together, Lilith came across as a shrew, but it was simply that they didn’t fit. They weren’t good for each other.”

“You were good for Ishtar,” Cain told him as he returned to the liquor cabinet to top up his glass. “You’re steady. Patient. You’re the kind of man she needs. But Ishtar’s more about what she wants than what she needs.” That had always been her problem.

“Yeah.” Seth let out a long sigh. “So, what were you two talking about? Anything interesting?”

Azazel beamed. “Actually, it’s fucking fascinating.”

Seth blinked. “Oh? What?”

The clock chimed, and Azazel softly swore. “Gotta go. Walk with me, I’ll tell you everything,” he said to Seth. The two stood upright as Azazel began, “So I spoke to my source at Aeon—”

A knock came at the door.

“Yes?” Cain called out.

Maxim stepped inside the parlor. “There’s a coven here requesting to see an Ancient. They want residency.”

“All right,” said Cain. “Bring them to me.”