ACADEMY

of

VAMPIRE MAGIC

The BloodVeil Prophecy

Book 1

ASHER SHAROL

Copyright © 2025 by Asher Sharol. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Catalog

Prologue

Chain of Glory

The Messenger

The Scar

The Blackcross Castle

The Galloping Wolf

Artageca Magic

Three Lycan Boys

Tamsyn Blackcross

Her Blood Beckons

The Astrum

The Moonshadow Plot

Death In The Moonlight

The Three Witches

Vain Fangsworth 

Tamsyn’s Return

The Salvia Moon

Metamorpha I

Pandemonium At Alphatenory

Bondage

The Midnight Dead

Metamorpha II: The Widow Moon

Night-time Nocturnes

The Graveyard Witch

Metamorpha III: The Bloodtiding Ball

Amaranth

The Mirrored Message

Owl Nightcreed

The Plan

The Shadowgrove Forest

Midnight Scheme

Vain Fangsworth

A Fiery Death

Chaos In The Forest

Salvia Lumina

Fanning Fires

The Floating Sister

The Lost Friend

The Crimson Woman

Battle of Beltraine

The Blackcross Serpent

The BloodVeil

Author’s Note

Continuing The Journey

Excerpt From Vampires of Twilight Castle

Night-Time Stalk

The Forbidden Book

Remembrance of Things Past

Recollections

Before The Fated Night

Final Preparation

Final Preparation II

Lupercalia

Satyrion

The Unveiling

Prologue

Circa 1474

It was to be an otherwise normal day in Nocteraia, the blazing noon sun pitching light and life to the bustling men and women, who went about their day in the city. Higglers sold their wares on the streets, soliciting buyers with raucous calls. Others walked to their workplace, oblivious to the significance of the day, while the intuitive remained silent, unable to articulate their bizarre sense that something was not quite right. They could not point to a single thing that aroused their suspicion, nor could they imagine the degree to which their clairvoyance was correct. Otherwise, they might have gone mad, or taken their own lives to forgo what was to be a divine evil.

It was true that Nocteraia had been experiencing more murders recently, the nature of them not only ghastly but demonic. But that only happened deep into the night, which everyone knew was when the devil and his children frolicked. Venturing out at night was a death sentence, the only persons who seemed to know exactly who the executioner was had their parts scattered throughout the city, unable to get themselves together to utter a single word. Hence, the denizens of Nocteraia worshipped the sun like their god who provided Providence.

In the dungeon of the old AshenHollow mansion on the southside of Nocteraia, four cloaked women sat cross-legged, their heads bowed. The dark space was cloistered and thick with smoke wafting from thirteen candles set in a candelabra before them. Each had their right hand hidden under their cloaks, a rough piece of parchment paper before them.

"Let us begin," the tallest of the women murmured, her voice rasping.

The woman to her right shivered under her cloak, then stiffened, running a hand through her long blood-red hair.

"Wait," another of the women whispered, "there is no room for error. Let us check our particulars once more." She wore a purple cloak distinct from the other three's black.

"Evangelina," the tall woman began, "time is running out, and we already..."

“This rite is already rushed, Clementine,” the woman in purple interjected. “It is extremely important that our Artageca triads cover all the elements. Our rising signs are all that matter, but just to be thorough, we shall restate our particulars…” Evangelina paused, wiping sweat from her pale face before she croaked,               “October fourteenth, year fourteen eleven—Libra sun, Aquarius rising, Aquarius Moon." With that, she gazed at her parchment, which rose steadily under a controlled draught.

“All your signs are air,” Clementine outlined. “Mine is June thirtieth, year fourteen twenty—Cancer sun, Leo rising, Cancer moon.” Without warning, Clementine raised her hand, tracing an arc through the damp dungeon air. A trail of amber fire followed, crackling.

“Agatha?” Evangelina crowed.

Agatha fidgeted beside Clementine, clearing her throat.

“May third, fourteen thirty five—Taurus sun, Cancer rising, Scorpio moon.” Agatha freed a crescent-shaped brass clip from her hair. In the next second, a gurgling issued from above them, where a mass of water had congealed into a rippling bubble the size of a grapefruit. The quartet of witches pitched their heads upward to witness its aggressive, chaotic movement. Agatha ended the display, lodging the clip back into her hair.

“Good,” Evangelina said. “Grace, your turn.”

They all turned to face the final woman, who’d been mute until now. She raised her head slowly, almost mechanically, revealing a gaunt face with one eye. The other eye was covered with crusted skin. Grace’s deadpan voice rang out like a banshee.

“December tenth, year fourteen ten—Sagittarius sun, Capricorn rising, Libra moon.”

There was silence in the dungeon before Grace revealed her magic. Then her shrill voice erupted.

“Terra subsulto!”

The dungeon floor leaped, sending loose pebbles hurtling to the floor.

“We’re all set,” Evangelina announced. “This is the beginning of a new age. Our faction shall reign supreme in this land.”

Each witch unsheathed their right hand, all bleeding from the palm. And after joining hands, they erupted in a spirited chant.

We evoke the spirit of the elements

In this Chain of Glory which bleeds

By the fervor of our hearts

We pull from the darkness between stars

Fire, earth, air, water!

Ignis furens qui consumit

Terra adusta quae devorat

Spiritus diaboli ad iudicandum

Diluvium sanguinis ad baptizandum

Dea coronata lunae ad regendum!

After the sixth recital, Clementine fell face-first upon the dungeon floor, her nose spurting blood. The other three knew she was dead. Yet they continued their frenzied chanting, the space crackling with infernal energy. Fire gashed before them, casting twisted shadows over their faces. A strong, sentient wind snuffed out the candles, pitching the room into darkness. By the tenth recital, the entire Ashenhollow mansion was engulfed in flames. Evangelina watched her last sister fall. She halted her chanting, tears welling in her eyes as her flesh sizzled, her cloak undone. Then she smiled. It was done.

Outside was bedlam. The denizens of Nocteraia screamed, dashed, and wept, for midday had somehow transformed into the blackest night. They gazed upward at the sky where the sun, their god should have been. Only an obsidian darkness remained. Their twisted faces betrayed their thoughts: an age of nightmares had begun.

Chain of Glory

  Gloria screamed as they channeled life from her. Hot streams of energy tore from her like limbs being amputated. She couldn’t see the frenzy on the grounds of the Beltraine Sisterhood due to the tears and smoke distorting her view. But the chaotic atmosphere was driving her insane. The entire Sisterhood watched as the ceremony progressed, and Gloria felt as though she was the enemy amid the witches as she wailed. No less than thirteen witches encircled her with their hands clasped, each taking from her something highly personal and invaluable: her life. They called it the Chain of Glory: the formation used for ritual killing. 

“SALVIA LUMINA! SALVIA LUMINA! SALVIA LUMINA!”

Purple fire gashed in the space before the witches, pitching like an angry spirit at the vampire, engulfing him.

As the only passive Channeler in the Beltraine Sisterhood, Gloria’s position was not a part of the chain itself, but inside it— the most dangerous place to be. 

She hated her role within the Sisterhood. Gloria would have preferred if she were a normal witch, but she sucked at magic. A light breeze blew the smoke to the east, giving her a clear view of the real enemy of the night. Bound from head to toe on a long cedar log at the center of the Chain of Glory, was an unfortunate creature. A mere six feet from her, the vampire was the subject of the night’s execution. He thrashed as purple fire lashed his skin, his screams adding to the heady chorus dominating the space. His once pale skin was now burnt black. Gloria knew it wasn’t long before the magical fire destroyed him. Another incantation ripped through the cold air, cast by one of the witches to her right, stoking the fire afresh. Gloria fell to her knees as the spell taxed her body and mind, sweat washing her face. Suddenly, her stomach lurched and vomited before she could get it away from her body. Let it be over, she thought, gazing at the dying vampire.

 Die already! 

As her eyes crossed from the pain, the creature made a slow gesture — a stark contrast to its previous thrashing. The vampire stretched its fiery hand toward her as if begging for mercy. The movement was so strange that Gloria froze, her wailing quickly halting. The next second saw the outstretched hand flaking into ashes, before scattering into Nocteraia’s blackness. The remainder of his body followed, disintegrating into nothingness. A moment of silence passed: the only sounds were the trees rustling in the surrounding Shadowgrove forest. The purple flame extinguished with a crack of finality. With the vampire now banished, the young women of Beltraine erupted into deafening roars and cheers, while Gloria collapsed on her knees, wheezing.

Faint and spent, she willed herself to remain conscious, her mind flickering like a candle in the wind. The cheers from the girls seemed distant and insignificant as her brain strained under the pressure of pain and exhaustion. Gloria lowered her throbbing body to the damp earth. No sooner had she done this than she caught sight of something peculiar. Perched atop the cedar log on which the vampire had just been vaporized, was a large raven plucking at its plumage. Gloria squinted to ensure she wasn’t hallucinating: Ravens and crows were supposed to have been extinct in Nocteraia for more than a century. It resembled a shadow, almost camouflaged in the obsidian night. And Gloria might not have seen the thing had it not been sporting forbidding red eyes directed squarely at her. She didn’t believe in omens, but the timing of it unnerved her. And just as she was about to observe the crowd to determine if they saw what she saw, the creature took flight, flapping silently out of sight beyond the Shadowgrove forest. A dark thought intruded upon her weary mind: what if the vampire had transformed into a raven? What if he wasn’t actually dead? Gloria shoved the thought from her mind, refusing to further depress herself with dark conspiracies.

From the ground, she caught sight of two girls weeping among the cheering onlookers. Gloria would have smiled and told them she was okay if she had the energy. Their names were Faelina and Osara— her only friends at Beltraine. They were the only two reasons why her time at the Sisterhood thus far wasn’t total hell. She thought of crawling toward them — away from the witches who had comprised the now broken Chain of Glory, but she now noticed one of the three Headmistresses of Beltraine approaching them from behind the cedar log. Dressed in a white tunic, the old woman’s movement was so graceful that she seemed to float. Gloria forgot her pain in awe of this rare sighting of one of the three nun-like Mothers. The cheering ceased dramatically as the Mother approached, the sisters similarly stunned.

Mother Meirothea, the wizened Mother of Mercy, stepped into their midst. Even from her grounded position, Gloria could see the lines and creases on Mother Meirothea’s face. The old witch regarded the sisters with her shrewd black eyes. Her fulsome silver hair defied her age of almost three centuries, taking on an almost magical sheen in the moonlight. 

“Ladies of Beltraine,” she began, her voice soft but grave. “Allow me to express how proud I am to see you execute the mission of Beltraine. The hard work we do here nightly is to get the beasts off the streets of Nocteraia…one by one, until true peace is restored to this blessed land.”

Gloria managed to prop herself up a bit to get a better view of Mother Meirothea. The words proceeding from the Mother of Mercy seemed to soothe her, the searing pain in her back and head fading. Her new vantage point revealed something she hadn’t seen as the old witch spoke. Floating beside Mother Meirothea was a pearlescent, ghost-like figure, which Gloria knew to be a vestal.

Vestals were wraith-like beings who protected Beltraine in some capacity. There were three in total, each vestal the creation of one of the three Mothers. The vestal beside Mother Meirothea was Paracelsus, who was usually stationed at the Beltraine gate to admit allies and annihilate foes. Each vestal possessed a unique ability bequeathed upon them by the Mother who created it. Paracelsus had the power of cauterizing light, an offshoot of a greater power held by Mother Meirothea, that burned anyone subjected to it with deadly, purifying light. Meirothea continued.

“To also express their satisfaction with what you women managed to do tonight, Mothers Lysandra and Crimsonia invite you all to the chapel in thirty minutes, where we will discuss some very important matters concerning Beltraine.” The Mother paused, her face taking on a graver aspect.

“I’m afraid that though the banishing of that vampire was a victory for the witches, there are other things at play which threaten us.” Suddenly, Mother Meirothea’s eyes lowered to where Gloria lay. Gloria’s breath caught in her throat as Meirothea nodded at her. 

“I must commend our resident Channeler. She was the hero tonight— or should I say— heroine. Without her, we could not have hoped to banish that bloodsucker. Remind me of your name, dear?”

Gloria’s mind went blank for a second as all eyes found her. It was only now that the embarrassment of being on the ground in front of so many persons dawned on her. Finally, she opened her mouth to speak, but when she did, no words came out. Another attempt had her releasing a rasping gasp. By now, the silence was awkward.  Gloria had no more energy to even attempt her name again.

“Are you dumb?” A voice mumbled beside her. The voice belonged to Cassandra, a fellow first-year whom Gloria disliked. 

“Mother asked you your name, idiot.”

Finally, a voice rang out. It was Meirothea’s.

“Gloria, is it? How could I forget? Of all the admissions I’ve conducted for young women entering Beltraine, yours was one of the most interesting. I see you’re too exhausted to even say your name. Poor soul. I shall not forget your name again, especially after the service you’ve just provided for the Sisterhood.” 

With that, the crone turned and went back in the direction she came. Her vestal, Paracelsus wafted to the main gate. Gloria watched in her weakened state as the sisters scattered to their respective dorms to prepare for the meeting with the Mothers in the chapel. Cassandra glowered at her. 

“At least you finally made yourself useful to the Sisterhood, huh? Still pathetic though, never forget it.”

Gloria had no energy to argue. She watched as Cassandra ran toward her friends, Timea and Philippa. Together, they modeled off toward Dorm L. A minute later, Gloria’s friends, Faelina and Osara helped her up. 

“You okay?” Faelina asked as she flung Gloria’s limp arm over her shoulder.

Gloria nodded despite feeling terrible. The pain had been gradually returning since Mother Meirothea left.

“Of course, she’s not okay,” Osara chimed. “Try having your life-force stolen from you. Where do you get so much energy to give anyway, Glo’?”

Gloria and Faelina exchanged quick stares, but none of them answered.

“Anyway, we need to get ready for chapel quickly,” Osara continued. “We don’t have much time. Do you think you’ll be well enough in time for chapel, Gloria? I mean, Philippa’s a healer, so if we can get her to—”

“No chance,” Faelina interjected. “Our hatred toward Cassandra extends to her people. Besides, that arrogant bitch wouldn’t let us have her anyway, control freak that she is.”

Gloria smiled at Faelina’s definitive response. It was what she would have said if she could speak. Although the first-years of Beltraine weren’t taught magic in a structured way, some— through their relations with second-years— had learned to cast simple spells. Cassandra was a standout among the first-years, able to wield complex magic with little practice. Besides Gloria, Cassandra was the only first-year qualified enough to be involved in the Chain of Glory. Gloria only made it because she was the only Channeler at Beltraine. 

They walked by an eight- foot- high bronze statue of the three-faced Crown Goddess, the deity the Headmistresses worshiped. Gloria glanced at it as her aides wheeled her by. The towering graven image of the goddess gave her the creeps. Just then, a shadow moved across Gloria’s darkening eyes, jolting her. She levered her head upward, new pain rocketing through her. 

“That ugly thing!” Osara exclaimed. “Scares the crap out of me every single time!”

Gloria felt Faelina shivering beside her. Floating above them toward the Shadowgrove forest was the vestal of Crimsonia, Mother of Justice. Out of the three vestals, Gloria considered this one, known as Obsidia, to be the most hideous of all the Mothers’ spectral creations. Exuding a putrid scent that oftentimes preceded her wherever she went, Obsidia was more or less a black ghost with deep gashes on its body resembling torn cloth. To Gloria, she seemed less like a vestal and more like an undead being summoned from somewhere dark and evil. An aspect of Mother Crimsonia, Obsidia was tasked with protecting Beltraine from the inside and enforcing the rules. Of all the vestals, Obsidia’s power was most feared among the sisters since it could entice souls from bodies, a part of an elaborate ability of its creator, Mother Crimsonia.

The three entered Dorm L. Gloria felt the immediate warmth of the enclosure caressing her frame. A pair of mean-looking gargoyle statues leered at them from either side. Inside their mouths were softly burning candles, the only source of light illuminating the expansive hall. Gloria heard a frenzy upstairs in the rooms where the sisters were preparing for the meeting with the Mothers. With Osara by their side, Faelina helped Gloria past dusty gothic tapestries of old witches and wizards— a combination of past students and notable sorcerers from the past. The journey up the winding staircase seemed to last an eternity as Gloria wondered about the implications of possibly missing the meeting in the chapel due to her injured state. 

“What do you think the meeting will be about?” Osara inquired behind them. “It’s been ages since we met with a Mother, not to mention all three of them at the same time!”

Faelina shrugged. “ Maybe something to do with the beasts killing people in the city.”

“Vampires?” Osara said.

Gloria’s body twitched. She remembered the vampire they’d just killed, and the raven perched on the log. She was about to ask them both if they saw it, but she remained quiet as the final vestal floated past them on its way down the stairs. The creation of Mother Lysandra, the Mother of Light, Gloria thought the vestal known as Aurelius was the tamest of the three vestals. Though ghostly, its aspect was more immaterial— like vapor with a consciousness. Its wispy essence seemed slow and harmless. Gloria regularly wondered why the vestal belonging to the strictest of the Mothers (Mother Lysandra), was the least frightening. Aurelius was responsible for order in all the Dorms, moving through each structure like a benevolent spirit. 

Once they reached the landing of the second floor, the path opened into two narrow aisles astride a second flight of stairs leading to the third floor. The third floor housed the second-year sisters.

“I’ll see you two later,” Osara said. “I hope you feel well enough to make it to the meeting, Gloria.” 

“I probably won’t make it,” Gloria said, pleased that her voice had returned. “If not, we’ll meet in our room when you get back?”

Osara nodded before strolling off down the leftmost aisle— the beta aisle. Faelina ushered Gloria to the penultimate room on the alpha aisle. Once inside, Gloria made a beeline for the bed, lusting after sleep. Faelina watched her as she flung herself upon the plush vermilion comforter. It was a bad idea, for her body flared with eye-watering agony. When her pain had somewhat subsided, she noticed Faelina had come over to her bed. 

“You have to do it now, or I’ll be late for that meeting,” Faelina whispered. 

They stared at each other in silence for a while before Gloria spoke.

 “You don’t have to…” she began.

“Whatever, Gloria. You need the energy. We both know you won’t recover if you don’t.”

With that, she lowered herself toward Gloria, who felt her mouth salivating. She knew she couldn’t resist even if she tried. Not a second spared, Gloria bit Faelina’s neck. Faelina moaned as her blood spilled into Gloria's mouth, writhing as Gloria held her head in place as she fed.

The Messenger

Located at the peak of a desolate hill in the easternmost part of Nocteraia, the main building of the Blackcross castle rose more than three hundred feet into the starless sky. Like a gothic citadel made of charred bricks and greasy clay mortar, the building sported a rather unique pair of protrusions at the sides of the castle. The pair of bat wings were given form and strength by tons of reinforced steel, showing no signs of wear for well over a couple of centuries. To complete the dark aesthetic of the Blackcross castle was a pitch-black wrought-iron gate, infused with an obsidian-onyx mixture, which made the gate glimmer under the moonlight. The castle was the home of the oldest vampire family in Nocteraia—the Blackcross family.

In the guest room of the Blackcross mansion, a man took his last, gurgling breath. The image he saw before his soul departed was a pale, scarred individual with deep-set scarlet eyes. Draven Blackcross let the corpse fall with a thud on the carpeted floor, the body half drained of blood. Wiping his mouth, he stepped over the body and opened the window. A strong wind immediately brought a scent of pine to his nostrils, stirring the leaves of the great Oak in the center of the manor. Draven gazed at the full moon, stealing occasional glances behind him toward the locked door. His confidante was late; Draven intended to get this meeting over with quickly so as not to be discovered in the Blackcross guest room.

Lately, he’d been thinking about the hierarchy of power among the four great vampire houses. His Blackcross family stood at the top, seeing that he held the title of Vampire King—a title conferred upon the leader of the entire vampire fraternity in Nocteraia. But lately, he’d felt his reign slipping. He was slowly losing the trust of each leader of the other houses. The Nightcreed house was next in rank, and though he and its leader, Owl Nightcreed, generally saw eye to eye, his wife, Carmine, plotted against him. Draven sighed. The truth was he didn’t much care what the members of the other vampire houses thought of his leadership. His anxiety was based on something else entirely. Echoes from his dark past were suddenly streaming into the present time, threatening to not only unseat him but to banish him forever. Of course, Draven couldn’t let that happen. He would do everything in his power to preserve himself and his power.

He walked over to the mantlepiece and dimmed the light from the crystal chandelier. As he did so, a soft ‘whoosh’ told him his confidante had arrived. A bird had perched on the window sill, resembling a shadow with a consciousness. It leaped onto the carpet as their eyes met. The raven cawed softly, before transforming into a man with long, greasy hair. Clad in a well-tailored, deep-crimson velvet coat, he smiled, baring accentuated canines.

“I hate to be kept waiting, Crowe,” Draven spat, advancing on him.

Crowe gave a slight bow, his eyes on the corpse.

“How did he taste?” The vampire turned the man’s face over with his polished shoe. “Barely a trace of juice left in him.”

“Update me on your findings,” Draven said brusquely.

Crowe was silent for a while as if gathering his thoughts.

“Well, I managed to breach the Sisterhood. Took me a while, but it turns out your theory was correct: The Alphatenory Brotherhood isn’t as protected as Beltraine. I managed to slip through the magical protection there without much effort.”

“Good.” Draven nodded. “Therefore, we can form a plan to infiltrate in number, overwhelming them.”

“Not exactly,” Crowe countered. “Remember, my gift is special among vampires. I only succeeded because they made no magical provisions for ravens, which I assume they think are extinct. Even then, I was still discovered.”

“You were caught!?” Draven exclaimed, his voice rising a couple of octaves. “Then, what happened?”

“They burned me with magical fire,” Crowe explained. “I would have been killed had it not been for a lucky detail in how they tried to kill me. But the mission was a success, I think. You wanted to find out about the scope of the protection surrounding the institution. Well… it is elaborate, but penetrable.”

“And the Mothers?” Draven tensed as he waited for Crowe’s reply.

He fastened the topmost button on his coat as a cold breeze streamed through the open window, fluttering the curtains.

“Alive,” he whispered. “I only saw one though.”

“Then how did you determine they are all alive if you admit to only seeing one?” Draven inquired.

“The vestals. I saw them all. I know a vestal will cease to exist if the Mother who created it dies.”

Draven nodded. “Yes, that is my understanding from what the leader of the Moonshadow house told me.” Draven regarded Crowe, feeling slightly disappointed by what he told him thus far.

“And is that all you discovered?”

Crowe emitted a mirthless cackle.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about how I actually managed to survive the fire they used to try to kill me?”

“Don’t waste my time, Crowe! I asked you for information, not riddles!”

Crowe offered a pained smile, his teeth and red eyes glinting.

“You see, the witches used a Channeler to pull their energy from.”

“And?”

“It turns out,” Crowe continued, “the Channeler is a vampire.”

Draven was silent for a long while. Crowe’s last revelation was the reason he’d sent him to Beltraine in the first place. For the sake of his continued leadership for decades to come, Draven wanted to eliminate all potential threats. With the mention of a vampire at Beltraine, Crowe had all but confirmed a suspicion he’d had for some time now. It turned out that his greatest threat happened to be from a source dating back to his childhood, someone spoken about in a prophecy he took for granted until now.

“A vampire at Beltraine!?” Draven exclaimed, feigning surprise. “Under the eyes of the three most powerful witches in Nocteraia who hate vampires to the core? That’s interesting… very interesting. How did you determine she is a vampire?”

Crowe sneered.

“My many talents include aura detection. I saw traces of the dark gift inside her. She is definitely one of us. The question of how she’s avoiding detection by those Mothers is baffling to me as well.”

But Draven wasn’t listening to what Crowe was saying. His mind had gone off on a tangent of thought when his confidante mentioned that the vampire was a Channeler. 

“Crowe,” he said, his head hung low, deep in thought. “Have you ever heard of a vampire also being a Channeler? Seems almost paradoxical to me.”

Crowe smiled. “That’s the best question you’ve asked tonight. There is only one other time in history when that happened. That is why I was late in coming here tonight. I was doing some research. I—”.

Draven never got to hear what Crowe said next, for he blazed toward the door. He’d recalled exactly where he’d heard of a person being both a Channeler and a vampire, and he was a fool if he sat idly by while such a mythic entity bloomed until it could kill him. Draven intended to crush Beltraine before they crushed him. But he had to plan like the devil to pull it off. After all, he wasn’t only fighting against the witches, but the other vampire houses as well.             

The Scar

Gloria decided to skip the meeting with the Mothers. Though Faelina’s blood had more than revived her from the taxing channeling hours prior, she could not muster the resolve to face the Mothers with blood churning inside her stomach. Having spent almost a year at Beltraine had made her somewhat used to hiding her dark secret. But due to the Mothers’ rare appearances to date, Gloria hadn’t gotten comfortable with facing them just yet. She gazed up at the chandelier above her bed, wondering what the meeting was about. Her mind wandered to the vampire she’d help to kill, shuddering as she recalled his final gesture— stretching his hand toward her as though begging for mercy.

An odd sensation about her midriff pulled her from her reminiscing. Throwing the vermilion sheet off, Gloria raised her sweaty shirt. What she saw disgusted her. Covering her navel, extending radially about three inches from it, was a mysterious scar no one knew about. Black with wrinkled skin that prickled even now, she had no idea how she got it. Her intuition told her it was related to her vampirism— a condition she didn’t know how she acquired. Slowly, she ran her hand over the rough skin, frustrated about how little she knew about herself, her past, and her vampirism. Gloria’s memories before being enrolled at the Beltraine Sisterhood were almost non-existent. Now and again, fragmented images from her former life washed up in the form of nightmares, which led her to believe her past was filled with pain and blood. It was almost as though her memories were somewhat altered the second she came here. Gloria understood the Mothers sometimes did that if they thought it was necessary, though all the sisters she was acquainted with here had their memories intact. The curtains fluttered beside her bed from a gentle breeze. Through its teal fabric, Gloria watched the waning moon, its luminescence struggling to pierce through shawls of dark clouds. The gong struck atop the chapel, its low, mournful note sending shivers down her spine. The sounding of the gong signified the moon’s transition from one phase to the next. Here in Nocteraia, the moon wasn't just a celestial body, it dictated their very existence. In each of its four phases, lasting six fleeting hours, the moon beamed a unique ambience and luminosity. They’d just entered the Ebenveil Moon, which was bedtime. The characteristic cold of Ebenveil hit her immediately as Gloria watched the moon go black.

As she eagerly awaited Faelina’s return so she could hear what the Mothers had to say, Gloria stared out into the night, bored. Her eyes settled on the top half of the Alphatenory Brotherhood’s chapel. The remainder of the building was hardly visible through the dense foliage of the out-of-bounds Shadowgrove forest. The structure’s spires jutted toward the sky, glinting silver. Gloria had never met the students from Beltraine’s twin institution. Precious little information was let on about Alphatenory, and Gloria wondered if that was by design. But it would be nice if the sisters were allowed to meet the brothers on occasion, she thought. Gloria rose, deciding to take a bath to wash away the sweat and dirt from her body. She was going to have to change the sheets as well, she thought. Gloria was halfway to the bathroom when she heard a knock. Halting, she glanced backward, waiting for the knock to come again. It did, more forcefully this time.

“Gloria? Open the door.”

Gloria didn’t recognize the voice at first.

“Just a sec!” she hollered. Shuffling to the bathroom, she washed her face and rinsed her mouth. Done, she scampered to the door, unlocked it, and muscled it open. A dark-skinned girl with a star-shaped scar on her jaw regarded her. Her name was Rowan, a second-year prefect in Dorm L.

“Your presence is required in the chapel now,” Rowan informed in her deep voice.

With that, the girl spun and paced back down the aisle. Gloria watched as the vestal, Aurelius wisped past her, rising to the third floor.

…

Five minutes later, Gloria strolled into the chapel. There on the pulpit was not one, not two, but the Three Mothers sitting stiffly with grave, wrinkled faces. Though she knew beforehand they would be there, Gloria’s stomach flipped, her mouth drying. What wouldn’t she do to acquire the power of invisibility right now? Gloria made the agonizing trek to the front, where the first years were seated. The chapel was as quiet as a cemetery. Had they paused the meeting for her? she wondered. Her breathing short and labored, Gloria passed the prying eyes of the second-years seated behind the first years. A feeling of uneasiness roiled inside her as she spotted Faelina and Osara seated in the penultimate row of the Dorm L cohort. She took a seat beside Faelina, her head spinning.

As if compelled, Gloria’s head rose to the pulpit, trembling as she peered directly into the ancient eyes of Lysandra, the Mother of Light, whose gaze was like a laser prizing away all the layers of her skin and mind. Time seemed to stop for a second as their eyes did a sort of silent dance, Mother Lysandra’s posture as stiff as death. Betraying her considerable age, her long white hair fell upon her shoulders like the veil of a wizened nun. Then, the moment passed, Lysandra’s gaze now directed to Mother Crimsonia who whispered something to her. Gloria felt her muscles relax, her breathing— which she only now realized had also stopped— resuming with a frantic gasp.

“You alright?” Faelina asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Gloria sighed, nodding, her attention still on the pulpit. For some reason, she didn’t even want to speak in the presence of the three Mothers, afraid they might use their legendary witchery to unearth her deep secret. She noticed Faelina had worn a thick coat with its collar pulled up to hide the bite marks.

“The meeting actually hasn’t started. We only just finished mass,” Faelina whispered.

Gloria hazarded a glance at the pulpit again and saw the vestals floating by the side of their respective Mother: Obsidia beside Mother Crimsonia, Aurelius next to Lysandra, and Paracelsus astride Meirothea. The mass exercise was usually conducted by one of the most senior sisters of Beltraine. The hall descended into deathly silence as Mother Crimsonia rose, positioning herself behind the lectern. The amorphous mass of black that was Obsidia hovered next to her. Faelina turned her head away, only to snap it back to attention when the Mother of Justice started speaking. She was garbed in a black tunic. Her long, fiery red hair somehow made her look decades younger. At two hundred and eighty-five years old, Mother Crimsonia was the youngest Mother. She was the quietest and most mysterious of the three, her face perpetually wearing a deadpan expression that made her difficult to read. Gloria hadn’t seen her smile once in the year she’s been here. Yet, Mother Crimsonia didn’t seem unapproachable to Gloria. She did seem austere but in a different sense than Mother Lysandra. Mother Crimsonia’s demeanor when tasked with being strict was more like a mother scolding a child out of love. This approach contrasted with the other mothers’ more draconian punishment. But due to the Mothers’ rare interaction with the sisters, Gloria knew her appraisal of their demeanors could be very wrong. Gloria took a deep breath as the Mother of Justice began her address.

“Sisters of Beltraine, may the Providence of the divine Crown Goddess bless you and keep you as you learn the way of light. You may be wondering why all three Mothers are here on this grand night, gracing you with our presence. The astute among you might have already deduced how significant this is. Our most senior sisters will correct me if I’m mistaken, but it has been about two years since we three gathered here in this chapel. And at that time, like now, the circumstances were quite dire. Back then, the growing decay of Nocteraia was threatening to breach our walls. The hearts of mankind had become hopelessly dark, the murders reaching closer and closer to our sanctum here at Beltraine.” Mother Crimsonia paused, looking about her and straightening her black tunic.

Gloria gazed at her transfixed, curious about the remainder of her address.

“Back then,” she continued, her tone serious, “our diligent prayers worked, and Mother Crown allayed the danger. In these times today, we face something similar. But I daresay, my sisters, we are no longer fighting against mankind. You saw proof of this tonight, when we banished a vampire. You see, the devil has devised ways and means to test our resolve, so we must come together as one force to repel him. You may have heard the rumors by now…whispers floating around the grounds… that the vampires are wreaking havoc around us on the streets of Nocteraia.”

Gloria fidgeted upon hearing 'vampire', her scar pulsing uncomfortably. She stole furtive glances around her to gauge how suspicious the other sisters were of her reaction. Everyone was in rapt attention, including Faelina, who stared unblinkingly at the Mother.

“These rumors are true.” Mother Crimsonia continued, her voice a rasp. “My sisters and I have confirmed the traces of paranormal evil getting more prevalent right here in Nocteraia. I say all this to say that we as the heads of Beltraine will do our part in keeping you sisters safe. But be forewarned, our efforts in doing just that shall affect the daily lives of each and every one of you. You can expect a series of drills in the near future as we prepare you for the vile world. Also, new security measures we will be introduced posthaste. I welcome Mother Lysandra to remind you about the mission of our institution.”

Gloria watched as Mother Meirothea whispered something to Lysandra. She heard the words spoken between them, but she didn’t understand them. Were they speaking in a different language? she wondered.

“We’ve heard this all before, haven’t we?” Osara asked.

Gloria nodded. She had heard about the vampires increasing their activity before, but it came from the sisters, not the Mothers.

“Yeah, but it rings a little differently coming from the Mothers, doesn’t it?” Faelina echoed her thoughts.

Mother Lysandra finally stood, her vestal, Aurelius hovering above her head as Mother Crimsonia sat. At three hundred and thirteen years old, Mother Lysandra was the oldest Mother. The sisters generally thought of her as the friendliest of the three, but Gloria couldn’t disagree more. The Mother of Light was extremely blunt and austere. It wasn’t difficult for Gloria to imagine her cursing someone to death after they blasphemed the name of the Crown Mother.

“Greetings sisters,” she began. Her voice was dry and croaky. She continued, running a spidery hand through her straight white hair.

“It’s quite a pity that the only times my sisters and I deem it fit to sit with you are in dark times like these. We shall move to correct this as it is unbecoming of the unity we preach. Sister Crimsonia has already told you the crux of the matter. I shall remind you what our mission is, here at Beltraine, for it is easy for us to lose our way and get caught up in what doesn’t really matter.” Mother Lysandra took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Gloria got the distinct feeling she was staring at her even with her eyes closed. Half amused, half wary she was onto something, Gloria flashed her head to vanquish the feeling. Osara turned to her mechanically, shooting her an “are- you- stupid?” stare. Gloria ignored her as the Mother of Light continued, her voice stronger, more impassioned than before. 

“The vision of Beltraine is to create a bastion where young women can begin a journey of transcendence through righteous deeds, holy magic, meditation, and chastity. It is our steadfast intent for Beltraine to be a sort of exemplar of feminine mysticism, where women, upon achieving the title of transcendence by the Mother Crown, can venture into the world to create real change with our teachings. That is the beginning and end of our purpose. Everything else we do here is secondary. Any force that fights against this endeavor, and the teachings of the Mother Crown, is seen as devilish and malevolent, having no place in our space nor the world. A multitude of devils’ spawns rise and fall with time, but now it seems to be the age of the vampires. As Sister Crimsonia said, they are the present threat. I’ll allow Sister Meirothea to rap up this meeting. We know we’re well within the Ebenveil Moon, your bedtime. But I trust she shall be succinct, so you call all go get some well-needed rest.”

With that, Mother Lysandra left the lectern. Gloria felt numb. She only had to get through Mother Meirothea’s speech and get away from the Mothers before she felt at ease. Ever since she’d walked into the chapel, she was on edge. She’d envisioned a million ways her secret could be exposed. Most of them involved the Mothers using their magic to cause her to confess to being addicted to the taste of human blood, and to expose the dark fantasies she entertained…

“Greetings sisters,” Mother Meirothea screeched. “As my sisters have established, the vampires are the present threat to us. And as such, we believe it is wise that you know the history of the relationship among witches, vampires, and lycans. As the saying goes: Know thy enemy.” Mother Meirothea paused, clearing her throat. She cast her eyes down at the sisters, slowly nodding as though she was pleased with something.

Gloria angled her head from the Mother’s gaze, her heart surging. 

  Mother Meirothea continued in an even tone, “Believe it or not, sisters, before the Sun was banished long ago in another age, the witches were actually neutral toward vampires. Witches gladly performed their art by day, while the vampires and lycans left a trail of blood by night. Although in principle the three factions disliked each other, they coexisted in peace— each showing grace to the other by virtue of the power they held relative to humans.”

Caressing her stomach to soothe the prickling scar, Gloria listened to the Mother of Mercy’s address. It was a story she heard many times before from the second-years. But to hear it from Mother Meirothea herself made it that much more impactful.   

Mother Meirothea continued, “Everything changed when the Sun was extinguished…” her voice trailed away, replaced by awkward silence. Mother Lysandra had made her way to the rostrum, whispering to Mother Meirothea, who now nodded. 

“Nocteraia was bewitched into perpetual night, an error on the part of the witches who sought to bolster the Sun’s light,” Meirothea said, “and as you can imagine, the vampires took this to mean they could do as they pleased, slaughtering indiscriminately under the reign of eternal night. And that they did for ages until the Salvia Moon…the witches’ response to the vampires’ degenerate lifestyle. Now, skipping to present times…” Mother Meirothea paused for emphasis. “To put it bluntly,” she said, her voice a low rasp, “the vampires are frustrated with the Salvia Moon. This special phase of the moon represents the only source of their oppression since the ancient Sun. The fact that they’re forced into hiding on lethal Salvia Moon nights is becoming unbearable. And though they feed on defenseless humans for sustenance, it is really witch blood after which they lust. We seek to honor our ancestors who instituted the Salvia Moon to curb the chaos those bloodsucking abominations can and has caused. And Beltraine seeks to produce witches with the requisite skill to keep the Salvia Moon burning…to keep witches as the supreme force in Nocteraia.”

…

As soon as the meeting with the Mothers was over, Gloria felt the change in the whole vibe of Beltraine. The very air seemed tense with nervous energy as if it too was worried about what the vampires were plotting. They’d just walked over to Gloria’s and Faelina’s Dorm room after being dismissed from the meeting in the chapel.

“So, it seems the vampires are multiplying,” Osara said, sitting on Faelina’s bed.

Gloria eyed Osara disdainfully as she spoke. She had agreed to them meeting here after chapel, but now Gloria’s mood was mangled by the Mothers’ speeches. Besides, Gloria always felt on edge whenever someone other than Faelina entered the room, wary that they would discover evidence of her vampirism. Now, she just wanted to be in the peace of her comfort zone. She wanted to spend the final hours of Ebenveil with Faelina without having to go paranoid over the dark veins that sometimes crept under her eyes, or mistakenly letting down her canines, or her bloodlust morphing her eyes from innocent black to forbidding red. Worse, Gloria had been slowly losing control over all these things as of late… things she realized she had to address quickly.

“I’m not worried about them,” Faelina said, standing before the oval mirror on the dresser, “the witches have an advantage over them, I think. One spell, and they’re dust.”

Gloria fidgeted, gazing through the fluttering shawl. Osara nodded.

“You have a point, but you’re downplaying the strength of the vampires. The witches instituted the Salvia Moon for a reason.”

“Speaking of…” Gloria said. “When is the next Salvia Moon?”

Osara shrugged. “Soon, I think. Don’t you have your Moontracer?” 

Faelina pulled out the first drawer on the chest of drawers, plucking a coiled parchment from it. The scroll glowed a light silver as she unraveled it. Tracing her hand over the rough glitter, Faelina’s hand stopped.

“It’s sooner than I thought,” she stated, her eyes glued on the moon calendar. “We’re now almost at the end of Ebenveil, a few hours out from the Opal Moon. The next Salvia Moon will happen when the moon cycles to the next Ebenveil Moon.”

Gloria was confused. She had to know exactly when the Salvia Moon would be, so she could prepare herself mentally for it.

“Explain that again, Faelina,” Gloria demanded.

Faelina, who seemed to understand her concern, offered her a knowing stare, handing the Moontracer to Osara beside her.

“You do it, Osara. I suck at this,” she said.

Osara took the Moontracer. Gloria could see its silver runes pulsing softly under her touch. The Moontracer was a violet-colored celestial chart imbued with magic that mapped the moon’s transit with a glowing orb raking a circle slowly across its surface. The orb varied in luminosity depending on the moon phase, fading to black as it entered the final Ebenveil phase. Various positions had runic symbols engraved to mark the beginning of each phase, and an assortment of rune-studded golden dials showed the time remaining until the moon transitioned to the next phase. A Moontracer was placed in each room, and though both Gloria and Faelina should have learned their Moontracer’s intricacies, it was Faelina who bothered as she found it intriguing.

“Alright, let’s make this clear. The moon cycles through four phases—Opal, Ashveil, Emberglow, and Ebenveil—each lasting six hours, so a full cycle takes twenty four hours. We’re almost at the end of Ebenveil now, just hours from the start of the next cycle with the Opal Moon. The Salvia Moon comes every five months, replacing Ebenveil at the end of a special cycle. The Moontracer shows we’re close. After this Ebenveil, we’ll go through one full cycle: Opal, Ashveil, Emberglow, Ebenveil. Then, in the next cycle, when Ebenveil would come, we’ll get the Salvia Moon instead. That’s just about forty eight hours from now.” She pointed to a rune glowing faintly red. “See? The Moontracer’s already marking it.”

Gloria rose and scooted over to her. The blood-red rune resembled a warning sign as it blinked ominously. Gloria watched it, tensing.

“So, basically, the next Salvia Moon will happen…not on the next Ebenveil but the other one,” she stated.

“Exactly,” Osara said, folding the Moontracer.

Gloria sighed. She’d only experienced two Salvia Moons since her enrolment at Beltraine. Each one was worse than the last. But although Salvia Moons were supposed to be fatal to vampires subjected to its glare, Gloria never felt as though her life was in danger. The worst that would happen was her scar would burn a bit, and she would be hit with random waves of nausea. Faelina had theorized that it was the Mothers’ magical protection over Beltraine that had shielded Gloria from the more harmful effects of the Salvia Moon. 

“Have you recovered from the channeling, Gloria? This one seemed more intense than the last,” Osara asked.

“Not completely,” Gloria lied, “why?”

“I overheard Rowan speaking to Lystra on my way to the chapel. I think another Chain of Glory is planned. It might be as a drill and not an actual vampire banishing. But I’m not really sure.”

Faelina yawned. “I’m going to bed ya’ll. Hope I can get a piece of Ebenveil’s dreamworld.” She swayed theatrically before falling beside Osara onto the bed.

Gloria wanted to press Osara on what she overheard about the Chain of Glory. The macabre ritual not only drained her energy to an inch of her life, but it also placed her at the center of the entire Sisterhood, where her every anguish was eyeballed by everyone. Gloria refrained from inquiring in light of Faelina’s remark, which Osara took as her cue to leave. She rose hesitantly, glancing at Gloria, then back at Faelina.

“Did you know you people spend the most time with each other in your rooms out of all the room-mates?” Osara made her way to the door, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think…” Osara left the sentence hanging, before proceeding through the door.

The Blackcross Castle

In a dark dungeon of the Blackcross castle, Kain Fangsworth struggled against steel shackles affixed to the rugged walls. They didn’t budge. Although his strength far outstripped the strongest man, Kain knew these restraints were imbued with ancient magic to ensure even vampires could not escape. Kain closed his eyes as tears flowed down his pale cheeks, a feeble scream issuing from his throat. An optimist though he was, the many months that had come and gone since his imprisonment had mocked hope, and he had now taken to praying for a quick death he knew would not come. But who should a being like him pray to? Was there such a thing as a vampire god? Which deity delivered the damned and the accursed? Would heartfelt supplications onto the devil deliver him out of the internal war for power raging quietly among the vampire families? Kain knew he was just a pawn in a political chess game being played between the Blackcross and Fangsworth families—a pawn captured by the enemy.

His knowledge about the war was limited. The fact was his father, Vain Fangsworth, had decided to separate their house from the remaining three houses. As far as Kain knew, his father’s goal was for the Fangsworth house to act as a single, self-sufficient family, that was to be unbeholden to the vampire laws and practices the other houses were subjected to. In other words, Vain wanted the Fangsworth house independent. Kain had only half-heartedly supported him. He genuinely wanted nothing to do with Draven Blackcross, but he knew if his father pushed too hard for Fangsworth independence, it would jeopardize his relationship with Tamsyn—a vampire woman from the Blackcross house. Suffice to say, that was exactly what had happened: Draven had not only rejected Vain’s request for independence, but he’d kidnapped Kain. Now he was suffering, not because he’d done something wrong, but because he was the son of the head of a rogue family. And in the months he’d spent languishing in this hellhole, he had asked the darkness questions from his defeated mind: What did he do to deserve this torture? Why was his own kind subjecting him to this grim fate? Was his purpose really to live a few short years only to perish like an animal? Was he to have no shot at a future of happiness, no chance to experience true love?

Kain opened his teary eyes to darkness, his mind slipping from his control as the silence spoke to him in an agonizing monotone. As another muffled scream escaped him, he heard a great rumble break the silence, startling him. A bright light attacked his eyes. He flashed his face away, falling to his knees. The colony of bats he shared the space with fluttered away madly.

“Kain?”

He rose his head slowly to gaze upon the intruder. Her face partially obscured by the dancing flames pitching from the torch she carried, was a young woman whose existence for Kain brought bliss and misery. With her long, raven-black hair cascading down her shoulders, and eyes shoning an alluring shade of crimson— eyes that he peered into many a time in moments of deep but forbidden sensuality. This was Tamsyn Blackcross, the only child of Draven Blackcross. Her red eyes gazed softly at him, the roiling shadows of the flames playing over her lithe physique.

Tamsyn wore a stylish purple corset, crafted from luxurious velvet. Kain’s eyes drank the view, presuming there was some event being held at the castle for such a sensual display. His eyes settled on the corset; it was adorned with intricate lacework intertwining like delicate spiderwebs. His eyes followed the patterns of blood-red roses and thorny vines, whose precise lacing accentuated Tamsyn’s neckline and collarbone. Despite his gloomy predicament, Kain couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her beauty, the likes of which he hadn’t seen in what seemed like forever.

“I thought I made it clear you shouldn’t return here, Tamsyn,” Kain said, belying his lust. “If Draven catches you visiting—”

Tamsyn held her free hand up.

“Relax, Kain. My father is in a meeting with the other elders. He sent me for you.”

Kain scoffed. “That’s a lie. Your father would raise hell before he allows you to share the same space as me.”

“Fair enough,” Tamsyn said softly, stepping towards him. “It was Crocs that Draven sent to get you. I convinced Crocs to let me.”

Kain twisted his face in confusion. The haughty guard, Crocs would sacrifice an arm before disobeying Draven’s wishes. Kain decided not to push the matter.

“What business does Draven have with me?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Tamsyn said. “But I assume the fact that he sent for you is good news. Your presence at the meeting will reveal to the other house leaders that my father held you hostage all this time.”

Kain sat up, intrigued by Tamsyn’s suggestion.

“And you think the other leaders will respond favorably towards me, a measly Fangsworth?”

“I do,” Tamsyn said, smiling. Her dazzling canines seemed much brighter than the torch she held above them. “The elders have no conflict with the Fangsworth house. Besides, holding a fellow vampire hostage is illegal according to vampire laws. The leaders will likely lash out against my father rather than at you.”

Silence reigned in the dungeon as Kain pondered Tamsyn’s words. He watched her as she fitted the torch into a holster just above one of the restraints keeping his hands in place.

“Why would Draven risk his position as Vampire King by revealing what he did to me?” Kain reasoned, staring at Tamsyn. He felt his mind still as he gazed upon her.

Tamsyn shrugged. “I don’t know for sure why he’s revealing what he did to you now. But I’m willing to guess it will lead to your freedom. One step closer to us being together.”

Kain uttered a nervous chuckle. “Don’t you know your own father? His hate for the Fangsworth family goes back to before we were even born. I can assure you the rift between him and my father won’t end with the house leaders knowing what he did to me.”

Tamsyn placed her palm on his face. Then, without warning, she kissed him deeply. Kain tasted the wine on her tongue as her soft lips caressed his. It took him a moment before he indulged as much as his restraints would allow. Tamsyn withdrew, peering deep into his eyes. Kain broke eye contact, unwilling to let himself fall back into a dream that once was.

“It’s okay babe,” Tamsyn murmured. “I trust in the goodwill of the leaders. There is no way they will countenance your continued incarceration. Especially, not without just cause. You did nothing wrong…you were simply caught in a family feud. That’s all.”

Just then, Kain saw a shadow move across the dungeon’s entrance.

“Take me up,” he said, wary Tamsyn’s presence here could get her in trouble.

Tamsyn nodded. And with her hand still on his face, she closed her eyes and muttered something under her breath. Her palms glowed at once—an ethereal green vapor issuing from them. She stepped even closer to him, and then placed her other hand on his temple. Kain flinched as a pleasant warmth radiated through him such that he released a long, drawn-out moan. His eyes rolled back in his head as the strange euphoria deepened. As quickly as the pleasant sensation began, it disappeared in a flash. Kain opened his eyes slowly, his focus coming back momentarily. Kain felt as though he were back to normal both physically and mentally, the anguish wrought by his many months of imprisonment whisked away like a feather in a storm.

“Draven still doesn’t know about your…abilities. Does he?”

Tamsyn shook her head as she freed a key from her bosom and began undoing the locks.

“Of course not. No one knows but us.”

“You’re living dangerously,” Kain said seriously. “The hatred Draven has for witches is only bested by the devil’s hatred for god. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”

Tamsyn offered a nervous chuckle as the final lock clicked open.

“There you go,” she chimed. “Come on. I’ll get Crocs to lead you to the guest room.”

…

A few short minutes later, Kain followed the burly guard, Crocs through thick oak doors on the uppermost floor of the Blackcross castle. No sooner had he entered the guest room than a black figure attacked his face. Startled, Kain flicked his hand trying to free himself from what seemed like some sort of bird. Someone in the room giggled as he weaved his head away from the frantic thing, which seemed hellbent on making his forehead its footstool.

“ZEUS!” A deep, gravelly voice boomed. The flying thing retreated posthaste in the direction of the voice. As it flew, Kain saw it was a massive Flying Fox bat. It settled on the shoulders of the man who called it. Draven Blackcross, Kain thought. Just then, his eyes found Tamsyn, who had entered before them and had already taken her place beside her father. Tamsyn offered Kain a subtle smile before her shoulders stiffened, her lips drawn taut.

Kain was inside a large room at the center of which was a large, mahogany round table. He counted eight persons seated around it, most of them peering at him in shock. They must have heard I was kidnapped…or dead, Kain thought. In his anguish inside the dungeon, he hadn’t thought much about the upheaval his disappearance must have caused in the vampire fraternity. Judging from the astonished faces in the room, he surmised there was indeed some consternation concerning his whereabouts, his disappearance probably sparking rumors. Kain avoided most of their gazes.

“Took you long enough, bastard boy!” Draven barked. “Have a seat.”

Kain made his way to the only empty chair in the room— a seat much less pristine than the others with plain wood and stained padding. The room smelled strongly of pine and sandalwood, and there were bottles of wine on the table.

“You look terrible!” a female voice rang. “Though better than dead.”

Kain smiled weakly.“Thanks Lily. I appreciate your admiration.”

Lily Moonshadow was the leader of the Moonshadow family. She was a slim, caramel-skinned vampire with deep dimples, emerald-colored eyes, and a flat forehead. Her blonde hair was caught in a bun, revealing the usually concealed tattoos on either side of her neck. The Moonshadow family was unique among the vampire fraternity due to their ability to use Heka, a technique comparable to, but distinct from ‘divining magic’ done by witches for fortune-telling. Heka drew upon blood ingested rather than on the four elements or the mind. The Moonshadows acted as mediators of the vampire houses, resolving conflict and negotiating truces.

“Let’s get on with it then,” a voice issued from Kain’s left.

It was Owl Nightcreed, the reserved leader of the Nightcreed family, and the only house leader his father respected. A powerful and ancient vampire, Owl Nightcreed was outranked only by the Vampire King himself. Kain liked Owl. He hadn’t had the opportunity to interact with the Nightcreed much, but from what he gathered so far, Owl was impossibly calm and had a firm grasp of justice. The Nightcreed family was responsible for defending the vampires as a group, employing tactics such as aura detection and shielding. Owl’s bald wife, Carmine was beside him, and next to her. their twin children, Sebastian and Selena.

Kain watched with growing anxiety as Draven took a sip of blood from a crystal glass. Slamming the empty glass down, he stood…all six feet five inches of him. The deep, crescent-shaped scar on his right jaw seemed to glisten under the chandeliers above.

“This meeting is called to order!” he bellowed.

The attendees straightened in their chairs. The atmosphere had suddenly become tense.

“Greetings fellow royals, and welcome again to the Blackcross house. I hope tonight’s festivities were to your liking.” Draven paused. His ominous red eyes seemed to flicker under their hoods.

“But now it’s time for us to address serious business.”

Kain glanced at Tamsyn. She was already watching him. An inexplicable desire overwhelmed him in that instant, and he felt exposed as if he’d just yelled his feelings for her for all to hear. Such a death wish that would be, he thought as Tamsyn broke the gaze, peering at Draven, who continued.

“Firstly, I would like to commend Lily for rallying us together in such an impressive fashion. Representatives from all the royal families are in attendance. I know how difficult it is to get us all under one roof.”

Kain fielded a cold gaze from Draven, fidgeting in the chair. Someone began a spirited applause. Kain glanced across the table to see it was Selena Nightcreed. The others joined in momentarily. Lily beamed across the table, offering a dramatic bow. Kain kept his hands together. Beside him, Owl’s pet raven commenced a cawing racket, hopping across the top of its owner’s garnet-studded chair.

“Aye Pluto!” Owl exclaimed, quieting the creature.

Draven continued. “I must also commend the Nightcreed house for being delightfully dependable in our defense against outside forces. By now, you all must have heard of Owl’s and Carmine’s exploits in detecting two wayward witches on the verge of attacking this very house. They were disposed of…of course, and in a manner befitting of their sin.”

Carmine gave a single, austere nod in acknowledgment, while Owl remained impassive, his head directed stiffly before him. Draven’s last statement about the witches being disposed of would have been lost on Kain had he not known fire was the Blackcross house’s dominant element. No doubt, those witches were burnt down to the bones.

“However,” Draven continued, “that is but a small victory in our war against the witches. And I daresay, fellow leaders, our enemies have the upper hand.”

To his surprise, Kain realized Draven was pointing at him.

“Pathetic and weak though they are,” Draven snarled, “the Fangsworth family are still our own, and a few nights ago the Salvia Moon almost burned off young Kain’s face. A minute more under its glare would have meant his untimely death. I found him tied to a Yew in the Dunfar forest. Despite my differences with the Fangsworths, I freed the young man, but I was quickly attacked by no less than three witches. I ran through them like wildfire, leaving their shells to rot for the worms. Tamsyn here has been nursing Kain to health. This is the end result.” Draven shoved a hand at Kain disdainfully.

Kain’s mouth had opened in shock ever since Draven began speaking about his fictitious encounter with the Salvia Moon. The Vampire King had managed to tell the most blatant lie he ever heard in his life! Draven gazed at him testily. He wants me to respond, Kain realized, avoiding eye contact. Draven seemed to be daring him to deny what he said… to deny the Vampire King. A seething anger rose inside him like a fiery snake. How dare he pretend he wasn’t responsible for the pain Kain had endured during all those months? He had to say something. Kain opened his mouth to do so, but before words could escape him, he felt his tongue stiffen, his throat constricting. Eyes widening with terror, he realized he was mute, unable to utter a single word. What was happening to him? Was he so nervous he couldn’t speak? Kain dismissed this thought as soon as it surfaced. Then, the moment passed. The desire to speak was gone as if magicked away.

Smiling nastily, Draven said, “The boy was missing for almost four months. I’m yet to uncover what happened in the months before I found him on the verge of death by the Salvia Moon. We all were wondering what fate had befallen Vain Fangsworth’s only living child. Such a tragedy it would be if the Fangsworth family had no heir.”

Kain saw Tamsyn glance up at her father, no doubt likewise shocked at this bold fabrication.

“Why would a witch kidnap Kain though?” Lily inquired, her face creasing.

Draven shrugged. “Does there have to be a reason? Hating vampires is imprinted upon the souls of witches. Killing our kind is, for them, a rite of passage.”

Kain shook his head in disbelief. Lily didn’t seem satisfied with Draven’s response and was about to speak again when Draven forestalled her.

“The Salvia Moon…” he began, running a hand through his black hair, “We are all susceptible to this…cosmic magic, some more vulnerable than others. To function at our highest potential, we must strategize against it. The last time we were all gathered here, we had all agreed on a plan to eliminate the witches, in the hope that the Salvia Moon would be no more.”

Kain fidgeted, his skin getting hotter by the second. Memories of the events five years ago dredged up in his mind. Draven and the other families had decided to send his older brother, Jubal on a reconnaissance mission at the Beltraine Sisterhood. Jubal failed to make it back alive…at least not all of him. Kain struggled to push the image of Jubal’s severed head from his mind. The witches had sent his head back to the Fangsworth house in a red-ribboned box. His body was never recovered. Kain caught Sebastian Nightcreed staring at him, a satisfied smirk on his face. His twin sister, Selena was staring wistfully into space.

Draven voiced, “Lily, can you tell us where we are with the Heka aspect of the plan? The plan revolves around the Moonshadow house.”

Lily stood quickly, almost toppling the glass of wine on the table before her.

“Certainly, Lord Blackcross. We Moonshadows have been trying to unravel the magic behind the Salvia Moon. But I daresay, it seemed to have been put in place by some extremely ancient magic. What we were able to uncover so far is that it has something to do with the three Headmistresses at the Beltraine Sisterhood.”

Draven held up a halting hand. “Are you implying those hags are the ones responsible for Salvia Moons?”

Lily shrugged. “My research tells me their ancestors did it.”

Draven nodded. Kain could see the veins beneath his eyes pulsing.

“Quite interesting,” he croaked. “Can you confirm that killing them will return the moon to normalcy?”

“I can,” Lily replied, her voice rising a couple of octaves. “It is clear the three witches are the final members of their bloodline. Generational magic usually ends with the death of the final member of the bloodline. And with those Headmistresses in particular, they’re magically bonded, so it’s even possible killing one of them will be enough.”

“Hence, the plan remains the same,” Owl said beside Kain, his voice measured.

“Precisely,” Draven said. “We made a mistake the last time. Instead of reconnaissance, we should have brought all our forces to bear on those hags, killing every last one of them.”

“No!”

The voice of dissent belonged to Carmine Nightcreed, Owl’s wife.

“I’m afraid that would be quite reckless. If we employ that strategy and fail, that would be the end of us.”

Draven’s expression hardened. He fixed Carmine a cold stare. Kain wondered what he would do next. It wasn’t often that someone challenged the Vampire King. Draven’s expression transformed into a sinister smile that was almost as bloodcurdling as the scowl preceding it.

“And what, say you, should be our plan, Carmine?”

Everyone’s eyes flashed toward the bald woman, who now adjusted her scarf. She seemed to have anticipated the question, nodding in earnest as Draven asked. Her bald head glistened under the candlelight, revealing tattoos of various sigils and symbols.

“I actually believe we had the right idea the last time. The error was that we sent only one person on the reconnaissance mission—a Fangsworth at that. The Headmistresses at the Sisterhood are seasoned witches, and it is with deepest loathing that I admit their magic is quite legendary. Some of you will remember my encounter with one of them almost a decade ago. The battle left me crippled for an entire month, leaving me bald and powerless. Had my powers faltered even for a second, I would not be here under this roof.”

Kain admired Carmine’s defiance toward Draven, but her mention of his Fangsworth house as if they were the weakest link among the families, stoked his anger. Kain recalled that she was dissatisfied with Draven’s leadership as the Vampire King and desired her own Nightcreed house to be at the helm. Draven nodded as he downed another swig of the blood in his freshly filled glass. Kain could see he was doing his best not to lash out at Carmine, biding his time as he savored the drink. Under the chandelier, Kain could see his temples twitching, a solitary vein threatening to burst from his forehead.

“Indeed,” he finally said in a measured tone. “I had forgotten about your unfortunate experience, Carmine. You’re right.”

Draven paused, his eyes gleaming under their hoods. Kain sensed an air of deceitfulness about him. Something about the way he capitulated on the point of what they should do regarding Beltraine seemed unnatural. 

“Reconnaissance is crucial,” he muttered. “We cannot attack in mass blindly. So… who shall we assign that esteemed role — just to gather valuable information about the Sisterhood, before we return and strike them like the gods we are?”

Lily Moonshadow raised her hand. “It has to be a team of —” she began before she was interrupted.

“I was thinking,” Carmine began, this time standing as she spoke.

Owl watched her in surprise, gazing up at his wife as if seeing her for the first time. Pluto the raven mimicked his action, its head angled upward at the woman.

“I was thinking you should do it, Draven,” Carmine finished.

A few gasps punctuated the statement, the room getting more tense as a standoff between Draven and Carmine loomed. Kain was enjoying this segment of the meeting, and for a moment, he realized his good spirits were quite peculiar given the setting. Furthermore, he was only just released from hell less than thirty minutes ago. He gazed at Tamsyn; it was clear her healing magic had altered his mood more than he’d originally thought. Also, Kain was beginning to think that it was Tamsyn who’d caused him to be mute when he would most definitely have responded to Draven’s lie earlier. Tamsyn seemed the least perturbed by the impending fracas brewing between her father and Carmine, analyzing her nails. She was a daring woman, casting magic in a room not only occupied by haters of witches but in the presence of Lily Moonshadow, who knew everything there was to know about magic, sitting inches from her.

“I beg your pardon?” Draven hissed.

Owl grasped Carmine’s burgundy dress, coaxing her to sit. She ignored him.

“You’re the strongest among us, aren’t you, Draven? Who better to gather intel and return with it alive than you?”

Carmine paused, watching Draven with eyes of steely determination. The silence in the room seemed violent as a light breeze moved through the space like a ghost, rattling the chandelier.

Carmine continued, “Besides…you, Draven, would know exactly what to look for—the brand of magic protecting the grounds, the scope of the witches’ powers, and the means to escape should you get caught.”

Owl tugged at Carmine’s dress again. Again it was ignored. Kain wanted to laugh for some reason, but he held it in. Draven guffawed. It was a sound not unlike the bark of a vicious dog.

“The gall you have to suggest that I, Draven Blackcross, the Vampire King, should embark on such a menial task as a reconnaissance mission. My dear Carmine, if it is only I who is fit for such a role, we may as well surrender to the witches right this minute!”

Another awkward silence moved through the room before Owl stood alongside Carmine.

“No need for this meeting to descend into chaos,” Owl said. “Perhaps the solution lies somewhere between both of your suggestions. A strong person must be sent on this mission—or rather a strong team as I think Lily was suggesting. That team can comprise of myself, Lily, and perhaps some other volunteer. That way we can almost guarantee success, while eliminating the possibility of any significant losses to our houses.”

“A wise repost,” Draven said, his posture relaxing. “Lily, you shall accompany Owl on this mission.” Draven glanced around the room. Kain tried to avoid his gaze, his eyes settling on his raw wrists.

“KAIN FANGSWORTH!” Draven bellowed. “I shall send you along also. Surely, you won’t object to this task, given that I saved your skin from that old witch.”

Kain felt Draven’s aura pressing into his. It was an oppressive feeling, almost like he was back in the torturous atmosphere of the dungeon. Though he wanted to back out of this situation, he didn’t see a way he could extricate himself. Moreover, how would that seem to Tamsyn— that he was afraid…weak even?

“Of course,” he said, in awe of how confidently he said it.

Tamsyn glowered at him, her wide eyes betraying her shock and disgust.

“Good. Then we have a plan,” Draven said, smiling.

Carmine and Owl finally sat. Lily cleared her throat.

“One more thing, Lord Blackcross.”

Kain watched her smirk, pausing a while before she continued.

 “I intended to make this announcement at a later date, when I was more certain it was true. But I suppose in light of this plan we’ve just agreed upon, I should reveal it now.”

Draven urged her on with his hands.

Lily continued, “I have reason to believe, backed up by Noctua, second in command in the Moonshadow house, that the BloodVeil is not only alive and well, but somewhere close.”

Kain exhaled loudly, but no one noticed, for everyone reacted the same. He’d first heard about the entity known as the “BloodVeil” from his father. From what Kain had gathered from his father, the BloodVeil, otherwise known as the Scarlet Incantatrix, was a personality whose purpose was to return Nocteraia to its prior state before the trinity of witches, vampires, and lycans, tainted it with evil. Kain had always considered her to be some sort of character from folklore, who had the powers of a god…or goddess in this case. Earlier in the dungeon, he had wondered about the god of the vampires; if the vampires ever had a god, it would have to be the BloodVeil. Draven turned to face Lily directly.

“The BloodVeil?” Draven repeated after a long while.

Lily nodded. “I know it sounds absurd. And I’m sure some of us here, especially the younger set, were led to believe the BloodVeil is a myth. But the Moonshadows’ Heka has seldom failed.”

Owl shook his head madly. And for the first time, Kain saw that the head of the Nightcreed house was visibly rattled.

 “That’s impossible,” Owl remarked. “The BloodVeil is long dead. Her death is well-documented and can be easily proven.”

Draven closed his eyes, reclining into his massive, throne-like chair, his face creased with worry and stress. Kain peered at him wondering what he was thinking.

“I know, Owl,” Lily grumbled. “But that’s what our Heka told us.”

“The BloodVeil is a non-issue,” Draven said dismissively. “It has no bearing on our mission at Beltraine.”

Kain saw that despite Draven’s calm, he was sweating heavily, his face awash and glistening. Kain got the impression the topic of the BloodVeil was bothering him.

“Oh, but it does have a bearing on the mission, Draven!” Lily exclaimed.

At that instant, the chandeliers flickered like ornate, blinking eyes. The dramatic timing of it pitched the room into silence once again. Kain glanced nervously around him, looking to see if everyone else felt the change in the atmosphere. Tamsyn was fidgeting, biting her lips as her head flashed about her. Selena had finally emerged from her stupor, staring expectantly at Draven, who now spoke.

“But Lily, we are jumping ahead of ourselves. I’m tempted to ask you how exactly you came upon such information, but I know the intricacies of the Heka ability would be lost on all of us. But still, would you tell us, if you can, where the BloodVeil is located?”

Lily nodded. “The question of where the BloodVeil is located…” her voice trailed off. “Well…I’ll let you decide for yourselves.”

With that, Kain watched the woman pull a small scarlet vial from her corset. The light from the chandelier played across its rough surface as Lily carefully unscrewed the cap.

“Is that—” Tamsyn began, her eyes glued to the vial.

“The Bloodwhisper Elixir, yes.” Lily whispered. “It took us three years to brew it to perfection.”

To Kain’s astonishment, lilac vapor started rising from the liquid inside. Its slow, almost purposeful motion gave the impression the smoke was conscious. As Kain thought this, Lily raised her hand.

“Quiet. Listen as the spirits speak.”

The instruction was pointless; a deathly quietude had already fallen upon the room. The smoke that had risen above them stopped suddenly. Kain saw it had taken the form of a woman. Draven’s pet bat, Zeus squeaked, fluttering its wings.

Lily’s lips twitched before she spoke. “Oh great spirit of blood. I call upon you in reverence. May we bother you to confirm a matter that affects us all?”

Kain watched the female spirit flutter, sending wisps of gas about her.

“Indeed. Ask what you must. But do it quickly. It is not proper for my consciousness to be here.”

The voice sounded shrill and far away, as though it came directly from beyond the grave. Kain saw that Draven’s face was contorted as the scene unfolded. He surmised Draven’s consternation stemmed from the witch-like nature of the ritual now unraveling in his house. Draven hated witches.

“Thank you,” Lily croaked. “Please. Tell us where the BloodVeil is currently residing.”

There was a long pause, during which the spirit seemed to freeze. Kain thought it might not respond as its breezy lilac essence faded. But then it emitted a hum before the eerie voice sounded.

“The Scarlet Incantatrix shall rise in two, where the goddess of three makes one.”

With that, the ghost’s essence coalesced into a single, thin thread of gas, streaking back into the scarlet vial. Kain was so enraptured in the spirit’s revelation that he jumped when Owl’s voice sounded beside him.

“A strange revelation,” he said. “But I think we can all agree where that place is.”

The Galloping Wolf

Two and a half miles from the Alphatenory Brotherhood, deep into the Shadowgrove forest, a large black wolf galloped. The woods were a blur as he whizzed through the beaten path he’d traveled every Opalesque (Opal) Moon since he was a teen. Being the first emergence of the moon following the six hours of dreamy darkness that was the Ebenveil Moon, the Opal Moon invigorated his body with its moist rays. His body now pulsing with raw, animalistic energy, the wolf accelerated through the foliage, leaping over an alder that had fallen across the trail. He was late, he thought as he gazed up at the waxing Opal Moon. He should have been with the young men from the onset of the Opal Moon, now he would only have a few short hours remaining until the Ashveil Moon—which meant another set of activities altogether.  He cursed himself for trekking too far away from the campus.

Tonight was a significant night at the Alphatenory Brotherhood. Given Mother Lysandra’s visit two nights ago concerning the bloodsuckers killing humans indiscriminately on the streets of Nocteraia, he had found it necessary to speed up the Brothers’ training regimen. As he neared the Alphatenory campus, a quartet of black-stone buildings, with an array of tall, pointed spires reaching skyward like steely, skeletal fingers, came into view. He decreased his velocity before coming to a dead stop by an Elm. On one of its twisted limbs were his clothes, by the trunk, his sandals.

Upon metamorphosing into his human guise, he now felt like Father Forsythe, the monkish old man overseeing the Alphatenory Brotherhood. He was wise enough to know the concept of the Brotherhood was an afterthought— the Mothers’ late realization of the importance of counterbalancing Beltraine’s feminine energy. But there was an unwitting but glorious oversight in their choice of Headmaster. Forsythe was grateful as he got to hone young men with gifts like his into loyal sentinels ultimately protecting Nocteraia. In some ways, the Mothers’ vision for a peaceful Nocteraia aligned with his, but of course, they would consider his true form an abomination. At least, two of the three sisters were sure to cast a stern rebuke if his true nature was discovered. As for the other, it was a long and complicated matter.

He pulled a watch out of his robes and saw that the activity he’d planned for the morning had to be postponed because of his tardiness. They should already be present in the “Ludus Lupus” (or the LL hall), he thought. Sighing, Forsythe bemoaned the fact that he wouldn’t be seeing what brand of Lycanthropy each young man would manifest. They too would be disappointed, he thought; though some would be relieved. After all, not everyone would survive the Wolf Games.

…

When Father Forsythe ambled through the large mahogany door of the Ludus Lupus Hall (LLH), he was met with loud cheers and claps. He smiled inwardly, but his expression was as cold as stone. Apparently, they were blissfully ignorant of the harrowing night they’d missed by a hair’s breadth. Forsythe harbored a fleeting thought of going through with the Wolf Games, but he instantly dismissed it. The moon phase most conducive to wolfish trait manifestation was the now waning Opal Moon. Attempting to persist with the Wolf Games between moon phases would expose the young men to a host of risks, including burnout and irreversible physical deformity. Those weren’t issues Forsythe wanted to deal with at this point, especially now with the Mothers breathing down his back. Now at the lectern, he stared quietly at the brothers. Just shy of thirty in number, the brothers were comprised of a combination of first, second, and third years. The chatter died as the young men saw he was about to begin his address.

“Good night, gentlemen,” Father Forsythe began. “Your excitement is quite amusing from where I stand. I suppose your enthusiasm is due to the fact that for many of you, it’s your first time in this underground space.” Forsythe paused, steeling himself to relay the disappointing news.

“The Wolf Games has been postponed until a later date.”

Forsythe braced for the reaction, which came as a slow rise of whispers and murmurs echoing in the cavernous space. Forsythe watched the brothers, a feeling of empathy taking root inside him. The brothers thought the Wolf Games would be fun and games—nothing more than a challenge of physicality and stamina. Forsythe with-held the fact that the Wolf Games was a bloody quinquennial tradition held to choose the cadre of lycans who would protect the gates of Alphatenory. So, there was no doubt they considered its postponement a disappointment. In truth, the postponement of the Games also postponed the deaths of some of the brothers he peered at through his monocle. Staring at their forlorn faces, Forsythe decided to rekindle some level of excitement in them. It was a promise he’d made to them before, one he wasn’t actually sure he could keep. Forsythe was about to make that announcement when someone among the boys forestalled him.

“When can we meet the sisters of Beltraine!?”

Forsythe saw it was Gibran, a rowdy first-year with shiny black hair, deep dimples, and green eyes. Forsythe knew him for one reason: he was his son, Jace’s best friend. He regarded Jace’s pale face now. Forsythe was a bit bothered Jace seemed to share all the traits of his mother and none from him.

“When can you meet the girls, you ask?” Forsythe repeated. “Very soon, actually. The Mothers and I already spoke about the importance of bringing Beltraine and Alphatenory into a more tightly-knit unit. To this end, gentlemen…” Forsythe paused. “There’s a trip planned for the Beltraine Sisterhood on the next Salvia Moon, which is due in a few nights.”

A raucous cheer rocketed through the hollow space. Forsythe watched them for a while as they enacted their usual teenage antics: high-fiving, and grinning with each other. Jace’s face remained impassive. Forsythe’s eyes darted to Gibran, who had broken from the throng of first years and was now fraternizing with the second-years behind them. To his surprise, one of the prefects he’d assigned to keep watch at the entrance of the LLH stumbled inside. The sandy-haired third-year seemed rattled as he made an ungainly beeline for him.

“All is well, Damion?” Forsythe said as he neared.

Damion didn’t respond, shoving a hand out at him. Forsythe saw a piece of folded parchment in it.

“A bat just delivered this, sir. Almost took my head off.”

Forsythe studied Damion for a while before taking the parchment.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “You and Reiko get the boys back on schedule. I’ll be in my office.”

Damion nodded, marching off. Forsythe unraveled the red cord around the parchment as he ascended the narrow corridor leading from the Ludus Lupus Hall to the chapel. At Damion’s mention of a bat delivering the scroll, Forsythe had already figured out who the message was from. But why was he contacting him now? As he flashed the kinks out of the parchment, a whiff of burnt coal hit his nostrils. The familiar insignia of a serpent coiled around a flaming sword was embossed at the top. Below that was a short message.

I need a favor. You owe me one. Meet me at the usual location this Ebenveil…

Forsythe reread the letter, turning the rough parchment over in his trembling hand. It was a different kind of pain when one becomes indebted to the devil, for when he came knocking, one knows their life will become that much darker and thicker with schemes of evil. Forsythe dropped the parchment as it blazed in his hand, pitching crimson fire from the floor.  

Artageca Magic

It was Emberglow at the Beltraine Sisterhood, and the quadrangle was filled with restless first years anticipating something special. Gloria, along with Faelina and Osara stood with the Dorm L cohort waiting for Mother Crimsonia. After sleeping through the remainder of the Ebenveil Moon and a portion of Ashveil, the first years were awakened with news the Mother of Justice was to host what they were told was an “important activity” that was a consequence of the speeches the Mothers made in the chapel following the vampire banishing.

The air was cold, the statues awash with the glow of the brilliant full moon of Emberglow, casting long shadows on the compound. Gloria noticed Cassandra was eyeing her amid her friends, Timea and Philippa. Cursing inwardly, Gloria avoided eye- contact. Osara, who’d been trying to mimic Lystra in conjuring a pair of luminous butterflies, nudged her.

“What’s her problem?” she asked, shoving her head in Cassandra’s direction.

Gloria shrugged. “Who knows? I don’t really care.”

“Why does she hate you so much, Gloria? It’s weird.”

Faelina spoke, her voice gravelly as though she were sick.

“Maybe she wished she could channel. It’s kinda unique.”

“I doubt it,” Gloria said as Mother Crimsonia and her vestal, Obsidia approached from her cabin next to the chapel. From a distance, her robe appeared to be a shroud of darkness, billowing gently in the cold wind like the shadowy wings of a raven.

“It’s something though. You two haven’t had a confrontation before, have you?” Osara chimed.

“I think we were admitted into Beltraine at the same time,” Gloria replied contemplatively.

Osara narrowed her eyes. “It must be something relating to that then.”

They turned to face Mother Crimsonia, who had positioned herself in the middle of the arc of students surrounding the statue of the three-faced Crown Goddess. Beside the Mother were the three prefects of each dorm: Rowan from Dorm L, Morgana from Dorm M, and Thalia from Dorm C. Morgana was a short, red-haired girl with cat eyes. She looked like a fairy, dressed in a flashy aquamarine corset, its close fit revealing her curves. Gloria had heard Morgana was a prodigy at spellweaving. Thalia was an extremely attractive medium-built girl with sad brown eyes. Gloria remembered vividly that Thalia was the one who had led her (after she’d revived from unconsciousness) from one of the Mothers’ cottages to her Dorm on the night she was recruited. Thalia winked at her now, smiling.

“Goodnight students,” Mother Crimsonia’s commanding voice sounded, locking everyone into rapt attention. “In light of what we discussed last Ebenveil, my sisters and I have decided it is prudent to get you prepared to face any mortal confrontation. The activity we’re about to participate in was initially scheduled for the days leading up to your departure from Beltraine, but circumstances have changed that. So, here we are.”

Gloria wondered about the imminent activity, wary that her inability to perform magic might make things awkward for her.

Crimsonia made an arc-like gesture with her right hand, conjuring a bright white trail in its wake. Without warning, a square parchment fell before Gloria. Stepping backward in surprise, she saw that everyone else had a similar parchment at their feet.

“Oop!” Osara exclaimed, her head swiveling around her.

Crimsonia’s voice sounded once more. “Before each of you is your natal chart. Pick it up and peruse it. Take note of your sun sign, ascendant sign, and moon sign.”

Gloria observed as everyone followed Crimsonia’s instruction, bending and hoisting their parchments to their faces. Gloria raised hers. Engraved on the rough parchment was a gold, double-rimmed wheel, segmented by equidistant lines into twelve sections. At the head of the segments, etched close to the circumference, were stylized text of a zodiac sign. Below some of them in the space between the lines were symbols, which Gloria knew represented planets. Faelina peeked over at Gloria’s natal chart.

“What are your signs?” she asked.

Gloria had never given credence to astrology, thinking it was a sham. Before now, she could barely remember her sun sign, let alone her ascendant and moon signs.

“It seems like my sun sign is Virgo, ascendant in Taurus, and moon in Scorpio.”

“We share the same moon sign,” Faelina quipped. “But my ascendant sign is Aries, and sun sign, Sagittarius.”

“Osara, what’s your three?” Gloria asked.

But before Osara could respond, Mother Crimsonia’s voice rang through the quadrangle once more.

“I trust you have made note of your three vital signs, termed as your triad. Let us move on to the next step.” Crimsonia nodded to the three prefects of the respective dorms, sending them scampering away toward the chapel. When the three disappeared inside the chapel, Crimsonia spoke again.

“Each zodiac sign is associated with one of the four elements. The first sign is Aries, which is associated with fire. Next is Taurus, which is an earth sign. Gemini and Cancer follow…air and water signs respectively. The remainder of the signs follow that pattern. So, Leo, which follows Cancer, is a fire sign, Virgo…earth, and so on.”

“Interesting,” Osara hummed as the three prefects returned. Gloria watched Rowan and Thalia struggling with what looked to Gloria to be a long, cuboidal steel box. Its contents rattled as the pair carried it.

“What’s that?” Faelina mused.

Gloria shrugged. “Probably items to help us with the magic we’re about to learn.”

“Listen up,” Crimsonia continued. “I need you to focus for this part. The system you’re about to learn is called, ‘ARTAGECA’. I’m going to demonstrate how it works.”

Her crimson hair dazzling under the moonlight, the Mother of Justice glanced into the crowd, her gray eyes settling on a throng of first-year Dorm M students.

“You,” she pointed. “In the plaid blouse. Join me here.”

Gloria watched the freckled Dorm M girl stiffen, her cohort shunting her on. Finally, the girl seemed to thaw her legs enough to make her way gingerly to the center, stealing nervous glances behind her.

“What is your name, dear?” Crimsonia asked.

“Esther.”

“And Esther, what are your sun and ascendant signs?”

The girl seemed to think about it, and for a moment, Gloria thought she wouldn’t respond. But her soft voice sounded.

“Ascendant sign, Sagittarius… sun sign, Leo.”

Smiling, Crimsonia nodded. “A girl after my own heart. You have a fire-based ascendant sign in Sagittarius, meaning you can naturally wield the power of fire. Your sun sign…Leo, is also a fire sign, which means you channel your fire through your voice…with spells and incantations.” She paused, motioning for the three prefects to step away.

“Let us try to be practical,” Mother Crimsonia said. “The efficacy of your magic depends on your level of intent. Esther, recite this spell, F-L-A-M-U-L-A! Aim it at me, and try to imagine me as an enemy, perhaps someone who harmed a person you hold dear.”

The Mother broke the spell up into syllables for Esther, who seemed to have gotten over her nerves, her posture upright and attentive.

“Most exciting night ever!” Osara chirped. “We never do anything like this!”

“FLAMULA!” Esther bellowed, louder and more confident than Gloria had imagined the girl capable of. A crack sounded, and then a small spark appeared between the first-year and Mother Crimsonia. A second later, it floated lazily to the ground, extinguished.

“A remarkable effort,” Crimsonia said, placing her hands together. “But you can do better. I’ll offer you some…encouragement.”

Gloria watched as Crimsonia placed a wizened hand on her temples. At first, Gloria didn’t understand the gesture. But it didn’t take long for Esther to react, contorting her face as though under some distress.

“Try again,” Crimsonia instructed. “Or maybe you’re too weak to even—”

“FLAMULA!” Esther bellowed, clearly riled up by the Mother’s words.

Gloria watched awe-struck as a cobalt-blue fire blazed through the air, the sound echoing like a whipcrack. The hem of Mother Crimsonia’s robes caught fire.

“Woah!” Faelina exclaimed. “That’s sooo cool!”

“You mean hot?” Osara joked.

Faelina rolled her eyes. “Maybe there is magic to help you with your bad jokes.”

Crimsonia extinguished the flame with a casual flick of her wrist.

“Much better,” she chimed, clapping. “You may retreat, Esther. You have great potential.”

Turning to the prefects, Crimsonia said, “The prefects were already taught Artageca in preparation for this demonstration. Morgana, I believe you share Esther’s triad. Attack me with any of the fire-based spells I taught you. Don’t hold back. I need your peers to appreciate how powerful Artageca magic is.”

“Are you certain I shouldn’t hold back, Mother? I’ve gotten quite good with Pyrae magic.”

“Smug, aren’t we?” Crimsonia replied casually. “Thank you for using that word, Morgana. Pyrae is the title given to witches who wield fire. Aerae for those who command air, Terrae for earth-based magicians, and Hydrae for water witches.” Crimsonia leveled her gaze at Morgana. “Shoot!”

Morgana smirked momentarily. But her expression shifted almost immediately into one of pure concentration.

“INCENDIA VITA!”

Gloria heard a great rumble before she saw the effect of the spell. A mass of fiery whips descended from the sky, their progress like orange snakes jetting toward Crimsonia at lightning speed.

A huge gasp escaped either Faelina or Osara, Gloria didn’t know which, for her attention was on the display before her.  Crimsonia’s lips twitched, but nothing seemed to happen. There was a collective shriek from the sisters as Morgana’s spell roared. The bundle of serpentine whips lashed the Mother, setting her robes ablaze.

“Did that go wrong, or…” Osara began, her head flashing about her in search of answers. Just as she said it, the image of the burning witch transformed. For a while, Gloria didn’t know what she was seeing through the flickering lilac obscuring the shadow it had now engulfed.

“Well done, Morgana!” A voice erupted from somewhere.

To Gloria’s utter shock, Crimsonia’s form spun itself from the three-faced statue of the Crown Goddess as though she had somehow merged with it. By now, the sisters were in a frenzy, gazing from the Mother of Justice to the now weakening flames.

“That was really impressive,” Faelina quipped, nodding.

Gloria was just now understanding what had happened: the witch had managed to substitute her body, the space she occupied only seconds before replaced with what seemed to be a life-size marble stone.

“Thank you for that impressive piece of Pyrae magic, Morgana,” Crimsonia began.“Your spell forced me to reveal another level to the Artageca magic system.” She paused, running a hand through her long red hair.

“Defense is crucial when dealing with magic. And since my ascendant is a fire sign, I had no choice but to base my defense around fire, which I manifested vocally, though you might not have heard me speak. It is not easy to defend against an attack based around the same sign as your ascendant sign. So what I did, I used fire in combination with my moon sign, which is earth-based, to forge a stone. I also had to employ morphic arts to switch places.”

Cassandra’s hand shot up as Crimsonia said this. Gloria felt a surge of revulsion at the sight of her, such that it caused a physical burning in the pit of her stomach.

“Yes, Cassandra? You have a question?”

“Mother. Had you been an earth ascendant instead of fire, could you have countered the fire more easily without having to revert to your moon sign?”

Crimsonia nodded. “Exactly right. If I were a Terrae, I could have conjured the stone or anything made out of earth to take the blow. Another option for a fire ascendant on the defense is to counterattack using fire. I didn’t opt for this for obvious reasons.”

Crimsonia glanced at the now charred stone, smoke rising from its smoldering mass.

“Any other questions before I leave you to practice? Ebenveil is approaching.”

Gloria wondered how vampires featured in this magic system. Was her inability to perform magic because she was a vampire?

A tall, gaunt girl from Dorm C rose her hand.

“Yes, Scarlet?”

“Mother, I see that I’m an air-based ascendant and a water-based sun sign. How do I do magic?”

Crimsonia’s eyes widened. “That is a unique Aerae combination, Scarlet. And none of the prefects have a water-based sun sign. Remember, your sun sign tells how your ascendant element is channeled. Since your ascendant sign is air based, you naturally channel air. However, your combination also hints at a subtler form of magic, think telepathy, emotional magic, healing, and illusions. It’s a pity Mother Meirothea couldn’t make it here tonight. She is an adept Aerae. Her demonstration would have made for an extremely entertaining demonstration. But…we’ll leave that demonstration for another day. Again, your ascendant is air-based, that means your magic is based around that element. One part of your magic is the physical ability to command the atmosphere, the other part deals with the mind. To manifest that air, seeing that your sun sign is water based, you channel through bodily movement since you’re a water-based sun sign.”

“This gets deep!” Faelina exclaimed.

“You have no idea,” Osara said, studying her natal chart.

Mother Crimsonia said, “We’ll give you three nights by yourself with your newfound knowledge of Artageca magic. After those three nights, we’ll proceed into more complex Artageca magic. Practice and reading should be your mantra during these nights. And of course, the Astrum is always available to explore.”

With that, Mother Crimsonia bowed before whispering something to Thalia, who nodded in response. Then, the Mother of Justice sauntered off toward the chapel with Obsidia in tow floating lazily behind her.

“No bed for me tonight, I guess,” Osara chimed. “I’m going to the Astrum right now to find out every single thing about my Pyrae magic.”

Gloria had all but forgotten about the Astrum. The Astrum Tomearium, fondly called ‘The Astrum’, was practically the library of Beltraine. It was located in the crypt of the chapel, housing hundreds of books, grimoires, and scrolls containing all things magical. As the sisters headed to their respective quarters, Gloria felt the rumblings of hunger inside her stomach. She was getting hungry more frequently nowadays, she realized. Yes, she was on board with Osara’s Astrum plan, but there were more pressing matters to address. Gloria hoped Faelina was up for a bit of intimacy tonight.

Three Lycan Boys

Half a mile to the east of the Beltraine Sisterhood, three boys sat shirtless under a canopy of trees. The Alphatenory Brotherhood loomed high above them as if reaching for the moon in the starless sky. The tallest of the three stood, staring incredulously at the other two, who avoided his gaze as they panted for air.

“For people facing death, you two sure are casual.”

The boy with the pale face and hazel eyes looked up at him, sweat raining down his face. A pang of panic gripped him as he considered what failing tonight meant.

“It's not working, Hale. We did everything,” he groaned, wiping sweat dribbling into his eyes.

Beside him, his best friend, Gibran had his head bowed, his body shaking from exhaustion.

Hale grinned, shaking his head. “Everything, Jace? I guess I’ll just go then. I have nothing more to show. Just know you two are dead if you can’t transform before the Wolf Games.” With that, he walked off, already muscling a shirt over his head. “Besides,” Hale continued, his black eyes upon them once more, “it will be entertaining to watch your throats torn out by actual wolves anyway.”

“Wait!”

Jace watched as Gibran rose, leaning on a cypress for support.

“We didn’t sneak out here for nothing. We have to transform tonight,” Gibran said gravely. “Maybe you should transform, Hale. Maybe we'll see something that inspires us.”

Hale shot Gibran a stare of annoyance, before peering back at  Alphatenory. For a while, Jace thought Hale would not indulge them any further. Finally, he dropped his shoulders, retreating into the bare space surrounded by foliage.

“Fine. But this is the last thing I'll show before leaving.” Hale fixed Jace a steady stare. “We shouldn’t be here. If your father finds out—”

“He’s away on business,” Jace said quickly. “We have time.”

 Hale pulled his shirt back off. “I still can't believe you of all people are having such a hard time transforming. I mean...as Father Forsythe's son I’d have thought—”

“Just get on with it, Jace barked, his temper rising.”

Hale glowered at him. Gibran pushed himself from the cypress, readying himself for Hale’s demonstration.

“Pardon him, Hale,” Gibran said. “Jace has severe daddy issues.”

Rising, Jace sniggered. Hale angled his head skyward, tonight’s Emberglow Moon illuminating his full black hair.

“You really won't learn much from me transforming, he said wistfully. It’s not something you can learn to do by just watching. When I first learned to do it, I had to work myself almost to death through exhaustion, then my wolf form showed itself. Besides, even if by some miracle you transform tonight, you need to be able to do it at will.”

With that, Jace watched as Hale crouched, getting down on all fours. It only took a few feral grunts for Jace to appreciate what Hale meant by transforming at will. The pair of Jace and Gibran watched as his back lifted with a sick pop. It was then that Jace realized the gravity of what was happening. What if Hale attacked them? His heart surging, Jace assumed a defensive stance as if he could ward off an attack in his weak, un-transformed state. Gibran backed away as Hale’s bones shifted visibly under his skin, pulsing, dislocating, and extending as though his body was being riddled by a heretofore latent parasite. Jace swore under his breath as Hale’s transformation progressed until he was no longer recognizable. Most transformed was Hale’s mouth, which was elongating into a snout. Gray fur spiking out of his skin, Hale’s eyes became a fierce amber, his form distorting grotesquely.

“Damn!” Gibran yelled, backing away even further, his eyes a mixture of terror and admiration. Jace cowered as Hale rose his body from the ground as a towering seven-foot gray wolf. At that moment the air seemed to freeze, silence draping the Shadowgrove forest like an angry spirit. Rearing on its hindquarters, the wolf released an ear-splitting howl. Jace felt his insides vibrate as all his bravery left him. The next sequence of events happened as if in a blur. Jace was startled by a sudden movement to his left, causing him to prize his eyes from the wolf. As Jace’s eyes quickly identified the source of the movement, he froze. Gibran had fallen and was now writhing on the roots of the cypress.

“Gibran?” His voice came out as a throaty whisper. But Jace knew his friend probably didn't hear him as he thrashed like a madman, his bare flesh scraping against the forest floor. What the hell was happening? Hazarding a glance at the wolf, he stepped toward the now howling Gibran, whose writhing had now evolved into stiff, uncontrolled spasms. Jace stopped in his tracks, only now realizing what was happening. Another powerful howl from Hale reverberated through the forest, threatening to liquefy his insides. Gibran's left leg twisted at an impossible angle, spurring a loud cry from the brother in the throes of transformation. Gibran’s face changed before his very eyes. Another harrowing moment passed in which Gibran’s form morphed just as Hale’s had. And before long Jace was staring wide-eyed at a black wolf with wild brown eyes. For the first time tonight, Jace feared for his life. His feet wavered beneath him as the two towering wolves circled him. His heart thundering against his bare chest, cold sweat drained down Jace’s back as his mind floundered under the weight of what to do.  Gibran’s footfalls shook the forest ground as he closed in slowly, his massive teeth bared, dripping saliva. Then, one of the beasts lunged, faster than sight faster than Jace’s brain could fathom.

Tamsyn Blackcross

 It was the Ashveil Moon at the Blackcross castle when Tamsyn Blackcross sat cross-legged inside her room writing in her diary. She'd been feeling depressed ever since the meeting with the leaders of the vampire houses. Of all the persons her father could send on the reconnaissance mission at the Beltraine Sisterhood, he chose to send Kain, the only person she ever loved. Kain’s face flashed into her mind even now as the quill bled her wounded mind onto the rough parchment. What would she do if he died on the mission? Tamsyn took a deep breath, trying to ease the tension gripping her mind like a black serpent. Her heart felt like a dead weight inside her chest, anchoring her to the lowest depths of her emotions. Tamsyn laughed nervously despite her depression. Her cat, Theo leaped onto the bed, rubbing its black fur on her hand. Who knew she could be so soppy over a boy? she thought. But Kain wasn't an ordinary boy. The Fangsworth had managed to ensnare her heart the second she saw him. It was, for want of a better word, magical.

Tamsyn had accompanied her father to the Fangsworth castle to settle a disagreement Draven had with Vain (Kain's father) wanting his house to be separated politically from the other three vampire houses. As expected, Draven was livid at this suggestion and proceeded to pay Vain a visit. Tamsyn had thought there would be violence, her father’s veins bulging in his face throughout the journey to the Fangsworth mansion. The most terrifying thing, however, was his silence. Draven was usually talkative, but that night, his rage made him mute, and Tamsyn knew he was at the point where the only words he could utter were with his bestial vampiric energy. Tamsyn was wise enough to simply fly beside him as if she wasn't there. They had arrived at the Fangsworth mansion a few hours shy of the Salvia Moon, Draven insisting the risk was worth taking. It was Kain who greeted them at the gate with a rose in his hands. After he motioned for Draven to enter the premises, Tamsyn was left to stare at Kain in awkward silence as Draven made his way into the Fangsworth house. Strangely, in spite of the strained silence stretching between them, she could not pry her eyes from Kain’s face. His features weren't particularly handsome with a crooked nose, razor-sharp jawlines, and tame brown eyes. But he’d offered a nervous smile that moved her to speech. Tamsyn had asked him if the rose was for her, cringing as Kain’s eyes betrayed his grief before he responded. Kain broke eye contact for the first time that night, shaking his head sorrowfully. The rose was to be placed on his brother's grave. Kain’s brother had died three years prior at the Beltraine Sisterhood in what was a reconnaissance mission gone wrong. Ironically, it was her father who had sanctioned the mission.

Sad though it was, Kain’s grief was the perfect compost that fed their deep bond from on. On that night, while Draven and Kain warred between themselves, Tamsyn and Kain had chatted in earnest about subjects ranging from vampire families to pet animals. She’d followed him into the forest to memorialize his dead brother. From there, they decided to go into the city, bonding together like long-lost lovers who, by fate and serendipity, had found their way back to each other. They’d even kissed with human blood on their lips, even as the hour of the Salvia Moon approached. A true testament to their otherworldly connection, Tamsyn had revealed her deepest secret to him: her magic. She’d shown it by playfully changing his hair from black to pink without ever feeling judged. A weight she hadn’t known she carried, had lifted with the revelation of such a deathly thing for vampires to possess. They flew back to the Fangsworth mansion to find both Vain and Draven waiting on their return. Draven had chastised her for running off with Kain, but she had known even then that his wrath would be brought to bear on her when they returned to the Blackcross Castle. Perhaps Draven had known even then that she had managed to form a strong relationship with Kain, for his chastisement persisted until long after that night, his scathing remarks on the topic randomly seeping into casual discussions with him.

“TAMSYN!”

Draven’s rumbling voice jerked her from her thoughts and her diary. She rubbed her eyes as if she'd just awakened from a deep sleep. Tamsyn shoved the diary from her lap and streaked out the door, almost barreling into the wardrobe astride the door. Blazing through the sprawling castle still took a minute before she reached the source of the call.

“Father?”

Tamsyn was surprised to see Draven with the leader of the Nightcreed house, Owl Nightcreed seated in the guest room. They were playing a card game—Tamsyn guessed Ace of Bones, Draven’s favorite.

“Tamsyn dear,” Draven's gravelly voice sounded. “Owl and I need a favor from you posthaste.” He paused, taking a swig of C-rum— a disgusting beer made from fermented blood and barley. Tamsyn smelled its sickening scent from where she was.

“Step inside, Tamsyn. We don't bite,” Draven quipped, releasing a hearty cackle that seemed more like a growl.

Owl smiled, fumbling with a pair of ruby-red dice. Tamsyn entered slowly, wondering what favor her father was asking of her. Draven never asked for favors from her.

“What can I do for you, father?” she said.

Draven’s face took on one of seriousness.

“Not quite for me, really, but for the vampire community. You see, Owl and I hadn't realized the Salvia Moon will soon be upon us. We are planning to execute the mission following Salvia. Owl and I had planned on consulting with the Moonshadows concerning our reconnaissance mission at Beltraine. We already met once to discuss the particulars, but Lily had promised more information about Beltraine and the three hags who lead them.”

Draven paused, staring at Owl, who uncrossed his legs.

Owl continued, “Tamsyn, we need you to head to the Moonshadow mansion and get this information in order for us to finalize the planning.”

Tamsyn sighed inwardly. It was a task she was loath to do since she wasn't particularly fond of Lily. In fact, she wasn't fond of a great majority of the leaders of the vampire houses, including her own father.

“Why don't you send a note with Zeus, father?” she inquired. “It would be much quicker and safer.” Tamsyn now realized Draven's bat wasn't in the room.

“Zeus is out on an undertaking, and so is Owl’s raven,” Draven stated. “Do you object to this simple task?” he asked testily, casting his deep red eyes on her.

Tamsyn avoided them, answering swiftly.

“Not at all, father. I'll go now.”

Draven sat back in his ornate chair.

“Brilliant! Tamsyn…avoid the Dunfar forest. The wolves are occupying that space. You wouldn’t want to encounter any of them.”

“No problem, father. I’ll just go through the city.”

Draven nodded, turning to Owl. She took this as her cue to leave, turning her face away, lest her disgust register on it.

…

Five minutes later, Tamsyn headed through the obsidian gates of the Blackcross manor. She nodded to Jacques, one of the guards, as she passed, shivering in the chill threatening to breach her bones. She was decked in a black trench coat tied at the waist, black high-top boots, a silky gray scarf, and black leather gloves. Tamsyn decided not to fly tonight; she wanted to conserve energy. Tamsyn walked briskly down the steep hill lined with pine trees and marble statues bearing the likenesses of famous Blackcrosses from antiquity. As she reached the hill’s foot, her mind drifted to Kain again. She might pay him a surprise visit tonight, she thought. Her exit from the hill flung her directly into the gothic city. She realized it had been a while since she ventured out. She’d been keeping herself holed up in the castle for too long. Too lazy to hunt, Tamsyn had been subsisting on the concubines Draven frequently brought back from his hunt.

The Vestalmount Chapel loomed ahead, with its peculiar silver walls and intricate array of spiked spires. A bastion for witches, the Vestalmount Chapel was the meeting place of witches in high places, who met to discuss witch politics— matters such as the subjugation methods of vampires, lycan control, and oversight of magical practices. Tamsyn found it interesting the building existed so close to the ruling vampire house, the Blackcross castle. As Tamsyn progressed, she was surprised to see the city teeming with activity. People moved about, if not walking by her, then loitering in groups under fluorescent street lights or in pubs. It was common knowledge that humans tended to venture more frequently into the city on or close to the Salvia Moon—  when the chances of being attacked by someone like her were slimmer.

Tamsyn spotted a middle-aged man coming her way, his hands in his pockets to keep himself from the cold. Tamsyn smiled, noting the pointlessness of such a simple act when death could erase its meaning. She was upon him before his mind knew its fate was an intimate kiss with the black lips of oblivion. Tamsyn held his face like a lover as she took him, gulping down all that his veins had to offer. When she finally hoisted her head from his neck, the man tried to say something, but instead of words was a deathly rattle as he peered at her with terror-stricken eyes. 

“Shh!” she cooed, putting a finger on his lips. “Don't spoil the moment.” The man's hands rose slowly, in what was a woefully delayed reaction to her onslaught. Tamsyn watched as they fell limp, his eyes glossing over. Wiping her mouth, she shoved him from her, continuing her walk through the city. She felt the blood doing things inside her, raising her mood a bit. Energized, she streaked through the city, a haze of artificial lights whizzing by her.

A few minutes later, she reached the end of the cityscape, turning onto a dirt track about a half mile from the Shadowgrove forest. The building of the Alphatenory Brotherhood loomed large in its midst with thick mist shrouding its arched apex. The Moonshadow mansion was just up ahead. Its bland aesthetic was nowhere near as impressive as either the Blackcross or Nightcreed mansions with its dull gray walls and plain windows. Its architecture was nevertheless interesting. The mansion was designed with an oblong shape recalling a massive, misshapen cube. Tamsyn strolled up to a wheeled gate with the Moonshadow insignia worked across its wrought iron: an ornate ‘M’. A burly, hog-nosed guard stumbled from a booth to greet her.

“Good night, miss. The Moonshadow house isn't taking any—”

“I’m the Vampire King's daughter, Tamsyn Blackcross.” Tamsyn interjected haughtily, already annoyed.

The guard held his hands up defensively. “Sorry, ma’am. How can I help you?”

For a second, Tamsyn considered requesting Noctua, (second in command in the Moonshadow house) instead of Lily but decided against it. Draven had taken care to single Lily out as the one to relay the requested information using Heka.

“Lily has some urgent information for the Blackcross house,” she grumbled to the guard. “I’m seeking to meet with her.”

The guard nodded like a buffoon, his chin touching his chest as he did. Tamsyn ambled through the opening gate, spotting Lily at once. She sat on the porch with a vampire she did not recognize. The Moonshadow leader beckoned her with her hands, rising. Tamsyn arrowed up the cobblestone path eager to get the meeting over with.

“Tamsyn Blackcross in the flesh!” Lily chimed.

The vampire beside Lily nodded at her, his gray eyes settling on her. Tamsyn felt uneasy under his gaze.

“Lily,” Tamsyn acknowledged, nodding.

“Have you met?” Lily asked, jabbing a thumb at her gray-eyed company. “This my brother, Rael. He's obsessed with the Blackcross legacy.”

Tamsyn avoided the question, nodding nonchalantly in Rael’s direction, avoiding his gaze.

“Draven is seeking information you promised.”

Lily gazed at her for a while, her heart-shaped face creased in confusion.

“Information?” she repeated.

“About the reconnaissance at Beltraine?” Tamsyn added.

“Ah!” Lily smiled. “Yes, I promised to use Heka again to consult with the spirits.”

“Do you have anything to report?” Tamsyn asked, her words stumbling from her almost mechanically. She longed to be done here. 

“No, actually.” Lily took a seat beside Rael, who was still studying her. Lily continued, “Heka is good at calling, but the vampire ancestors don’t always answer. I already told Draven everything they revealed about the Sisterhood.”

Tamsyn sighed inwardly, miffed that she’d come here for no reason.

“I see.”

Rael, who finally took his eyes off her, grasped Lily's wrist. Lily leaned over to him as he whispered something to her. Tamsyn would have left, but something held her in place. Rael Moonshadow’s gray eyes found her once more as he continued whispering to Lily, who rose from her seat again, her expression impassive. Her voice sounded once more, and Tamsyn noted it was not her usual excited voice that issued from her.

“I have something to tell you, Tamsyn,” she said. “Logic says I shouldn't, but I have always trusted my intuition.”

“What is it, Lily?” Tamsyn asked.

Lily was silent, looking past her at nothing in particular.

“One of us will die at the reconnaissance mission.”

A shudder crept up Tamsyn's spine, the revelation parching her mouth. She tried to maintain a modicum of Blackcross poise, but she knew her face betrayed her rattled mind. When Tamsyn asked the obvious question, she did it slowly, as though her mind had already feared the worst.

“Who is it... who will die at Beltraine?”

An agonizing moment passed in silence. It wasn't Lily who responded. Rael’s unnerving drawl startled her as he spoke for the first time.

“Fangsworth.”

Her Blood Beckons

With Mother Crimsonia now gone, having introduced the sisters to Artageca magic, Gloria walked alongside Faelina and Osara to Dorm L. Her scar pulsed at her navel as she progressed, twisting uncomfortably under her flesh as if a parasite was struggling to free itself from her body. Placing a hand on her stomach, she inhaled deeply, trying to relax. The scar had never done that before, and she wondered if it had something to do with her hunger. Osara pointed at a few sisters ahead of them, who were making a beeline for an open space to the east of the Dorm. Gloria gazed at them weakly.

“Horny for magic, they are,” Osara said.

 “Aren't you?” Faelina equipped as they stepped through the doors of the main hall. Gloria was surprised to see a group of sisters gathered around the tall form of Lystra. A pair of luminescent blue butterflies were fluttering above her mohawk.

 “Lystra is showing Artageca,” Faelina chimed, already approaching.

Gloria would have been more excited had her hunger not reduced her to a languid mess. She tapped Faelina on her shoulder, hoping her eyes would explain her predicament. The girl nodded but continued toward the group. Presently, Mother Lysandra’s vestal, Aurelius swooped over them as Gloria nudged Faelina again. 

“That bad, huh?” Faelina whispered.

Gloria nodded but said nothing. Osara was watching her through narrowed eyes.

 “You okay, Gloria?” she asked. “You look weird.”

Gloria smiled, knowing it came out more like a grimace. 

“Still haven’t fully recovered from channeling,” she said. “Drained me more than I realized.”

It was only a half-truth, one Gloria lacked the energy to care if she didn’t believe her. Osara gazed at her, and for a while, Gloria thought she would continue interrogating her. But the moment passed. Osara nodded, glancing at Faelina.

“I’m gonna go check out what Lystra’s doing,” she said. “You coming?”

Faelina shrugged. “I’m going to my room to change. Meet you back here before we head to the Astrum?”

Osara’s head flitted from Gloria to Faelina. “Fine.” With that, she strolled over to the gathering as Lystra’s butterflies disintegrated into granules of blue dust. Her eyes dimming, Gloria followed Faelina up the stairs and into their dark quarters.

The room was extra chilly as the windows were left open, the breeze ruffling the curtains. Gloria watched lustily as Faelina headed for the restroom. Did she not understand the urgency of her situation? Suddenly, out of pure impulse, Gloria blazed over to her and took her from behind, forcing Faelina’s head to the side. Faelina stiffened against her as she buried her face in her neck. Faelina’s blood tasted like hot milk as she sucked her more aggressively than ever before. Faelina moaned as she fed. Weak and docile, Gloria had to hold her firmly to prevent her from falling. Colors came back to her vision as the blood enlivened her. But with it came something else. When Gloria opened her eyes, the sight of Faelina draped against her stirred something inside her so that she dug even deeper into the girl’s veins. Faelina writhed, trying to free herself, but Gloria held her in place. What if she didn't stop? Gloria thought. What if she just drank until Faelina's blood was done?

“Gloria!”

Faelina’s voice sounded frantic and far away. Faelina braced her with her elbows, a clear signal for her to stop. Gloria ignored it, siphoning yet more of her blood. She could literally feel the girl's life force waning. Somehow, this spurred her on even further, until she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her reflection chilled her: Eyes a shade of red, her hair fluttering madly from the wind issuing from the window, Gloria recoiled from her frightening image. She didn’t see a vampire but something more ancient, more evil. Gloria retreated slowly, trying to pry her eyes from her mortifying reflection. Faelina’s feet wobbled, her teal bodice stained with her blood. She began staggering aimlessly. She lost too much blood, Gloria realized, catching her before she fell. Gloria held her as bliss eclipsed everything, blossoming inside her like a dark flower. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours with her arms around Faelina, holding her close like a lover as her euphoria withered. This made way for heartrending guilt, which almost moved Gloria to tears. Faelina shivered against her, her bare neck still oozing blood.

 “So sorry,” she breathed, supporting Faelina to her bed. The thorn of guilt pricked her so intensely that she could feel her eyes actually welling with tears. She could have easily killed her best friend. What would happen then? How would she survive without sustenance? Gloria lowered Faelina’s limp form on the bed. She noticed a gold-rimmed, jade envelope on her pillow. Embossed on it in golden letters were Faelina’s name and three letters: FAE. Gloria paused, studying the envelope. Turning, she saw a similar note on her bed, the gold lining shimmering under the moonlight. The gong struck, signifying the end of Ashveil and the start of Emberglow. Taking a final glance at Faelina, who seemed to have fallen asleep, Gloria stepped toward her envelope, almost barreling into the bed from the energy Faelina’s blood infused her with. Her letter was plain black with her name written in cursive. Under that were three letters: EEE. Gloria opened it and read the letter therein. 

Gloria. Your natal chart shows your Artageca triad is Earth-Earth-Earth. This triad is quite rare: An individual’s ascendant, sun, and moon signs are usually distinct. Your triad, being a triple, means the rules surrounding the execution of your magic vary somewhat from the norm. We have decided to group sisters according to their triads in the upcoming drills. This will be done so that we can better tailor training to particular affinities. Given your earth-based ascendant, you will be grouped with the Terrae lot. In the meantime, we suggest you visit the Astrum to glean more information on Terrae magic.

With regards

L.

The Astrum

Gloria found herself reposed on a narrow bed made of soft vermilion cotton, sweat streaming down her face in torrents. She sat up quickly, studying the dingy room she was housed in. A ceramic candelabra affixed to one corner held candles emitting a soft light that barely pierced the room’s gloom. Where was she? Gloria knew she wasn’t in her room at Beltraine, but a niggling intuition told her she’d been here before. A scent of jasmine played on the air as Gloria marinated in confusion, her eyes slowly getting accustomed to the darkness. A gut-wrenching hunger assailed her presently, drawing a shallow gasp from her. A downward glance upon herself petrified her. The narrow bed she thought she sat upon wasn't a bed at all. Gloria rose out of it at once, panic overcoming her. Her feet on cold concrete, she peered at the object she’d just climbed out of. Its polished mahogany reflected the light from the candles. Morbid, the open coffin seemed to offer her a red embrace, its blood-red interior chilling her. A frantic glance around her revealed the room (if it could be called a room) had no doors nor windows to escape through. Gloria doubled over as another bout of pain racked her stomach like labor pain. She held her stomach gingerly, her hands touching bare flesh. A downward glance at herself revealed her nakedness. Her scar had snaked its way to the region just beneath her breasts, branching toward her armpits. The dark, twisted grooves the scar charted across her flesh resembled black serpents, leaking blood from the jagged edges. What the hell was happening to her? Her knees weakening, she held on to the edge of the coffin for support. Maybe they had found out she was a vampire and had confined her, she thought, her heartbeat quickening. Eyes widening as she sensed the approach of another episode of mind-numbing convulsion, Gloria fell to her knees, howling as the pain barrelled through her like a blinding storm of razors. She wanted blood…needed it. What wouldn’t she do to kill for blood right now? Through her blurring vision, Gloria caught sight of an ornate ‘A’ engraved onto the cold concrete. Though she couldn't make any sense of it, again a strange intuition told her it meant something. Beneath the ‘A’ was another engraving resembling some sort of tree. The familiarity of not only the engraving, but the entire scenario grew the more she stared. As it related to the engraving, Gloria was certain that unraveling its meaning was tantamount to deciphering something about herself and her past. Just then, the light from the candelabra blew out. Her mind faded to black.

Gloria woke sweating with Faelina above her bed.

“The hell, Gloria!” she grumbled, shaking her head.

“What?” Gloria sat up groggily, wiping her forehead. As terrifying as it was, she tried to hold on to the vestiges of her dream, which was already slipping from her mind.

“You sleep like a dead goat…right through the gong.” Faelina sat on her bed, studying her. “Were you dreaming? You kept twitching and mumbling strange words.”

Gloria didn’t answer, studying Faelina in turn. Gloria’s mind ran on what happened a few hours ago—when she almost drained Faelina of blood.   

“Are you alright? I’m really sorry about earlier. Got carried away.” Gloria fidgeted under the covers as her guilt pricked at her afresh.

Faelina nodded, and in the ensuing silence, Gloria noted she’d wrapped another scarf over her neck.

“You almost killed me, Gloria. You have to find a way to control your... instincts.”

Faelina was right, of course, but she knew in her heart of hearts it could easily get worse, what with the changes her body was undergoing. It was a fact Gloria had been in denial about— for whatever reason, she was becoming more like a typical vampire, a predator with a powerful urge to not only drink blood but to slaughter as well. In fact, she was hungry again. Her scar pulsed as though it were the heartbeat of another beast inside her.

“I know,” Gloria said seriously. “But what can I really do to control it? I can’t tell the Mothers, else they'll banish me just like they banished that other vampire.”

Faelina looked through the window, caressing her neck.

“Who said anything about the Mothers? I mean, maybe one of the books in the Astrum can tell you what to do. Osara was just here. She wanted us to walk with her there.”

Gloria scoffed. “And what about Osara…you want me to pull a vampire book in front of her?”

 “You don't trust her?” Faelina asked.

“Should I?” Gloria shot back. She was getting annoyed for some reason.

Faelina shrugged but said nothing. She flashed a gold-rimmed envelope.

“Got one of these?”

Gloria had forgotten about the letters, instantly recalling hers.

“Yeah, I got one. I was placed in Mother Lysandra’s Terrae group.”

A knock on the door halted the discussion. Osara's voice sounded from the hall.

“You two finished making love? Everyone's down by the Astrum getting themselves up to speed with their triads.”

Faelina glanced at her before making her way to the door.

“Don’t—” Gloria shoved her hand out for emphasis.

Faelina peered back at her with a knowing expression.

“It’s okay,” she said. “She won’t know…”

Gloria was unconvinced. Tensing, she sat up as Faelina opened the door. Osara’s horse-like face appeared at the doorway, peering inside. Gloria stumbled out of bed, glancing about her to hide whatever evidence remained of her and Faelina’s bloody encounter. Some of her roommate’s blood was sure to have spilled onto the carpet, or somewhere else. Osara walked by Faelina and into the room. Upon seeing Gloria, Osara halted, staring her up and down. Gloria panicked, afraid to peer upon herself to see what Osara saw.

“You’re bleeding, Gloria. Why are you bleeding? Are you alright?”

Gloria finally appraised herself and saw the bloodstains on her blouse’s midsection—her scar.

“Oh, right,” she said smiling. “I actually got injured while performing the channeling. Still hasn't healed.”

Osara continued analyzing her.

“Injured how though? Channeling doesn't draw blood.”

“Says who?” Faelina interjected.

Osara looked from Gloria to Faelina, her expression one of surprise mixed with curiosity.

“I don't know. Just never imagined it did.”

Gloria nodded without saying anything, sitting on the bed. Osara scrutinized her for a while longer, and it took everything for Gloria not to appear suspicious. She breathed a sigh of relief when Osara chose not to press the matter, her eyes darting to the letter sitting beside her.

“What group were you placed in, Gloria? I got drafted into Mother Meirothea’s Aerae group.”

“Terrae,” Gloria replied drably.

“Mother Crimsonia’s group for me,” Faelina said. “Pyrae”.

“So, we’re all going to be separated from each other for the drills then,” Osara concluded.

“Maybe not only for the drills,” Faelina said.

“What do you mean?” Gloria inquired.

“We might be reassigned to a different Dorm based on our triads,” Faelina explained.

“That's how it works?” Gloria asked, anxiety creeping into her. She pulled out the letter from the envelope. “That’s not what I got from reading my letter.”

“Mine neither,” Osara quipped.

Faelina shrugged. “I think so. But I’m not entirely sure. We’ll have to ask Rowan or Lystra to clarify.”

Gloria sighed inwardly. If Faelina was correct, it would be a problem, she thought. It would mean getting blood from Faelina would be much more difficult, if not impossible.

“So, are we going to the Astrum or not?” Osara piped. “I’m dying to find out more about my Pyrae magic.”

“Yep.” Faelina hopped over to the wardrobe and pulled down a denim jacket, throwing it over herself. “I’m ready,” she said, adjusting her scarf.

Gloria stayed put, refusing to rise in fear of Osara judging the blood on her again.

“Are you coming, Gloria?” Osara asked. “I suppose there are books in the Astrum that can tell you how to treat yourself with Artageca.”

Gloria considered it a while, paying attention to the sensations going through her. She was hurting and hungry, but her absences were adding up. It wouldn't be long before someone got curious… if they weren’t already. She levered herself from the bed ruefully.

“Give me a second to change,” she said.

Osara shook her head. “Take a bath. You smell like blood.”

…

Half an hour later, in the middle of the Opal Moon, Gloria, Faelina, and Osara descended a set of rickety stairs to the Astrum. They had traversed to the chapel under the watchful eye of the mist-laden Opal Moon encountering neither human nor vestal on their trek. Osara was strangely silent, stealing furtive glances at either she or Faelina. Gloria got the feeling the girl was suspicious about their movements of late, or worse— she knew more than she was letting on. At the foot of the stairs, light assaulted them, streaming through an expansive brass door.

 “It always impresses!” Osara exclaimed, hurrying through it.

Gloria stepped into a cube-shaped, library with hundreds of books stacked upon arched shelves. The place actually raised Gloria’s mood as she gazed around awe-struck. She’d been to the Astrum only once almost a year ago on her first night at Beltraine. It was under more stressful circumstances— when she was formally recruited into the sisterhood. Back then, the Astrum seemed nothing more than a dark room with ghostly vestals floating around in it. Now, Gloria saw it in all its glory. Based on what she was now seeing, the Astrum was by far the most aesthetically pleasing space on Beltraine grounds. Perhaps this was a testament to the Mothers’ heavy emphasis on magical scholasticism. In the hall were what looked to be about a dozen or more sisters seated around wooden tables. Most were quiet, lost in grimoires opened before them. The only sounds came from sisters seated in a corner that housed a mysterious, metallic contraption resembling a harp. She was about to ask about it when a figure floated by them, almost colliding with Osara, who twisted away from it.

“Forgot about those things,” she quipped, proceeding to a vacant table at the center of the Astrum.

But Gloria didn’t move. She was still staring at the thing that floated by them. It resembled a vestal, but it was not, for the wispy figure had two pairs of incorporeal wings attached to it.

“Luminaries,” Faelina said wistfully, joining Osara at the table.

“Luminaries?” Gloria repeated, finally taking a seat by Faelina.

Faelina nodded. “Yeah. I suppose you didn't meet them since you were sick on the night Rowan led the first years here.”

Gloria glanced at the wraith-like thing again. It was basically vapor with wings that looked like a dragonfly’s. Also, she noted it was less massive than a vestal. By the soft features of its outline, Gloria surmised luminaries were female.

“What exactly does it do?” Gloria asked. “Is it only found here in the Astrum?”

Osara nodded, already reading a dirty-looking, leatherbound book with stained vellum pages.

“Luminaries are the librarians of the Astrum,” she said absently. “Quite cool they are. Rowan told us they were actually spun from moonlight and given consciousness.” With that, Osara snapped her fingers twice, the random gesture confusing Gloria. However, the purpose of Osara’s gesture became clear. Another blue-tinged luminary zoomed from one of the aisles between shelves, hovering before them, its wings flapping silently.

“Books on Aurae,” Osara instructed. “Artageca triad air, air, water.”

The luminary streaked off in the opposite direction from which it had come. Gloria hardly had time to digest what was happening. The thing returned with three massive books levitating before it. Upon reaching the table, the luminary lowered the books slowly. Faelina addressed it next.

“Books on Pyrae… Artageca triad, fire, air, earth.”

The luminary went through the same ritual as before, this time lowering a single, glowing tome onto the table.

“You next, Gloria,” Faelina quipped, watching her.

For a second, Gloria didn't remember her Artageca triad, only to be embarrassed as she recalled the simple categorization.

“Books on Terrae,” she mumbled. “Artageca triad earth, earth, earth.”

Not a minute later, Gloria, Faelina, and Osara had a total of six books before them, each unique in their own way.

“Into the books I go then,” Osara chimed, peering into one of the books. “I'll tell you if I find something interesting. We’ll report our findings about our triads at the end. Good?”

“Fine by me,” Faelina added, flipping over her book’s cover, whose pages were emitting a faint green glow.

Gloria opened her leatherbound book. It had a title and author on the cover: Ars Terrae by Raith Rabona. She flipped it over and was met with a pleasant pine scent. The gothic font, however, was forbidding with sharp, twisted lettering. She glanced at the table of contents, unsure of what exactly to look for. After a while, she chose to go from the opening chapter: Introduction to Terrae Magipracticum. Gloria read:

Of magical disciplines, Earth Magic is most underrated and underappreciated. It is, for those whose ascendant correlates with an earth-based zodiac sign, manifest as the innate ability to manipulate the physical Earth and materials forged from or imbued with earth energy. Terrae— those magicians possessing an earth-based ascendant, are able, but not limited to, casting spells (or any other means of channeling Terrae magic) to cause landslides, earthquakes, command boulders, manipulate plant life, and even instruct earth-based spirits. The method of manifesting Terrae through Artageca is threefold, and is covered in chapter three: The Calling of Earth.

Gloria stopped reading; Mother Crimsonia had already explained the essence of Terrae magic. So, she was slightly more advanced than the introductory stage. Gloria flipped back to the table of contents. A chapter called: The Terrae Trine— Earth Earth Earth caught her eye. She skipped the page to that chapter.

“Quite interesting,” Osara chimed, her head out of her book. “My triad allows me to read minds. My magic is mental.”

Faelina cocked her head at her.

“Mental?” she repeated. “You mean you have insane magic?” A mischievous smile played on her lips.

Osara raised her brows.

“In a sense, yes. It seems complex, but if I manage to master it, I can basically read and manipulate someone's mind. Tell if they are lying or hiding something.”

Osara's words hung in the air like a dark cloud. Pretending she was unfazed by this, Gloria scratched her forehead, peering at the page.

“Found anything interesting, Gloria?” Osara prodded.

“Not really,” Gloria replied. “I was just about to read a chapter on Terrae Trines… people who have triple earth signs.”

“Faelina?” Osara gazed at her.

“I can burn things with my mind, it seems,” Faelina said. “Which means I can scorch someone’s lips clean off if they talk too much.” Faelina smirked at her wit.

Gloria felt her lips curl into a smile. She got back to reading the chapter.

Earth trines are the rarest type of magician to be found in Nocteraia. The reason behind this is steeped in advanced astronomy, and won't be covered in this book. For the Earth trine in particular, the usual Astrageca rules of magical affinities and manifestation don’t quite apply. An earth trine can be classified into one of three unique things: A Zeroth (one with no magical abilities whatsoever), a Kindred (someone who adopts the magical abilities of another magician, either through proximity or by proxy). The last category of earth trines is the Channeler (someone from whom magical energy can be absorbed. Zeroths shall not be discussed here for obvious reasons. The Kindred Terrae is the most common among Earth trines. Their magic is usually extremely weak, as they have none for themselves as such. They can, however, acquire and mold energy attained from someone else and use it to a degree commensurate to the Kindred’s willpower or magical ability. This energy can be stolen from someone close (which is considered unethical by magical law), or it can be willingly bestowed by a proxy, who gifts their magical energy to the Kindred for them to use as they please. For this, no spell is required from the Kindred. However, a spell is necessary from the proxy, which varies depending on the nature of their ascendant element.

Gloria read enthralled, surprised at how complex Artageca magic went. She dove into the paragraph that mattered now: The Channeler.

Channelers are, by a large degree, the rarest and most endangered type of magician in all of Nocteraia. Channelers possess a massive reserve of magical energy inside them. So much so, that they can be tapped for this energy to fuel the magic of all other types of magicians, whether Terrae, Aurae, Hydrae, or Pyrae. The exact reason a Channeler holds such a massive energy reserve is not known. A few theories have been floating around for centuries, some darker than most would expect.

It is well established that magic in general is channeled through the magician’s chakras, a particular ascendant associated with a certain chakra. For example, a Terrae's sacral chakra is most dominant, and hence, they are able to command earth. A Hydrae's plexus chakra is the most developed, allowing them to wield water, and so on. This theory of Channelers claims that all their chakras are developed, and so energy flows through them more freely and more abundantly than others. This may seem ideal at first glance, but it comes with the disadvantage that Channelers are unable to focus energy into a single chakra in order to wield magic in any meaningful way. Another theory concerning the source of Channelers’ immense energies claims inheritance and heritage are responsible for this. According to the theory, a person can become a Channeler due to someone in their bloodline being one. Someone's heritage can sometimes supersede their Artageca triad and render the magician a Channeler, the trait of copious magical energy reserves passed down. Darker, more morbid theories about Channelers arose later, due to the emergence of beings such as vampires and lycans. Magic for them was, for a long time, considered impossible due to their chakras being... for want of a better term... sacrificed in favor of other traits like strength and the power of transformation. In the case of vampires, the matter is more complicated as their chakras are said to be defunct due to the simple fact that they are technically dead. Their magic then comes from a much more...

The page ended. Gloria flipped hastily, eager to discover what could give vampires magic. But she was disappointed at once. The page was missing. She presumed it was torn out due to the jagged strips still in the book’s binding. Gloria stared at the page that followed the one she should now be seeing. It was a glossary written in fine print. Annoyed, she flipped back to the previous page, wondering if she'd made a mistake. She was miffed to discover she didn't, the incomplete last sentence about vampire magic irking her more than it should. But as she scanned the rough vellum, the page stained and musty, a small, almost invisible alphanumeric writing at the bottom caught her eye.

AS-149-101-444

The Moonshadow Plot

“Are you certain what you have seen is correct?” Lily asked as Tamsyn Blackcross disappeared down the dirt track past the Moonshadow gate.

“Have my eyes ever failed me?” The soft voice belonged to Rael Moonshadow. He sat with his feet banded together with a leather strap. Rael was crippled from the waist down due to a rare motor illness affecting him since childhood. Lily studied him, considering the far-reaching implications of what he just revealed.

Lily gazed at him, wondering if he was messing with her. She dismissed the thought: It wasn’t like Rael to play games.

“But how, Rael?” she said, peering into his unnatural gray eyes. “How is it that Tamsyn is a witch, daughter of the Vampire King as she is?”

Rael shook his head slowly. “I can only report what my eyes saw. That young lady has the unmistakable energy signatures of a witch. Yes, her vampire trait is there, but her body shares witch energy with it.”

“NOCTUA!” Lily howled, eager to get another perspective on the matter.

Moments later, a woman with curly auburn hair stepped onto the porch, a pile of books in her hands.

“Lily?” Noctua’s voice was deep and grating, an unexpected tone from the short, petite frame of the second in command in the Moonshadow vampire house.

Lily spoke at once. “Rael just revealed that Tamsyn is a witch. Can you believe it?”

Noctua's face registered no shock. She stood there for a second, her expression impassive.

“Tamsyn?” she repeated.

“Tamsyn Blackcross,” Lily said hastily.

“Isn't that Draven Blackcross' daughter?” Noctua's face flitted from Lily to Rael. “How did you suddenly come by that information?”

“She was just here,” Lily said. “Draven sent her here seeking information on Beltraine. Rael's eyes revealed her secret.”

Noctua's black eyes settled on Rael now, who seemed disinterested in the discussion, fumbling with a bone bracelet on his wrist.

“Very interesting,” Noctua said. “I sense drama incoming, and I’m here for all of it.”

“I’m inclined to trusting Rael's eyes,” Lily stated. “After all, they haven't let us down...ever.”

Noctua nodded. “Then we must seek to figure this mystery out. First question: Who is her mother? Tamsyn must have gotten her witch powers from her.”

Lily thought about it for a second. “Or someone in her bloodline,” she added. “Actually, we don't know who her mother is. Draven is suspiciously silent on the topic.”

“And now it’s clear why,” Noctua retorted, resting the books on a wooden stand by the door.

“But I find it hard to believe Draven would have such a relation with a witch,” Lily reasoned. “His hatred for witches is well known around Nocteraia.”

She turned to Rael. “Rael, dear. Is it at all possible to know where Tamsyn got her witch powers?”

Rael shook his head at once. “No. Witch energy is all the same in principle. The only thing that distinguishes their magic is their dominant chakras, though with Tamsyn, my eyes beheld a curious mix of vampire and witch energies swirling around inside her.”

Lily’s lips curled into a wry smile. “This information will be useful to the Moonshadow house, I think. With it, we can make a spirited effort at dethroning Draven, that chauvinistic bastard. Siring a witch is a grave sin, a fact even he would admit.”

Death In The Moonlight

As the wolf lunged, Jace's hands shot up in front of himself, trying to shield himself from death. He closed his eyes and tensed for the death blow. An agonizing moment passed, which saw him crouching, his mind running amok with thoughts of the pathetic life he lived thus far— a worthless son too weak to live up to the lofty expectations of his father. And here he was now, proving himself as a failure, stooping like an idiot waiting to get torn apart. Jace shook, confused. He should have already been dead. He'd hardly thought this when a loud thud prized open his eyes. It took him a while to register what he was seeing as the world seemed markedly darker, the trees mere shadows of themselves. Jace’s eyes pinpointed movement between the Elm and a rotting Banyan. Tangled together were two wolves rolling and grappling, weaving into and out of sight in what was a ball of fur and claws. Jace assumed they were Gibran and Hale, but he just realized that one of the wolves was the color of ivory, its color a stark contrast to the dark woods.

Then, it was over. The gray wolf stopped moving, laying with labored breaths up on the forest floor. The white wolf shook itself, rising. Jace would have been surprised at its height (much taller than either Gibran or Hale’s wolf form), but his fear was exhausted, his despondence drowning any semblance of alarm or self-preservation. The beast’s scarlet eyes found him now. It was Jace's first time seeing a wolf with such evil-looking eyes, yet something about them seemed familiar. Then, the wolf shook itself again before bounding off in the direction of Beltraine, its footfalls causing mini tremors on the forest floor. Before long, someone appeared before him, a person he both loathed and respected at once.

“You have a death wish, it seems,” he grunted. “One millisecond spared, and you’d have been gutted like a fish.”

Jace stood, mute. He had no idea what to say to his father. He’d done so much wrong tonight that he didn't even know where to begin.

“How foolish can you really be?” Father Forsythe crowed, walking over to the defeated gray wolf. “How many of you were here?”

“Three,” Jace answered mechanically, as though his voice belonged to someone else. “Gibran and Hale were here.”

Father Forsythe gazed at him for a while, shaking his head.

“Head back to the campus. Be in my office when I get there.”

Jace felt himself nod as Father Forsythe sprinted in the direction of Beltraine, disappearing within the dense foliage.

It took Jace just shy of fifteen minutes to reach Alphatenory. His head was spinning from intrusive thoughts of inferiority, fear, and exhaustion all balled into a giant mindset of chaos and confusion. Father Forsythe was sure to punish him for this misdemeanor. The Shadowgrove forest was extremely forbidden to students. Furthermore, he knew his father would be displeased with his show of weakness tonight. Jace reached the main gate— a heavy, adamantine structure with a stylized ‘alpha’ sign engraved into its center. He decided not to re-enter the campus via the dungeons— the secret passageway he, Gibran, and Hale had taken into the forest, bypassing the campus guards. One such guard peered at him as he approached, hesitating before pulling a lever at the gate’s side. A grinding sound commenced as the structure receded on a conveyor belt made of gears and grooved tracks. The guard, Menaus, was silent as he entered. Jace wondered if Menaus was already privy to them leaving campus unsolicited. Jace labored up a flight of sixty steps sandwiched between an array of metallurgical art forged with steel and titanium. At the top of the steps was the imposing Alphatenory Main building.

In Father Forsythe’s office, Jace sat on one of the wooden chairs. There, he began thinking about what had transpired tonight. The main takeaway was that he was alive but also that he probably wasn't a lycan like everyone at the institution was supposed to be. Hence, he would die in the Wolf Games. Jace groaned as his mind drifted to the sisters at the Beltraine Sisterhood. He wouldn't even get to meet them, his hope of finding someone interesting there sure to be dashed by his brutal demise at the games tomorrow. He wondered what brand of magic they knew and if any of them would even fancy him in the off chance that he did survive the games and got to visit them. Maybe he should try harder, he thought...try harder to get stronger. What if there was actually someone at Beltraine who could save his life?

A surge of motivation zipped through Jace such that he stood, pacing the office. He was tired of being weak. He had to find a way to get past the Wolf Games and make it to Beltraine. Just then, the office door burst open. A shirtless Father Forsythe streamed inside, his face sweaty and contorted. Jace analyzed his father in surprise, watching as he darted to his table and pulled out one of the drawers, fumbling inside it for something. His father seemed oblivious that he was there in his frantic search. Jace heard a commotion outside as though the brothers had all gotten out of bed and had assembled in the quadrangle. Was an impromptu meeting called? he wondered. His father paused his search, looking past him as if considering something.

“What's wrong, father?” he asked.

Father Forsythe turned to him almost robotically, his brown eyes wild.

“In the woods…you said only you, Hale, and Gibran were out there?”

Jace nodded. “Yes, father. Only the three of us were there. Is there something wrong?”

Father Forsythe retraced his steps to the door before twisting around to face him.

“Hale is dead.” 

The Three Witches

Inside a small cottage at the periphery of the Beltraine campus, an old woman chanted an ancient hymn of praise to the Crown Goddess. A lantern flickered beside her on a bare, wooden, round table, suffusing the small space with just enough light for sight. She hummed, feeling the air still around her, blessing the home with protective magic. Mother Meirothea rose, her white tunic falling around her. Bands of smoky white light jetted from her frame, roiling about her like an amorphous spirit. The air thickened around her, confirming the protective spell spun from her spirited dance. The gentle whooshing from her motion reached a crescendo— rhapsodic whispers of magic interwoven into the cottage air’s breezy murmurs at the command of the Mother of Mercy, its worthy Incantatrix. Mother Meirothea slowed, the atmosphere now sufficiently laden with peace and grace. Then, she stopped altogether, satisfied with the Crown Goddess’ providence.

Sitting, she praised her Artageca-borne gift of air, awaiting her counterparts, Mothers Lysandra and Crimsonia. The meeting scheduled for tonight would be an important one, where they would discuss grave matters relating not only to the Beltraine Sisterhood but also the neighboring Alphatenory Brotherhood. She had been a headmistress at Beltraine for almost a century—  watched its rise and fall through the decades. Now at two hundred and eighty-three years old, time was finally taking its toll on her. She was no longer the shrewd woman she once was, brimming with magic and insight. Time, the ultimate sorcerer, had summoned life and will from her in equal measure. As depressing as that was, she’d rebuffed the constant voice in her head entreating her to use her formidable magic to defy death again. Twice bitten, Mother Meirothea was wise enough to know the unforgiving rules of karma, and she no longer espoused her ego in believing she was superior to it. She had committed two major sins in this life. The Crown Goddess had forgiven her first grave sin of dark magic, but as for the other— she was still facing the consequences, a sin of which her sisters knew not.

Presently, the old cottage door rattled: Mother Crimsonia ambled in, her black funereal gown recalling a fallen nun. Meirothea stood, greeting her sister with a long embrace. Lysandra walked in behind Crimsonia, her face a picture of sternness, her lips drawn taut. Meirothea repeated the embrace with Lysandra before they all sat. Meirothea always found it interesting that Lysandra, Mother of Light, chose as her garment a tunic of deepest red. Lysandra was the first to speak.

“The air is heavy with grace, Meirothea,” she stated, her wrinkled face creasing even more into a smile.

“I have not lost all my magic, it seems,” Meirothea responded, smiling in turn.

“Still modest, 'Rothea'?” Crimsonia chimed. “Your magic is as impressive as ever.”

“Hardly, Sonia,” Meirothea said sadly. “Magic cannot blossom in frail flesh forever.”

There was silence for a while, the only sound the crackling of the lantern's wick.

“So, what heralds this sudden meeting?” Lysandra asked, fixing her intense black eyes upon her.

Meirothea fidgeted before responding, choosing her words carefully.

“There are many things we need to discuss. It is not good that we meet so rarely. I feel we are becoming more distant the more we age. I admit that I am somewhat heartbroken by this. After almost three centuries of friendship… of sisterhood, our bond should be growing stronger, not weaker.”

Lysandra nodded slowly.

“Yes. You are right, of course. I also have been plagued by such thoughts. I suppose we should use this meeting as a springboard to renew or bond and to vow to maintain greater camaraderie in the future.”

Crimsonia bowed in her seat.

“How time erodes everything worthwhile!” Crimsonia said. “Bless you for saying that, sisters. I needed to hear it amid the maddening affairs of Beltraine.”

Meirothea crossed her legs, sitting upright. “And that brings us to the matters at hand,” she paused, wondering how to phrase what she was about to reveal. Meirothea proceeded in a measured tone. “I have gotten news that the vampires are planning a reconnaissance mission here at Beltraine. I know you heard this before, but perhaps you are unaware of how soon it is scheduled to happen.”

Meirothea paused, scanning the faces of her sisters. Lysandra pursed her lips, folding her hands, while Crimsonia simply stared at her, face impassive, unreadable.

“And when is that scheduled for?” Crimsonia now asked, leaning forward.

“The night after the Salvia Moon,” Meirothea answered.

Crimsonia extracted a gleaming golden object from her pocket. It resembled an oval locket without a pendant. After staring at it for a second, she pouted.

“My moondial tells me that’s in less than thirty hours,” Crimsonia croaked.

Meirothea nodded.

“And how did you come by this information, Rothea?” Lysandra inquired, running a hand through her raven-colored hair.

Meirothea expected the question, but she still wasn't prepared for it. She hesitated for a while before responding.

“I have my sources,” she finally said, cringing at how inadequate the response must have seemed to her sisters.

Lysandra and Crimsonia stared at her, expecting her to elaborate. When she failed to shed more light on her source, Lysandra spoke again.

“Since when do we keep secrets from each other, Rothea? Was it not a minute ago that you spoke about bonds and our undying sisterhood?”

Meirothea smiled nervously. She could not reveal how she discovered the plot of the vampires, lest it cause a chasm of darkness between them. Also, she could not lie to her sisters: The magical vow they’d forged long ago would kill her immediately. But despite the comment’s appropriateness, Meirothea saw the irony in it. As an adept in mental magic, she had unearthed dark secrets in not only Lysandra but also in Crimsonia. The intrusion was a sin in and of itself, and she knew in the deepest part of her soul that they could never hope to regain their bond of love and kinship if the secrets remained in the dark. Meirothea knew a time would come when she, the Mother of Mercy, had to address this. She shuddered as she thought about it. It would be a make-or-break moment for them as sisters.

“Trust that I will reveal my source in due time, sisters. My source is a hundred percent reliable.”

“We will rest the matter of your source for now, Rothea,” Crimsonia began. “This plot by the vampires— are we to prepare for an actual attack, or is it, as you suggested, just a reconnaissance mission?”

The flame flickered in the lamp as a breeze breached the cottage windows. Meirothea sighed audibly.

“I am afraid that while the plot of the vampires is to glean information on the magical protection of Beltraine, they are planning to use this information to constitute an actual attack some time in the future.”

Lysandra spoke up, her voice wavering. “But we must act as though the reconnaissance mission is an attack. Who knows what will happen once they're at our gates?”

“Precisely!” Meirothea exclaimed. “The safety of our sisters is paramount. I have a few suggestions for what we can do.” Meirothea went silent.

“Well, the magical protection around Beltraine is next to impenetrable,” Crimsonia said proudly.

Lysandra countered, “That is not entirely true, actually, Sonia. I have been meaning to point this out, but other matters kept shunting me into forgetfulness. Beltraine shares its borders with the Alphatenory Brotherhood. Recall that the Brotherhood doesn't share the same level of protection as Beltraine. If the vampires are wise, they would attack from that side.”

Meirothea nodded in agreement. She hadn’t thought of that before.

“Excellent point, Sandra,” she said. “We have to bolster Alphatenory's protection. I believe Alphatenory falls under your portfolio, Sandra. Although I am confident in Father Forsythe's leadership, he and his guards alone cannot fend off an all-out vampire attack.”

“The Salvia Moon,” Crimsonia began, running a hand through her red hair. “Can't we try to surprise them with one on the night they venture here?”

Meirothea studied her. She had planned on asking the same question. After a while, Lysandra responded.

 “Doubtful. That type of complex magic is way out of our abilities now. We probably wouldn’t survive that.”

Meirothea nodded. “It's been so long, I forgot how taxing it is. Best to let our foreparents’ creation run its natural course.”

“But what then?” Crimsonia voiced. “That’s another thing we should address. The Salvia Moon will one day be no more. What will happen when it fades? Remember, the Salvia Moon is the only thing keeping the vampires from wreaking total havoc in Nocteraia.”

Lysandra fidgeted, twisting her hair as if she were a teenager.

“It is cause for concern,” Lysandra said ruefully. “That is even more important than the vampires plot to attack us the near future.”

Meirothea said, “I suppose this technique to preserve the Salvia Moon is something we need to pass down to the sisters of Beltraine. They will need to rekindle its magic when we’re gone. Starting with Artageca, we need to accelerate the sisters’ magical education. The political climate is changing rapidly in Nocteraia, and the sisters in our charge have the twofold task of defending themselves against the forces of darkness and of maintaining the ascendancy of the witches through the Salvia Moon’s purging effects. I shudder to think about the work required to have them become adept at weaving such intricate sorcery. But it has to begin in earnest now.”

Crimsonia clapped, visibly impressed by her speech.

“Well said, Rothea” she chimed. “Will you commence the process of teaching the girls Artageca?”

“All three of us should be involved, I think,” Meirothea reasoned. “After all, we all have different elemental abilities under the Artageca system. The sisters will be best served being taught by each of us in turn, though having them watch the three of us dueling simultaneously could have its merits. But I believe you should commence the training, Sonia. I assume most of the girls will have an affinity for fire like yourself.”

“They do,” Crimsonia replied. “I glossed over the file on each sister. Most are indeed Pyrae. I took the liberty of drafting personalized letters regarding their triads. Those will be dispatched shortly.”

Meirothea nodded. “Good. So that’s covered. Next on the itinerary is a matter we’ve been skirting around for some time now.” Meirothea paused, loath to bring up the dark energy that often came with pronouncing the name. After all, what sane person wouldn’t fear a personality with powers divinely bestowed, capable of slaughtering the entire population of Nocteraia in one night? Lysandra voiced her thoughts for her.

“BloodVeil,” she whispered, fumbling with her hands.

Crimsonia shuffled in her seat, her eyes cast at her lap. The awkward silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity. The word seemed to echo inside the cottage as though Lysandra had evoked the sinister energy of the person it referenced. Meirothea broke the silence.

“There are whispers claiming she is responsible for the spike in murders around Beltraine. What then, do we do about this?”

Lysandra held her hands up. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Rothea. The Scarlet Incantatrix is born every fifty years. The previous BloodVeil died…what, thirty years ago? The other one is slated to be born in two decades. Who did you get your information from, your mysterious source?”

Meirothea ignored her final question, focusing instead on what preceded it.

“Cut the nonsense, Sandra. You very well know that while the BloodVeil usually manifests every fifty years, she may manifest if the previous BloodVeil didn’t succeed in returning Nocteraia to its pre-witch state. And we both know what happened to the last one.”

Meirothea’s words hung in the air. And the space, once blessed by her magic, grew heavy with the spirit of strife. Lysandra shook her head but said nothing. Meirothea knew she was simply in denial, worried by what the presence of the BloodVeil in Nocteraia meant. Meirothea cast her eyes at Crimsonia, who’d gone eerily silent.

“Sonia, what do you have to say on the matter of the BloodVeil?” Meirothea inquired.

Crimsonia shrugged, her gaze still fixed on her lap.

“What is there to say? Yes, the BloodVeil could possibly pose an existential threat, but what can we really do about something as divine as her? You have to remember too, Rothea that the title ‘BloodVeil’ isn’t inherently evil. It’s just Nocteraia’s divine way of restoring balance.”

“That is true,” Meirothea said contemplatively. She hadn’t considered the possibility of this age’s BloodVeil being benevolent, but she was still rattled at the thought of sitting around doing nothing while there was a chance someone could kill her and everyone she cared about.

“Hence, what is your angle here, Rothea? Even if the BloodVeil is around, what would your plan be? Do you plan to seek her out to determine whether or not she’ll greet you with hugs? She just might embrace you with hell instead.”

Meirothea folded her hands, taking a deep breath as she readied herself to explain exactly why she’d brought up the topic of the BloodVeil.

“My fear is, Sandra,” she began in a measured tone, “we’re not sure who the BloodVeil will target this time. She targeted the vampires on the last occasion due to their wayward ways. It is not a secret that Nocteraia is teeming with dark witches in these times. If the BloodVeil targets the witches, she will destroy all of us, including the innocent sisters we have in our charge. I have to say I am disappointed that I have to explain that, given what we went through with the BloodVeil in the past. I’d be remiss not to mention the BloodVeil in this meeting. Besides…” she paused, gathering her thoughts. “Sonia, you make it sound like the BloodVeil is invincible. We can do something if she turns out to be corrupted. We saw that the last time…the vampires managed to kill her before she killed their entire race. The BloodVeil only killed the heads of four vampire houses before they cut her down.”

Mother Crimsonia shook her head. “I doubt the BloodVeil could kill the likes of Satin Ashenhollow, the Vampire King at the time. His strength is long known to be godlike. But anyway, your point is well taken, Rothea.”

With that, silence descended upon the cloistered cottage.

Vain Fangsworth 

Her mind laden with worry and the prospect of lost love, Tamsyn blazed through the suburbs of Nocteraia. She’d left the Moonshadow mansion in a daze, heading west toward the Fangsworth house. She sought Kain to warn him not to participate in the reconnaissance mission at Beltraine, where death awaited him. Ever since Lily pronounced Kain's name, her temples pulsed with a splitting headache, her mind wild and reeling. Tamsyn gazed up at the moon, wary the deathly phenomenon of the Salvia Moon would render her motives all for naught with its deadly purple glare. The brilliant full moon told her it was Emberglow. She calculated she had at least three hours before the moon transitioned into the Salvia Moon. Still, she had to get back to the Blackcross castle soon, lest Draven wondered about her whereabouts. He would kill her if he knew she visited the house which she now stood before.

The Fangsworth house was the blandest of all the vampire houses, what with its dull gray walls peeling in parts seemingly too remote to tend to. There was no gate nor guard at its entrance. In their place was a pair of black, fang-like obelisks which were by far the most impressive aspect of the Fangsworth abode. Their actual purpose was lost on Tamsyn as she streaked past them, moving stealthily down a paved path lined with similarly pointless structures: wooden rods stuck in the ground, marble statues of fierce-looking dogs (the Fangsworth symbol), and people she assumed were notable historical Fansgworths. Like Lily, the leader of the Fangsworth house was on his porch with a book in his hands. Vain Fangsworth glanced up to look at her with his tame brown eyes. Tamsyn marveled at Kain’s resemblance to his father, with his thin, crooked nose and sharp jawline. Tamsyn knew she had to concoct a pretext for her visit; like Draven, Vain wasn't keen on her and Kain associating with each other.

“What drags the likes of you here?” Vain croaked. “The gall you have coming onto the Fangsworth grounds. I have no business with you Blackcross lot.”

Tamsyn readied her pretext, her heart racing at the prospect of being caught in deception.

“Draven sent me here,” she said. “Kain is needed at the castle to meet with the others to finalize planning for the mission.” Tamsyn held her breath as Vain studied her in silence.

“Mission? And what mission might that be?”

Tamsyn's face fell. She chided herself as her error dawned on her. Clearly, Kain had kept the mission from his father, an act she should have foreseen. Kain wanted to embark on the mission in order to impress Draven in the hopes that his heart would soften towards him courting her. It was a fool's errand, of course; Draven's heart was made of stone. Tamsyn floundered as Vain watched her.

“I meant—” Tamsyn began, gulping down air and embarrassment. Taking a deep breath, she willed for her sanity to return to her. At this point, she figured it was best to speak the truth. After all, Vain would also fiercely oppose Kain going along on the mission.

“Draven decided to send Kain and some others on a recon mission at Beltraine. Owl and Draven are meeting at the Blackcross castle now. Kain is needed to finalize planning.”

Vain rose, fuming. “Let me get this straight. Draven, the fool who imprisoned my son at his castle, wants to send him to Beltraine, the same place he sent Jubal to die a year ago? Is this some kind of joke?”

Seeing no need to remain in Vain’s presence, Tamsyn turned and streaked back the way she came. Caught up in her emotions, she'd forgotten about Kain’s imprisonment. Worse, she'd forgotten it was her father who’d sent Jubal (Kain’s older brother) on the last failed mission at Beltraine. Jubal was brutally slaughtered by the witches there. Tamsyn cursed herself under her breath as she sped through the city. In one fell swoop, she’d made things worse. Not only did she fail to see Kain to warn him about what Lily’s Heka prophesied, but she’d deepened the rift between Vain and her father. Now, she wouldn't get to see Kain before the mission. The Salvia Moon was mere hours away. Something had to give.

…

Draven's daughter had hardly left the Fangsworth premises when Vain bustled inside the house, overtaken by a blind rage.

“Kain! You idiot!” he shouted as he blazed up the staircase to his son's room. The puzzled maid froze as he knocked a tray of victuals from her hands, sending it crashing to the floor.

“Kain! Get here you fool!” Vain blared, his vampiric speed pitching him into Kain's door, breaking its hinges upon his contact. Darkness met him there as his head flashed this way and that, searching for his son. And as he resorted to using his Fangsworth-imbued aura detection abilities, Vain cursed under his breath. Kain was gone.

Tamsyn’s Return

Tamsyn reached the Blackcross mansion with crippling depression. Tonight was an epic fail. Nothing she sought to do was done. Instead, she’d managed to simultaneously pit the Fangsworth house against hers, and discover the love of her life was about to die, and she could do nothing about it. Or could she? Tamsyn thought. At least there were the gods to thank that her secret about her magic was safe. Now, as she approached the balcony where she left Draven and Owl playing Ace of Bones, she realized she had yet another distressing interaction to end the night with. Draven wanted answers from Lily concerning Beltraine, and she'd have to be the bearer of bad news. Lily gleaned nothing more than the fact that Kain would die at Beltraine, which was the only consolation Draven— the sadist that he was— would take from her outing. She heard his raucous voice booming against the walls of the castle. She ambled onto the balcony an emotional mess, too fazed to look upon her father, who stopped speaking the moment she entered.

“Ah! My lovely daughter returns,” he said heartily. “Tell us, Tamsyn. Tell us what Lily revealed to help us in our quest at that witch whorehouse.”

Tamsyn raised her heavy head to speak but froze immediately. Sandwiched between her father and Owl Nightcreed was a face she thought she might never see alive again. He smiled at her, erasing some of the depression the night had brought. Tamsyn pretended she didn’t see Kain, directing her gaze at Draven, who was waiting for her response.

“Lily had nothing to disclose, father,” she began. “Her Heka didn't reveal anything about Beltraine.”

“Nothing?” Draven spat. “How disappointing.”

Tamsyn hazarded a glance at Kain, who looked oddly out of place between the two house leaders. He had a faraway look to him that made her wonder what he was thinking.

Owl said, “Heka is known to be unreliable. We mustn't depend on it for anything, especially not matters as important as this.”

Draven nodded. “Indeed. Lily should have been with us tonight. After all, she is slated to accompany Owl and Kain on the mission. My slippery friend convinced me she would finalize consultations with the spirits using her Heka. Now, she has the gall to tell me it revealed nothing? I will craft an exquisite punishment for her.”

Tamsyn wondered who her father was addressing. She decided not to reveal the bit about Kain dying at Beltraine.

“Nevertheless,” Draven continued, pressing his hands together.

Tamsyn knew the gesture well; it reeked of sinister plots and vileness.

“Young Kain here has vowed to avenge his brother on the mission. His reward will be great if he succeeds. If he does, I am prepared to redeem the poor standing of the Fangsworth house. Right, boy?”

Kain nodded reverently, fidgeting in the chair. Tamsyn saw that he was shaking. An overwhelming sense of pity mixed with a steely resolve to save him bubbled up inside her. There was no way Kain was going on that mission. She would do everything under the moon to prevent that from happening.

The Salvia Moon

After what felt like an hour and a half of reading about Terrae magic, Gloria’s stomach burned miserably. One source of her pain was due to her thirst for human blood, the other stemmed from the scar on her stomach. Between Faelina and Osara, who both seemed enraptured by what they were reading, Gloria tried desperately to avoid attracting their attention. This proved difficult, for her body was not hers but a skin-covered marionette being made to writhe according to the command of pain, its puppetmaster. Gloria glanced around the Astrum to determine if anyone was watching her. She locked eyes with Philippa, who Gloria assumed had been watching her for a while. She was between Cassandra and Timea, a curious translucent book before her. Gloria maintained eye contact until Philippa lowered her head slowly. She had to leave the Astrum now, she thought. She had to get back to the solitude of her dorm room, where she could at least suffer without judgment. She tapped Faelina's shoulder. The girl flinched, looking about her as though she’d just woken from sleep.

“Gonna go,” Gloria wheezed, already rising. “We’ve been here for like an hour and a half.”

A luminary floated by them with a trail of books wafting behind. To her surprise, Faelina and Osara burst out laughing.

“What is it?” Gloria caressed her tender stomach.

Osara looked at her pitifully. “Gloria you really are clueless, aren't you? It's almost like you're here with us, but you're not really one of us.”

Gloria would have read more into Osara’s statement had she been in better spirits.

“What's that supposed to mean?” she asked.

Faelina responded. “Sorry I didn't mention this before, Gloria. The Astrum messes with time... or rather, the perception of time. Mother Meirothea built the Astrum…mental magic.”

Gloria sighed, looking longingly at the exit. Osara smiled at her.

“We actually spent four and a half hours here so far,” she said. “And the truth be told, I can actually go another five. I just got to the juicy bits about my Pyrae magic. It turns out…”

Osara's voice faded as Gloria considered the length of time they’d spent in the Astrum. If Osara was correct, it would mean the Salvia Moon was in full swing. It was no wonder why she was feeling so sick. Gloria exited the Astrum without another word, her stomach twisting and turning. She wasn't thinking straight, she realized as she climbed the shaky staircase to the chapel. If the Salvia Moon had begun, she could not leave the chapel. She supposed she wanted to confirm that tragedy had indeed struck, the bewitched moon beaming down caustic death. When she climbed onto the back side of the pulpit, something attacked her face. Gloria slipped, falling heavily on her buttocks. Fortunately, she’d escaped a painful tumble back down to the Astrum by inches. Muscling herself from the floor, she watched the thing that had caused her fall floating above the chapel door. Perplexed, Gloria wondered why Mother Crimsonia's vestal was inside the chapel. Was the Mother of Justice here? She scanned the chapel. Mother Crimsonia was nowhere in sight. Then why was Obsidia here? The vestal’s appearance was even more ghoulish in the chapel— like the dark aspect of a freshly exorcized black demon. Gloria was reminded of her pain, which was now in her chest pulsing like a second heartbeat. Obsidia wafted away like a large bat, allowing Gloria to bear witness to the nightmarish purple moon alone in the clear skies. A pang of despair restricting her breathing, she made her way slowly down the aisle, her eyes never leaving the purple orb. She knew Salvia Moons were supposed to be deadly to vampires after about a minute of exposure. At least, that was what she overheard Rowan saying to Cassandra once in the Dorm. Despite this fact, Gloria hadn't been affected much by Salvia Moons until now. She only experienced an uncomfortable pricking sensation on her skin along with nausea, but it was nothing that promised death or serious injury.

Reaching the door, she glanced at the moon ruefully, desperation gnawing at her. Was she truly going to face the Salvia Moon's onslaught here in the chapel, while her body betrayed her? The second she thought this, Gloria convulsed, an intense burning sensation in her chest. She took a deep breath, scanning the grounds. Seeing no one, she made her decision, dashing madly from the chapel en route to Dorm L. Gloria came to a dead stop by the statue of the Crown Goddess as her skin seared, drawing an instinctive scream from her. She scampered back inside the chapel faster than humanly possible. A glance at her arms revealed fresh blood springing in shallow, jagged grooves from both of them. The wounds seemed coordinated, as though if left to run their course upon the remainder of her body, they would have made a distinct pattern. Staggering now from the added affliction of weakness, Gloria made her way back down the aisle toward the staircase leading to the Astrum. She smelled her burning flesh, and as she glanced at the stained glass above her, an intense de ja vu washed over her. She felt like she was here before... in this very situation. The feeling persisted until she reached the staircase. What now? she asked herself, bringing her hands up to her face. If she went back down, everyone would question her wounds, except Faelina, who would probably go quiet with worry. Yet, if she was discovered in the chapel, she would also be questioned about her wounds. Voices floating up from the foot of the stairs sent Gloria into panic mode. She hopped to one of the long curtains draping the chapel wall to the east, hiding herself behind it. Luckily, it was opaque amber. Cassandra, Timea, and Philippa surfaced from the stairs.

“Hydrae magic’s growing on me,” Timea said excitedly. “I thought it was the worst one out of us three, but... not anymore.”

Gloria watched them from a part between adjacent curtains as Timea buoyed herself up a few feet on a mass of clear green water. Despite her pain, Gloria marveled at the girl’s gall to have done such a thing in the chapel. Struggling to balance herself upon her unstable magic, Timea flailed in what would have been a comical display in another, lighter context. Cassandra glowered at her.

“Get down!” Cassandra yelled. “Not the time or place for that. Are you stupid?” Timea vanquished the magic at once, cowering under Cassandra's chiding gaze.

“Look! The Salvia Moon has started!” Philippa pointed at the window above the chapel door. Both Cassandra and Timea directed their gaze toward it.

“I hope it kills a few vampires tonight,” Cassandra muttered.

Gloria exhaled audibly as the trio left. The thick curtains were stifling her, the smell of myrrh wafting from it. The blood on her hands had overflown their grooves and was snaking its way down her arms, dripping thickly onto the floor. Her blouse was soaked at her throbbing stomach, which meant her scar too was bleeding. Shifting from her awkward poise up against the cold chapel walls, Gloria noted with dread that she might be here for a few more hours— until the last sister came up from the Astrum. And even after the Astrum was vacated, she still couldn't leave the chapel, as the Salvia Moon would continue. So, she had to stay put here in the chapel, her temporary prison. She raised her blouse and confirmed her bleeding scar. Even in the poor lighting, she could see that the rough wound was tender and soggy-looking. However, it seemed to her to be fading under her skin. The usually distinct circular rim had receded and was barely visible despite the blood congealing around it.

More voices rose from the staircase. Gloria stiffened, letting her blouse fall back into place. Faelina emerged from the underground library, smiling. Osara followed. She said something to Faelina as they walked down the aisle. Faelina giggled, nodding. Gloria's mouth watered. It probably was a blessing in disguise she wouldn't be feeding on her tonight. Gloria was certain she would rip her throat out in her desperate hunger. Nevertheless, she had to feed on her soon. What would happen when she did? Gloria pushed the thought from her mind, wondering instead if all the sisters were now out of the Astrum. She waited another five minutes before stepping from behind the curtain, staggering to the pulpit. She was incredibly weak, her feet dragging as if they were made from lead. She planned to hide in the Astrum and wait until the Salvia Moon ended. She descended the steps, slipping a few times as her concentration waned. At least, it wouldn't be as suspicious if someone found her in the Astrum, she thought. She just had to hide her wounds... and her hunger.

Spilling into the Astrum, Gloria was relieved to discover that no one was inside. But another concern almost barreled into her. The luminary halted before her, its ethereal wings beating the cold air. Gloria stopped, her body tensing. Was the luminary waiting on her to give it a book order, or did it recognize what she was? Gloria noted it had a tinge of purple, reminiscent of the Salvia Moon's glare. She remembered Osara saying luminaries were made from moonlight.

“Books on curing a vampire,” she heard herself mutter, hardly recognizing her hoarse voice. The luminary didn't move, but before she could consider what that meant, its smoky essence shivered before zooming to a darker section of the Astrum furthest from the staircase, passing rows upon rows of arched shelves packed with books. As Gloria waddled to a section hidden from the entrance, she realized the Astrum was larger than she first thought, the space getting darker and more dungeon-like as she progressed. The shelves became sparser and less decorative, made of plain wood and no arches. The Astrum ended with a rough stone wall, the floor earthen and damp. Gloria kneeled in a dark corner just as the luminary returned with a solitary book, which it lowered slowly beside her. Gloria saw it wasn't really a book, but a coverless manuscript made of an array of parchment bound together. The first page contained symbols she didn’t understand. She flipped to find the beginning of what seemed to be a long, unbroken paragraph. She read, disheartened from the very first sentence.

The accursed condition of vampirism knows no cure. To suggest that there exists a salve for this phenomenon is to suggest the banishment of the vampire, which can take one of a few forms. Ritual killing remains the most prudent... subjecting the afflicted to the purifying tongues of specialized flames, scorching the vampire to oblivion.

Gloria felt her scar twist under her flesh as though physically offended by the words in the manuscript. She continued reading.

A less severe treatment is binding. Binding preserves the vampire’s existence, but physically restricts their ability to use their powers. At first glance, binding may be considered by some to be a more just measure, simply because it forces the vampire to face the bad karma inherited when they became a vampire in the first place, and for the destruction they wrought when they roamed free. The least severe banishing measure is perhaps the least known, and ironically the most magically taxing to undertake. This is sealing. Sealing a vampire is to restrict their power from manifesting at all or in a weakened state, done with a rather technical incantation to block the chakras. Sealing is temporary and has to be reinforced periodically with magic, lest the vampire’s powers and cravings resurface. Sealing leaves a physical scar on the vampire's body. It is usually located at the umbilicus— where the abominable powers enter to animate the vampiric vessel.

Gloria paused, noting the obvious similarities between the manuscript’s description of vampiric sealing and her scar. Was her scar a seal? she wondered, laying a hand on her belly. If her scar was a seal, it would make complete sense that it was receding since it wasn't resealed. But who would have sealed her and why? Gloria didn't remember anything about her pre-Beltraine life, so it was possible her scar was a seal done before she came here. A scraping sound jolted her from her thoughts. Gloria shuffled backward into the rough wall, listening. She heard footsteps echoing inside the Astrum, followed by furniture scraping against the floor. Someone had entered. Gloria waited nervously in the agonizing silence that ensued, contemplating what she would do if one of the sisters happened on her here, crouched and bleeding. The person said something, her voice carrying clearly through the Astrum. Then, there was a buzzing she assumed was a luminary fetching a book. Gloria twisted her body, hazarding a glance through the gloom toward the open area with the tables and chairs. Someone had their back turned to her. Gloria tried to figure out who it was based on her long hair and medium build. But it was too dark; all she saw was an outline. As Gloria straightened herself, intent on returning to hiding in the shadows, her back loosened something behind her, which fell with a thud beside her.

“Who's there?”

Heat rose in Gloria's face in her terror, her scar shifting in response.

“Someone there?” the voice came again. By now, Gloria had discovered who the voice belonged to. She would have preferred if it had been a first-year. She figured she'd have an easier time trying to deceive a first-year than a senior. It was Morgana, the head prefect of Dorm M, famous for her impressive spellweaving abilities. The sound of footsteps chilled her. Morgana was coming toward her! Gloria realized to her disappointment that her only other possible hiding place was between the nearest shelves. But there was a problem— the only route to them was the aisle itself, the same aisle Morgana was now walking upon.

“Thalia, is that you? Booking up for our duel, are we?” Morgana laughed. The footsteps got louder— closer. Gloria shook from panic as she stood, still obscured by shadows and shelves.

“Candis!” Morgana muttered, suffusing the aisle with light.               “Why the suspense though?” she said. “You’re actually scaring me now.”

As Morgana reached the final shelf directly in front of Gloria’s hiding place, a few things happened at once. Gloria's temples throbbed before she leaped upon the girl like a leopard. A surprised yelp escaped Morgana as she fell. Gloria threw herself on top of her, searching for her neck. Morgana's mortified green eyes met hers. The prefect’s frozen terror gave Gloria time to bury her head into Morgana's throat, drawing blood, though not enough to kill. Morgana jerked, pushing her away. The girl was stronger than Gloria expected as she managed to halt her assault. Gloria lost her balance, sliding off her. Gloria knew Morgana had to die tonight, or else her secret would be exposed spectacularly. Gloria attacked her throat again, but Morgana's hand shot up to her face, her feet shuffling madly in an effort to rise. Gloria launched again, more desperately. Morgana, who seemed to have regained her wits, fired off a spell.

“Luciat Lux!”

Gloria felt the heat before she knew what hit her. A green ball of roiling fire zipped past her right shoulder, inches from blowing her face apart, singing her right shoulder. Her eyes watering from the intense light and heat, Gloria floundered backward. Morgana sprung upward before sprinting back through the aisle. Gloria streaked at her, but the girl must have anticipated her pursuit, for she left an array of webbed light in her wake, the incantation emitting an ominous hum.

“Shit!” Gloria mouthed as Morgana dashed to the stairs. Gloria thought about renewing her pursuit, but the second she had the thought, Morgana was gone. 

Metamorpha I

Inside a dingy cabin to the east of the Beltraine chapel, a red-haired witch stared into a lustrous mirror. She brought her spidery hands up to her face, caressing the fleshy creases in her warm skin. She was old. Time had taken hold of her and was slowly dragging her to the grave. She reminisced on her long, sordid past, hardly believing she'd already spent close to three hundred years alive. Crimsonia sighed, shaking her head as her spectral reflection mocked her. Grotesquely gaunt with sunken jaws, and creases resembling small fissures, she marveled at how far she'd fallen from her seraphic grace. There was a time in her youth when she was considered the most beautiful witch in Nocteraia, with her long, flowing red hair, dazzling smile, and bubbly personality to match. For years during her teen life, her sisters would offer daily confirmation of her beauty. Lysandra even once admitted she was envious of her natural, goddess-like radiance as she went about like some sort of virginal saint, blessing any space she occupied with her divine presence.

Crimsonia spun from the mirror quickly, repulsed by her image. Time had not only killed her beauty, she thought as she plopped her frame upon a padded chair. Time had also killed her innocence. Lately, she’d taken to reminiscing on her glory days, an exercise that really was a masochistic habit to slay the more recent, nightmarish memories of the present time. Sensing the onset of deep depression, Crimsonia reached for an object lying on her nightstand beside a lamp emitting a soft amber glow. In her hand now was a diary she had kept for almost a century, her most loyal companion through the dark times when her mind reached its breaking point. Crimsonia stared at the tattered leather cover, a ten-letter inscription luminescing under the light.

“METAMORPHA”

The cover flipped of its own accord on her lap, stopping somewhere in the first half of the diary. Crimsonia stared at the stained page, considering what memory from her past Metamorpha had chosen for her to indulge in tonight. The pages chronicled her life up until now, filling magically in devilish detail not only the events themselves but her thoughts and feelings at the time. Crimsonia tapped the page twice, watching the letters lift from the vellum. As the letters rose, they shimmered like an array of scarlet glitter dust before her face, dissolving into a thin vapor that washed over her. Crimsonia uttered a shrill shriek before the scenery around her changed.

She was now in a community not far from Beltraine, called Graven Hollow. She stood beneath a giant cypress watching her mother, Artemesia exiting a cabin. Crimsonia was only seventeen years old, her plump face bright and young under the Ashveil moon.

“Sonia!” her mother called.

“Yes mother,” she answered, feeling drained from practicing spells all night.

Artemesia shuffled over to her. “I need you to do something for me. I'm not feeling so well.” Artemesia glanced upward as if something above was responsible for her being unwell. “It seems the cold is aching my bones.”

Crimsonia glanced at her mother, her face creased with concern. She looked pale, her lips chapped. Crimsonia stepped closer.

“Anything, mother.”

Artemesia paused, and for a while, Crimsonia thought she'd changed her mind.

“Mother?”

“Ah, yes, Sonia,” she said, snapping out of her stupor. “There is an important meeting at Vestalmount I should be attending. I would have chosen to miss it had it not been vital for me to attend. I need you to attend the meeting for me and report back to me what was discussed.”

Crimsonia glanced around nervously. “Vestalmount?” she repeated, stunned her mother was entrusting her with such a heavy responsibility. “Can't Sandra or Thea go?”

Artemesia shook her head. “No. Your sisters are out on witch business… business I should have been doing myself.”

Crimsonia stood there desperately trying to think of another reason to cop out of attending the meeting.

Artemesia continued, “You’re young, but your magic is already adult level. I suspect the Magisterium will take issue with you sitting in my place, but they will quickly see how talented a witch you are, even at seventeen.”

Crimsonia hesitated, but as she observed the sick color on her mother's face, she acquiesced, nodding.

“Okay, mother. I'll go.”

“Good, my child,” Artemesia croaked, her voice hoarse.

Crimsonia felt her first wave of worry for her mother’s health creeping into her. Just how bad was her sickness?

“I trust you’ll be fine walking through Nocteraia?”

Crimsonia nodded, appreciating what her mother implied; vampires and lycans had been wreaking havoc on the streets as of late.

“Yes, mother. I'll be fine.”

Less than five minutes later, Crimsonia was trudging through the glacial cold of Nocteraia. The moonshine was fading as it prepared to transition into the Salvia Moon. She was huddled under a woolen sweater her mother had knitted by hand. It had her name embroidered into the intricate lace work. As she strolled through the city, she noted how foreign city life was compared to the slower, more rustic life at Graven Hollow. The myriad of artificial lights seemed to cast a spotlight on her as she passed massive buildings, pubs blaring music, and the Medio Salus hospital with its bland gray walls which symbolized death rather than life. The occasional stranger eyed her warily as she passed. Crimsonia thought she must have seemed strange in the city— a wiry, red-head girl walking leisurely by as if bestial predators hadn’t been murdering those they could sink their teeth into. Although she hadn't felt fear when Artemesia assigned the trip to Vestalmount, it now gripped her tightly. That very fear spurred her on, urging her to move faster down the familiar route her mother had walked with her and her sisters many times before. On some of those walks, Artemesia had said that they would eventually have to embark on the journey she was on as they were bound to have a position in the Magisterium. Other times, Artemesia would explain the magical laws she and the remainder of the Magisterium introduced and contrived, most often relating to vampires and lycans. Most memorable to Crimsonia, however, was Artemesia mentioning the horrors of Blackmaiden, the witch prison deep underground, beneath Vestalmount.  

Crimsonia finally spotted the Vestalmount structure rising between the Scarboro museum and a square-shaped building whose function she didn’t know. For the first time, Crimsonia wondered about the meeting. What would she be walking into not a minute from now? How would a consortium of centurion witches with high political rank receive a teenage girl? She knew her mother's stellar reputation would offer them some confidence in her being qualified to sit with them, but Crimsonia was wise enough to know she would have to prove herself worthy in some way for the Magisterium to fully accept her as her mother's replacement. She also wondered what topics they would discuss that were of such importance that Artemesia wasn't willing to miss the meeting altogether.

A minute out from Vestalmount, a figure charged into Crimsonia’s right side, sending her cartwheeling across the cobblestoned sidewalk. Her head slammed into the concrete, dizzying her. Forehead upon the cold ground, a shadow appeared over her. Magic forgotten, pain flared in her head and side as she labored to twist her body around to see what had caused the shadow. Before she saw what it was, a bestial growl sounded, rumbling through her small frame as though it were something physical. Mortified, Crimsonia found herself staring into a pair of savage yellow eyes. Her own eyes widening in a fear she’d never known, Crimsonia forced her head away as thick saliva dripped from the leering beast’s mouth and onto her clothing. Its black coat seemed to ripple above her as her heart thundered. Then, it lunged at her. There was a sick rip as the creature’s claw ripped her sweater, scratching her flesh. Crimsonia belted out a desperate scream as death’s face neared. But she wasn't dead. It took her some time to realize the lycan was a few feet from her, lying on its side. It had a bleeding wound on its side where it had been hit by something... someone.

“You need to tell me what god you pray to,” a voice startled her.

Crimsonia spun her head towards the voice.

“That level of luck is divine.”

Crimsonia was looking at a girl about her age. Pale with golden eyes, she held something in her hands that chilled her. The heart dripped dark blood on the cobblestones. Smiling, the girl let it fall, the organ producing a disgusting squelching sound as it hit the ground. Then, she extended her bloody hand toward her. Crimsonia hesitated before taking it, an intense pain shooting through her side. 

“I'm Claudia,” she said, helping her up.

Crimsonia smelled a mixture of blood and burning flesh as she took the girl’s hands, turning her nose against the odor. Shocked mute, her consciousness flickering like lamplight, Crimsonia felt herself falling as Claudia released her hand. The next second, her mind faded to black.

…

Crimsonia woke on a lavish queen-size bed with fluffy burgundy sheets. The room was bright with a chandelier buzzing over her with warm light.

“Finally awake,” a voice issued from the corner of the large room.

Crimsonia’s eyes found Claudia, who now stood, walking over to the bed.

“How are you feeling?”

Crimsonia shook off sleep-induced lethargy. She felt a slight pain in her head, but her side was on fire.

“Not as bad as before,” she said, caressing her side. “Thank you.”

Claudia fanned her gratitude away with a nonchalant wave of her hand.

“I hate lycans. Our kind doesn't get along with those dogs. You're extremely lucky to be alive though. If I'd been just a second late, you'd be scraps of dog meat.”

Crimsonia was confused by something Claudia said.

“Our kind?” Crimsonia swung her feet to the carpeted floor.

Claudia slapped a hand on her forehead, staring at her for a while before responding. 

“I hope you don't take offense. I'm a vampire.”

Crimsonia jerked upward, ignoring the pain. After realizing she couldn't hope to escape the room should Claudia attack her, she observed the girl, making peace with the fact that she was at her mercy if she decided to kill her. When Claudia smiled, she took note of a chilling detail she’d missed until now— longer than usual canines. Yet, Crimsonia didn't fully believe the girl, thinking it was some sort of dark humor. But as the memories came rushing back to her, Crimsonia had little doubt the girl was telling the truth. What normal human could kill a fully grown lycan with their bare hands, casually ripping its heart out in the process? Furthermore, Claudia's paleness seemed to become more pronounced in the wake of her revelation.

Claudia spoke again. “What's your name? I know you’re a witch.”

“And how do you know that?” Crimsonia asked, ignoring her question. She tensed as Claudia sat on the bed beside her.

“Funny story,” she began. “While I was carrying you here, there was actual fire pitching from your body. I almost dropped you a few times, in fact.” Claudia extended her arms to reveal the dark burns on her skin.

“I did that?”

Claudia nodded.

“Sorry,” Crimsonia mouthed. “Yes. I’m a witch. My name is Crimsonia.”

“Nice name. Quite fitting for a witch with red hair. My full name is Claudia Ashenhollow. I don't hate witches. At least, not all of them.”

Suddenly, Crimsonia remembered the errand her mother sent her on. She flung the covers from her lap, noting that her clothes had been changed. She now wore silky pink pajamas with pineapple patterns stitched into them. Crimsonia saw that there was bloodspotting on the side of the pajamas. She tried to rise but couldn’t: The pain multiplied tenfold, drawing both groan and grimace from her.

“You got scratched,” Claudia said, watching her. “You’re lucky it wasn't that deep, else you'd have other things to worry about. I was wondering if you’d show signs of lycanthropy when you woke. It would be kind of funny if you woke as one, rampaging through the house like a mad dog. Then, I’d have to kill you just like I did that wolf who tried to kill you. But it seems you’re fine…despite the pain.”

  “My mother will be worried sick,” Crimsonia said more to herself than to Claudia. “How long have I been here?” she asked. “I need to go.”

“I’m afraid you can't leave yet,” Claudia stated, massaging her burnt hand.

“Why not?” Crimsonia fought the pain as she tried to rise again, realizing with frustration that it wasn’t going to happen.

“I would let you go,” Claudia said. “But there is the small matter that you would be killed on sight if anyone in the Ashenhollow vampire house knows you’re here.”

Crimsonia tried to digest what Claudia had just said. It hadn't fully dawned on her what being inside of a vampire’s house meant.

“And just for clarity,” Claudia continued. “They’re not like me. I hate some witches. My family hates them all.”

Crimsonia sighed, her headache fast matching the intensity of the pain in her side.

“So, I’m stuck here.”

Claudia gazed at her with sadness in her eyes. “Am I such bad company?”

“No.” Crimsonia laid back on the bed, amused the girl was bemoaning the company she provided when she was an actual vampire. “It’s just that I really need to get home. My mother is sick. How long have I been here, anyway?”

Claudia shrugged. “You slept nonstop through Ashveil and part of Emberglow. So… about twelve hours.”

Crimsonia shook her head in despair. Her mother and sisters would be looking for her in earnest by now.

“When can I leave?”

“Very soon,” Claudia replied. “ The Salvia Moon is due soon, so everyone's holed up here. You're safe in this room though. As vampires, our resting quarters are sacred. No one intrudes upon them.”

As Crimsonia observed Claudia, she wondered how a girl like her had become a vampire.

“How old are you, Claudia?” she asked, planning to follow up the question with what she really wanted to know. Claudia smiled the fanged smile again.

“One hundred and thirteen.”

Pandemonium At Alphatenory

Jace exited Father Forsythe’s office only to be met with pandemonium in the Alphatenory quadrangle. Most of the brothers were dashing to and fro like mad ants, while some chatted animatedly to their peers with dread on their faces. Jace stopped and watched the chaos from atop the stairs, a sinking feeling beginning to take root inside him. Apparently, news of Hale’s death had spread through the campus like wildfire, sending the brothers into panic mode. The seriousness of the matter became more real when Jace observed two wolves slinking through the crowd, making their way to the main gate. Security had been mobilized, he realized, a sign things were extreme. Although Jace hadn't experienced a situation such as this during his short time at the Alphatenory Brotherhood, he knew enough of the handbook he'd been given at his orientation to know the deployment of the wolves was one of the final, most drastic responses to a perceived threat to the institution. The wolves, Gray and Felix were once men who had permanently shed their humanity for reasons that were a mystery to him. Each as large as a horse, Jace watched as the crowd parted to make way for their languid progress before they leaped almost thirty feet onto the two cylindrical pylons astride the gate.

Jace's mind ran on the eventful night, wondering if the white wolf he saw in the forest was the one that had killed Hale. The beast’s savage red eyes were burned into his mind forever, wild and bestial, yet oddly familiar. Jace was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't see the pair of brothers approaching him from the corridor to the west, leading from Father Forsythe's office.

“What the hell happened, Jace?”

Jace snapped out of his reverie, turning to see his block mates, Lucian and Casey rushing toward him.

“Is it true Hale is dead?” Lucian inquired in his usual drawl.

Imprinted on his brown eyes was abject shock; they now darted to the bedlam beneath them in the quadrangle, where Jace now saw the prefects shunting the boys to their quarters. Jace nodded. 

“Hale's dead.”

“Oh shit!” Casey spat, agape.

Lucian shook his head vigorously as if trying to shake off what he heard.

“What happened?” Casey asked, running his hand through his spiky black hair.

Casey hadn't bothered to put a shirt on, his milky, muscular torso on full display. Jace didn't know how to answer his question of what happened, standing there for a while before responding.

“Died in the forest,” he heard himself say.

“Forest?” Lucian repeated. “What was he even doing in the forest?”

Jace understood their curiosity, but he really didn't feel like being interrogated now. He shrugged.

“Not sure, really. Father Forsythe will probably address us soon with the details.”

“There he is too,” Lucian stated, his eyes trained on the quadrangle. “Is that—” he began.

“Damn. That's Hale, isn't it?” Casey finished.

Jace watched as Father Forsythe entered through the gates with a limp form in his hands. By now, the prefects had managed to clear the space somewhat. Only a few stubborn brothers lingered. A loud gasp escaped them as Father Forsythe passed, Hale’s bloody body bobbing with each step. Jace wanted to turn his head from the gruesome sight, but something held his head in place.

“This must be a dream,” Lucian croaked. “I just spoke to Hale about the Wolf Games not two hours ago. How—”

Lucian was cut off by a prefect who had climbed the steps behind Father Forsythe. His name was Damion, a third-year prefect with ginger hair.

“Go back to your rooms,” he said flatly. “Father Forsythe said the threat might still be present.”

Lucian and Casey moved at once, taking a final glance at Father Forsythe and the limp form of Hale as he neared the office. Jace was about to follow his block mates when Father Forsythe stopped him.

“In my office, Jace,” Father Forsythe said seriously.

Damion glanced from the Headmaster to Jace, before trotting back down the steps to round up the remaining boys. Jace stared into Hale’s dead eyes, a shiver racing up his spine. His white mesh undershirt was discolored with blood, and Jace saw there was a deep wound near his collarbone. Frozen momentarily, Jace watched as the Headmaster passed him. Xavier, another third-year prefect, appeared and took Hale away. Jace walked slowly to the office, numb. His mind was a confused mixture of shock, fear, and curiosity.

Once Jace was inside the office, Father Forsythe closed the door behind him. Jace prepared himself mentally for a spirited chastisement as Father Forsythe indicated for him to sit.

“Tell me what happened.”

Father Forsythe’s voice was calm and measured, and Jace realized this was just as scary as being yelled at. The Headmaster peered at him intently with his brown eyes. Before Jace could respond, a mournful, resonant wolf's howl pierced the air.

“I'm sorry, Father. I shouldn't—”

“I didn't ask for apologies,” Forsythe interjected sternly. “I need to know exactly what happened, so I can gauge the threat level to Alphatenory. Your punishment will come later. For now, concentrate on providing details.”

Jace was silent for a second, considering where to begin. It didn't make sense to lie about anything now, he thought.

“Gibran and I decided to go into the forest to transform. We figured that Hale could teach us how to do it since he's good at it. He told us the Wolf Games was a fight to the death, and Gibran and I wanted to transform at least once before the Games.” Jace paused, avoiding his father's gaze.

“Continue.”

Jace shuffled in the chair. “Hale made us sprint through the forest a few times. He said exhaustion can speed up our transformation. When we still weren't able to transform, Gibran suggested that Hale transform first, just to see if we could learn something from it.”

Father Forsythe nodded. Jace noted that his father seemed much calmer than he expected him to be, considering the circumstances.

“And did he transform?”

Jace nodded. “Yes father. But we still didn't learn anything.” He stopped, correcting the statement. “Well. I didn't.”

Father Forsythe took a deep breath. Jace could tell he was trying his best to keep calm.

“Then?” Forsythe scratched his stubble.

Jace thought back, the details of what had transpired after Gibran transformed hazy in his brain.

“Then Hale howled. Gibran transformed after. I think the howl somehow caused him to change.”

Father Forsythe nodded but said nothing. He appeared to be deep in thought, his forehead creasing.

Jace continued, “Then one of them attacked suddenly.”

Father Forsythe folded his arms.

“Right. But think back, son. What happened to Hale himself after he howled? Did you see Gibran attack him?”

“No.” Jace said quickly. “They were both circling as if they were about to attack me. One of them came at me. I’m not sure which, but I think it was Hale.”

Father Forsythe sat again. Jace could see something was bothering him.

“Very strange,” Forsythe said. “When I arrived on the scene, I didn't see Gibran. There seems to be some details missing between the time when you say Hale and Gibran were circling you, and when one of them actually attacked.”

Jace glanced at his father confused. The explanation seemed quite obvious.

“Maybe, Gibran fled when Hale attacked me. I mean... he was afraid he would get caught in the forest since it is out of bounds to students. Gibran was probably making his way back to the campus.”

Father Forsythe shook his head vigorously. “No. That's not how a wolf pack works. A member of the pack is bound to assist another member who is in danger. It would be impossible for Gibran to flee if he saw that you were in danger.”

“But what if I am not a member of the pack?” Jace reasoned.

Father Forsythe's head shot up. He looked at Jace as if he'd seen a ghost.

“What do you mean by that?” he inquired, his tone testy, hostile.

Jace shrugged. “I mean… I wasn't able to transform. Maybe I’m just not a lycan.”

Father Forsythe laughed. Jace was surprised at his father's reaction, especially in the middle of this grave exchange.

“Never repeat what you just said. It is more blasphemous than you realize. How ironic…” Forsythe said, but he left the sentence hanging. He took his eyes off Jace and peered through the window, stroking his stubble. After a long while, he finally directed his gaze back at Jace.

“If you had said Hale and Gibran weren’t a part of the pack, then you would be on to something,” he said.

The statement perplexed Jace. “Why do you say that, father?”

Forsythe squinted. “It's becoming clear to me what happened now. This has been a rather peculiar night. Even though you were there, Jace, you have no idea how complex what happened in the woods was.”

Jace was about to ask his father what he had figured out, but the man rose, a pleased look on his face.

“Thank you, son. Inform the prefects they can relax security. I need to make a long, overdue trip to our neighbors at the Beltraine Sisterhood.”

Bondage

Having briefed Draven about Lily’s shortcomings in consulting the spirits using her Heka, Tamsyn stood outside the balcony door. She had to speak to Kain before he left the Blackcross castle. Since the Salvia Moon was due in a few hours, she wouldn't get to see him again until after the mission. And of course, that was exactly what she intended to prevent. Voices rose and fell on the balcony between Draven and Owl. She overheard them talking about vampire families, witches, lycans, and beer. A beating sound drew a surprised shriek from her. She spun to see Draven's pet bat, Zeus sailing past her, weaving adroitly through the small space of the semi-open door. She missed something Owl had said. Now, it was Kain who was speaking. Tamsyn strained her ears to hear what he was saying.

“My father said they’re quite neutral,” she heard him say.

“I suppose some of them are,” Owl responded after a while. “But the lycans are pretty divided. Some side with the witches, some side with us. Draven, we could have approached Garamond to assist us on this mission, could we not?”

There was silence for a while before Draven responded.

“Too unpredictable, and I don't think he'd agree anyway. As the lycan king, I imagine he's quite busy.”

Tamsyn scoffed. She didn't know much about lycans, but she knew enough to know they were impulsive beasts who gave in easily to their primal urges. At least, that was what Draven himself told her.

“In any case,” Draven crowed. “We’ve drafted our plan. And it's nearing the Salvia Moon. I’ll allow you to head back to your respectives houses and rest a bit. I wouldn't appreciate you lot getting your skins torched by the Salvia Moon before the mission, would I?” He erupted into a fit of laughter.

Tamsyn heard the chairs shuffling. She sped downstairs posthaste, intending to come back up as Kain and Owl were leaving. That way, they would be none the wiser she had been eavesdropping. She waited a while in the living room before stepping up the stairs once more. She hoped Draven lingered by himself on the balcony. Tamsyn climbed the winding stairs slowly, giving the visitors time to exit the balcony. She made it halfway without seeing anyone. Sighing, she thought about loitering on the stairs for a while but decided against it. She reached the top of the stairs, seeing a shadow at the balcony door.

“Flight is faster,” she heard Draven saying.

There was a whooshing sound she assumed was Owl flying from the balcony. If she was correct, that meant Draven and Kain were alone. Something brushed her leg, startling her. Tamsyn watched her cat, Theo trot past the door before disappearing inside her room. Just then, Kain emerged from the balcony, his face worn and haggard. Tamsyn spoke quickly.

“I need to speak to you now!” she whispered, grabbing his hand and whisking him into her room. Closing the door, she did something she hadn't planned on doing. Pressing her lips on his, she kissed him deeply. Kain placed his hand on her shoulder, easing her off.

“I need to go! Draven—”

“Kain, I have to tell you something,” she said, looking into his eyes. Kain shook his head dismissively, glancing behind him at the door. Tamsyn spoke before he did.

“You can't go on that Beltraine mission. Lily just told me—”

“It's fine, Tam,” he interjected. “Once I complete the mission, I'll be free to court you.”

Tamsyn took a step back. “Is that what Draven said? He's just saying that! He doesn't mean it! He hates your family.”

Kain smiled, taking her hand in his. “Aww. You're worried about me, aren't you? That's sweet, but—”

“Lily said you're going to die at Beltraine,” she blurted.

Kain's smile faded. He stared at her in silence with an expression she couldn't decode.

“You just told me not to listen to your father, and here you are listening to the likes of Lily? She hates the Fangsworths even more than Draven does.” He released her hand.

“Listen babe,” Tamsyn said, willing for Kain to see reason. “We can find another way to be together fully. This—this is just not worth risking. Please, Kain…”

But as she pleaded, she saw in his eyes that he had made up his mind. Utter helplessness gripping her, she pulled him into a deep embrace.

“Please, Kain. Don't go. I'm begging you. Please,” she whispered, sobbing. “I can't lose you. I can't—”

Kain hugged her back, holding the back of her head.

“I love you, Tamsyn. But I have to do this. I cannot let Jubal and the Fangsworth house down. I cannot give Draven the satisfaction of seeing me back out of this like a coward. That would only prove his point. I'd have no hope of being with you. After all, it's just a recon mission. It's not like we are attacking the place. Quit worrying.”

Tamsyn sighed as they rocked together. I'm never going to convince him, she thought. Kain twisted his way out of the embrace. Tamsyn sensed he was about to leave.

“Your father knows about the mission,” she said. “I know you didn't tell him.”

Kain's temples twitched as he peered at her.

“You told him about the mission thinking he would try to stop me? Is that it?”

Tamsyn noted his derisive tone. He was getting angry.

“I didn't know you wanted to keep it a secret,” she said candidly.

“Listen to yourself! You sound stupid. Of course, I didn't tell him!”

“Shh!” Tamsyn put a finger on her lips. Kain was starting to get loud. For all she knew, her father could be behind the door listening, waiting to barge in with violence any second now. Shaking his head, Kain turned to go. Tamsyn watched him, her eyes widening in desperation. She felt the magic teeming in her fingers as if they’d decided before she did what must be done. Suddenly, her hands jerked upward. A hot, powerful gust slammed the door shut in Kain's face. He spun, his face the picture of rage. But Tamsyn was all in.

“I'm so sorry, Kain,” she whispered. “I just can’t let you do this.” Another spasmodic jerk of her hands released wind of an unnatural kind, crackling with energy. Kain's bulging eyes betrayed his astonishment as he fell with a thud.

The Midnight Dead

It was now ten minutes since Morgana fled the Astrum. Gloria was feeling distressed and anxious, the unknown torturing her. She was certain Morgana had already told one of the Mothers exactly what had happened— how she tried to feed on her blood. It was only a matter of time before one or more of them came storming inside the Astrum, searching for her. Gloria knew her vampiric powers were no match for any of the Mother's magic, and she would be scorched and erased painfully from existence by their divine magic. Gloria lamented over the fact that the Astrum had no windows, being far underground. If it did, she could have deduced how much time was left until the Salvia Moon ended, so she could flee the Astrum...flee Beltraine. She would try to escape through the Shadowgrove forest and face whatever dangers lurked within it. The path beyond the front gate was laced with magic. Furthermore, Mother Meirothea’s vestal, Paracelsus was there to pitch light at her if she tried to leave forcibly.

A rustling sound startled Gloria through the constant buzz of the glowing nets Morgana had fashioned. A luminary floated in an arc over the nets before hovering expectantly above her. A thought hit her as she observed the floating thing. The luminary’s essence had now returned to its bluish hue, transforming from the tinge of purple it was earlier. Considering that they were fashioned from moonlight, could it be that the luminary reverting to its natural color meant the Salvia Moon had ended? Osara had mentioned that the passage of time seemed slower here, which meant someone could be here for an hour when they thought they'd only spent ten minutes. The possibility that the Salvia Moon had ended filled Gloria with a weak hope of escaping Beltraine. Also, her pain and hunger had faded a bit, though her arms still burned from their exposure to the Salvia Moon. Gloria, deciding to risk it all, stood slowly. She gazed at the pamphlet-sized manuscript the luminary had given her on curing vampirism. Bending, she picked it up and shoved it inside her pocket. No sooner had she done this than the luminary began zooming around her. Gloria watched it warily, and after deciding it wouldn't attack her, she made her way to the back of the Astrum to see if there was a walkway there to bypass Morgana's crude creation. Another thought hit her: What if Morgana decided not to tell anyone? It was an unlikely thing to happen, but it was possible. If that was the case, Gloria wouldn't have to risk her life trying to escape death at Beltraine. It would give her some time to plot her escape. Now, at the back of the Astrum, Gloria was delighted to find there was indeed a walkway at the back behind the shelves. She was surprised to see that instead of a wall, she was walking astride a mirror on the other side of the shelves.

Gloria made her way to the front, where she saw flecks of Morgana's dried blood on the floor at the foot of the stairs. Suddenly, a seething anger reared up inside her such that she stopped before the stairs, her scar twisting as it had never twisted before, actually shifting her bloody blouse. Gloria placed a hand on her belly, relaxing somewhat. The scar seemed to respond to her, slowing its movement inside her. She was pretty sure what she read in the manuscript was correct. The scar was probably a seal placed on her to control her powers. But why would someone go through the trouble to do that? Gloria raced up the steps, praying no one was inside the chapel to see her once she emerged. The light in the chapel illuminated the head of the stairs above her. Gloria could already tell from the energy around her that the Salvia Moon had indeed ended. She spilled into the chapel, her eyes yet to adapt to the brilliance. But something at her feet stunned her. Gloria gulped, narrowing her eyes at the macabre sight. Her head twisted at an odd angle was a clearly dead Morgana. She was on her back, green eyes still wide with the terror of whatever had killed her. Gloria saw the bite marks she'd given her.

“I couldn't have killed her,” she whispered. She hadn't even swallowed a mouthful of her blood. Then, how was Morgana dead? The moon had shed its purple, and as Gloria peered at it, she saw they were almost at the end of the Opal Moon, nearing Ashveil. As Gloria contemplated her next move, she saw movement outside, through the chapel door. The decision made for her, she darted to the door, eager to get as far away from Morgana as possible. She hoped no one saw her exiting. Gloria watched Aurelius’ pearlescent form wafting past the three-faced statue, heading toward the gate. Aurelius traveled between Dorms, but it wasn't usual for Mother Lysandra’s vestal to venture to the gate. The gate was Paracelsus' domain. Before Gloria stepped into the cold environs of Beltraine, she scanned the grounds again. A light flickered on, off, and on again inside Mother Crimsonia's cabin, which was the closest structure to the chapel at a distance of about fifty feet. Further down the ringed, cobblestoned path was Mother Meirothea's cottage, and directly behind the chapel, at the edge of the Shadowgrove forest, was Mother Lysandra's cabin. Gloria stepped out to have the cold immediately nipping at her. Buffeted by a gentle breeze at her back, her vampiric speed carried her in a daze past the statue and down the hydrangea-lined path en route to Dorm L. 

Gloria slowed as she reached the oak doors, realizing to her dismay that yet another problem might present itself. There could be sisters in the hall when she entered. She couldn't risk being seen by them. Gloria knew her haggard appearance, blood-soaked trousers, and the Salvia Moon-induced cuts on her arms were bound to reveal the dark night she was having until now. Furthermore, she would certainly be fingered as a suspect in Morgana's death. At the door, she glanced around her nervously, her body trembling from the cold and her predicament. As she pondered her next move, Gloria realized she didn't have much time to decide: She was just as exposed here. Steeling herself, she opened the door carefully. Sure enough, she heard voices coming from the hall. Inhaling deeply, she mustered the entirety of her vampiric energy before streaking inside, her velocity frightening even her as she blazed to the foot of the stairs. She saw the outlines of a group of sisters milling about in the hall. Strangely, she thought she glimpsed some sisters from Dorm M and C among them. In a dizzying spiral, Gloria rocketed up the stairs, her sore body already aching from the exertion. Someone was coming down the walkway between rooms. But Gloria’s blinding momentum had already brought her past the point of no return. Luckily, Cassandra had already walked by her room door: Gloria didn't have to use precious time to open it normally as Cassandra watched. Gloria wisped by her like a light spirit, sensing the girl had halted as she did. A surprised shriek left her, but Gloria didn't look back, proceeding to open her door as swiftly as she could, pitching herself inside her room and closing the door.

Spent, she collapsed immediately, the carpet blunting her fall. She smelled Faelina's blood on it from when she fed on her. Faelina wasn't here, she noted between gasps. Gloria was too exhausted to consider where she could be if not in the chapel or the Dorm. Gloria drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Metamorpha II: The Widow Moon

On her third night at the Ashenhollow vampire castle, Crimsonia was starting to think Claudia wanted to keep her holed up here for reasons she refused to reveal. She’d recovered from the lycan attack almost a night ago now, and she was worried sick about her mother and sisters. Claudia’s excuse had been that the guards had noticed lycans lurking suspiciously throughout the surrounding areas, seemingly waiting for an opportunity to cause trouble. Claudia had theorized that they had followed the scent of the wolf that had attacked her, leading them to the castle, and that they probably wanted to exact revenge on behalf of their fallen brethren. The explanation had been logical enough, and so Crimsonia had accepted it. But lately, her intuition (or something else entirely) had begun casting doubt. In any case, she decided it was best to stay here a while longer as the risk of being mauled by a wolf was probably greater than the other Ashenhollow vampires discovering a witch was in their presence. To be fair, she felt no mortal threat from Claudia herself. In fact, she had become quite fond of the vampire, what with her teenage-girl masquerade and dark humor, which somehow resonated with a not-so-innocent part of her.

Furthermore, Crimsonia hadn’t come in contact with any other vampires in the house thus far, though she could hear their voices from time to time. Most were adult males and one other female Claudia had told her was her sister, Lizbeth. Claudia had even whispered to her that if anyone were to discover she was here, it would be Lizbeth, and that if it indeed occurred, Crimsonia was to take a particular course of action: pray earnestly to the god she praised, begging for a swift, painless death.

Crimsonia was now gazing outside through one of the curtains (something Claudia had expressly forbidden), when Claudia walked in.

“I have good news and bad news,” she chirped, plopping herself onto the bed. “Which do you want first?”

Crimsonia shrugged. “The good news.” She walked from the window and leaned on the bedpost.

Claudia studied her for a while before responding.

“The good news is the wolves seemed to have given up on their revenge plot. The guards spotted none in the last few hours.”

Crimsonia nodded, elated she’d finally be able to reunite with her family, whom she knew were agonizing over her prolonged disappearance.

“And the bad news?”

“The bad news is that you still can’t leave. Not quite yet.”

“Why not?” Crimsonia asked, getting annoyed. Her idea about Claudia not wanting her to leave returned in full force.

Claudia offered a fanged smile. “It’s actually good news for me. There’s the Bloodtiding Ball that happens here at the Ashenhollow castle on the final night of every Widow Moon. Vampires from all houses will be in attendance, partying the night away. Obviously, you’ll need me to usher you safely off the premises. But I can’t miss the Ball as I’m sure you will understand.”

“Widow Moon?” Crimsonia repeated.

Claudia cocked her head at her in amusement.

“You don’t know what a Widow Moon is? As a witch, you’re the one who should be telling me about it, not the other way around.”

Crimsonia shook her head. She’d never heard of the Widow Moon before. She wondered if it had something to do with the Salvia Moon. Crimsonia voiced her thoughts.

“Is it connected to the Salvia Moon?”

“Well…” Claudia began, raising her brows. “I suppose it’s understandable you don’t know about it. You’re young. The Widow Moon happens every fifty years, beginning on the first of May. It marks the anniversary of the Salvia Moon— when the witches first bewitched the moon. The Widow Moon lasts for three nights, the first of which is a Salvia Moon. The remaining two nights aren’t Salvia Moon nights, but the effects of the Widow Moon are present. ”

Crimsonia asked, “Why would the vampires have a party to celebrate something that can kill them? Doesn’t make sense to me.”

Claudia shook her head, crossing her legs. “Great question. It’s not a celebration, actually. It’s sort of a rebellious show of defiance to the witches’ attempt at subjugating us.”

“I see,” Crimsonia murmured. “Are there any signs the Widow Moon is happening, anything like the Salvia Moon’s purple glare?”

“Absolutely,” Claudia replied animatedly. “It gets very deep.”

She paused, and Crimsonia got the impression she was confused about where to begin.

“In a nutshell,” Claudia continued, “the moon is in a rare position in the sky on Widow Moons. You can think of Widow Moons as special Salvia Moons, but in addition to the usual purple glare of Salvia Moons, Widow Moons give rise to pretty strange circumstances.”

“Like?” Crimsonia prompted.

Claudia giggled. “I can’t believe I’m explaining the Widow Moon to a witch. That’s wild to me. But anyway…on Widow Moons, it’s like the veil between the dead and the living is lifted, the line between dreams and reality blurred. This is why on Widow Moons a lot of prophecies occur. Beings of the night— especially werewolves and ghosts— become more prevalent on the streets. Basically, everything the darkness usually hides comes out into the open. Believe me, Crimsonia, it gets really…really freaky.”

“Wow!” Crimsonia exclaimed, both spooked and intrigued at once. She found it odd that for such a significant astronomical event, her mother hadn’t once mentioned the Widow Moon. Claudia seemed to have read her mind.

“Maybe this information was kept from you for a reason,” she reasoned.

“Like what? I think maybe the topic just didn’t come up,” Crimsonia said quickly.

Claudia shrugged. “Nah! I don’t buy that for a second. What I know for sure is Widow Moons hold more significance to witches than everyone else. I hear some use it for dark magic. Rituals are even more powerful on Widow Moons than at any other time. Stuff like time manipulation, pulling sinister energy from the space between the stars can be done. Hell! My father even told us…me and Lizbeth…that he knows of one case of a witch raising the dead.”

Crimsonia was so intrigued and shocked that her hands rose to her lips. She’d never heard anyone mention the things Claudia just did concerning dark magic. Only now did she have enough insight into why her mother never mentioned the existence of Widow Moons. Being the righteous witch that she was, to mention such dark things would be blasphemous. Crimsonia made a note to ask her sisters if they knew about Widow Moons. Claudia rose, watching her as though she was some kind of rare specimen under observation.

“Does it interest you?” she asked.

Crimsonia got the impression Claudia was gauging her reaction…toying with her.

“Well, yeah, it does.” Crimsonia felt a twinge of guilt admitting this, but seeing that she was in the presence of a vampire, she felt relatively comfortable doing so. 

“As I said,” she continued, “I’ve never heard of Widow—”

Claudia interjected, startling her. “I meant dark magic. Does it interest you?”

Crimsonia stood mute, taken aback by the strange question.

“Why would you ask me that?” Crimsonia was starting to feel attacked…offended even.

Claudia didn’t answer immediately. She walked over to the cabinet beside the window and pulled out a bottle with a liquid Crimsonia assumed was wine. Claudia freed the wooden stopper with a ‘pop’ before taking a large swig of the amber liquid.

“I have something to admit, Crimsonia,” she said.

Eager to hear Claudia’s admission, Crimsonia urged her on with her eyes. Claudia took another swig before responding.

“Remember that werewolf that attacked you? Fun fact: You would have survived even if I didn’t intervene.”

“Highly doubt that,” Crimsonia mumbled, even though she felt like there was some hidden meaning in what Claudia said. “If you didn’t rip its heart out—”

Claudia shook her head, wiggling her fingers for emphasis.

“Nope,” she said. “You actually performed dark magic just before it would have killed you. That heart I took…it was already fried. You cooked that wolf from the inside.”

Night-time Nocturnes

An hour before the Salvia Moon, the Moonshadow house was abuzz with activity. Rapturous classical music blared inside the heady space. Its source was the air itself, enchanted into a musical instrument of a novel sort. Dim lights dominated the interior, radiating softly from oil lamps and burning incense. Ambrosial fragrances suffused the house with smoke and lust. Inside the uppermost room, two bodies were locked in a sensual embrace.

“Extra romantic tonight, eh?” Noctua whispered in Lily's lap, her lips against her bejeweled ear. “Should I be worried this is to be our last night of lovemaking?” Noctua kissed Lily's jaw.

Lily held the back of Noctua's curly auburn hair. “The Beltraine mission will be a breeze,” Lily said softly, gazing at their company kneeling in a corner by the mantlepiece.

“Come,” she said, pointing at the man, beckoning him with her fingers.

The shirtless man moved at once, creeping over to them.

“Good boy.” Lily felt Noctua retreat as the man stared up at them with glossy eyes. Lily locked eyes with him before he proceeded to rise, lowering his neck toward her. Lily bit his soft flesh, savoring the rush as she drank from him. She felt him jerk as a critical volume of his blood left him. Lily withdrew at once. She didn't want to kill him, not yet. She planned on making him last throughout the Salvia Moon. She licked the blood trickling from his wounds before pulling Noctua in for a deep kiss. Their tongues danced in blood and wine. Lily felt her mind slipping from the euphoria, Noctua caressing her jaw. Her magical touch spun Lily’s mind into a frenzy, rendering the room dizzy with thick vapor swirling in the glowing amber light. 

She'd been having sessions like these on the eve of every Salvia Moon. It was a way to mock the bewitched moon as it had mocked her kind with its caustic light. She would not let it stifle the vampire spirit tonight. Tonight was extra special: It represented, among other things, a series of serendipitous events that had graced the Moonshadow house recently. For one, their Heka, which was their birthright, had found favor with the Vampire King, so much so that the entire mission at Beltraine was predicated on what her Heka revealed. It was Heka that had unearthed the secret to the permanent banishment of the Salvia Moon. It had told her through the spirits that the death of the three witches at Beltraine (whose ancestors crafted the Salvia Moon) would end the deadly phenomenon. Noctua slid from her, pouring some red wine from a pitcher. Lily watched her graceful movement, smiling.

Lily was glad to have turned such a beauty into one like herself, refusing to let it go to waste. Noctua was a witch then, but Lily had overpowered her on that fateful night in the streets of Nocteraia, close to Vestalmount no less. Noctua poured a second glass for her, which she took, taking a sip as she gazed at her.

“What's wrong?” Noctua asked. “You're a bit quiet. A quiet Lily is a plotting Lily.”

Lily finished the wine. Its aftertaste was a curious blend, both sweet and metallic, with a faint echo of blood.

“Not plotting, just thinking.”

“Tell me,” Noctua prodded, running a hand over her jaw.

Lily hesitated, laying her glass down on the night table.

“I summoned Carmine here.” Lily braced for Noctua’s reaction.

She pulled away from her now, fixing her a cold stare. Noctua disliked company, especially vampires from the other houses.

“Carmine Nightcreed?” she said. “For what reason? What business do you have with that hag?”

 Lily eased Noctua off her lap. “I don't fancy her either.” She shuffled across the carpet, peering through the windows. “We have similar goals, Carmine and I,” Lily continued.

“And what goals are those?” Noctua inquired testily.

“Draven,” Lily said flatly. “We both want him stripped of the Vampire King position.”

Noctua sighed. “This again! What is this obsession with the Vampire King position?” she asked. “Is it that you want the position for yourself?”

Lily scoffed. “Well, I suppose your questions are valid since you weren’t born into any of the houses.”

“Way to kill the mood, Lily,” Noctua grumbled. “But you harp on about the Vampire King a lot. Wouldn’t your life be less stressful if you didn’t worry about it? I don’t get what’s so serious about it.”

Lily nodded as Noctua spoke. Noctua had previously expressed to her that her preoccupation with the Vampire King took a wealth of time away from their time together. Lily supposed it was fair for Noctua to question things. After all, she was a vampire now, and hence the hierarchy of power within the vampire families affected her too.

“The position of Vampire King is enormously important,” Lily explained. “It allows the person to rule over all the houses and make decisions about the way forward for the vampiric race.” She turned to face Noctua, who was now standing as if preparing for battle.

Lily continued, “Remember that as vampires, we’re competing with witches and lycans for ascendancy. In addition to that, the Vampire King enjoys the lion’s share of resources to expand their family’s house. But most importantly,” Lily said, “there is a traditional coronation ceremony held to usher in the Vampire King, a ritual really, which transfers a portion of the energy of the vampire community to share among the Vampire King and his family.”   

“Hmm.” Noctua seemed to relax, her shoulders dropping. “But what has Draven done for you to want him removed?”

Lily folded her arms. “If you met him, you wouldn't even need to ask that question. Complete asshole. Thinks he's some sort of god.”

The room descended into silence, the prior sexual energy fading fast. Lily welcomed the change as she anticipated Carmine’s visit. She had to have her mind in the right frame for what they would be discussing. But as she peered at Noctua deep in thought, Lily saw that she was still not satisfied with the response she’d given her.

“It's what Draven did to achieve power that upsets me,” Lily continued.

“Wasn't he elected?” Noctua asked, plopping herself back onto the bed. “That's what Rael told me. If he was elected, then the majority of the vampire fraternity seemed to want him to become their Vampire King.”

Lily nodded. She noted that Noctua had asked Rael about Draven. It seemed she was more interested in the matter than she’d originally let on. Perhaps the liquor was loosening her tongue; Noctua never questioned her like this. Lily watched as Carmine's plump outline appeared at the gate.

“Yes, but I think that election was rigged.”

“Rigged how?” Noctua pressed.

Lily spun from the window to see Noctua fixing her an expectant stare. Lily supposed it couldn't hurt to reveal some of what she gleaned about Draven from the moment he ascended to the position of Vampire King. It was only a night ago (after Tamsyn Blackcross’ visit) that it all came together for her.

“It was Draven who slaughtered the Ashenhollows— the previous ruling vampire house. That is the beginning of Draven’s bloody path on his way to claiming the position for himself.”

Noctua narrowed her eyes, skeptical. “Wasn't it the Scarlet Incantatrix who did that? She slaughtered her own Ashenhollow family along with some of the leaders of the other houses. At least, that’s what some of my batch-mates at Beltraine used to say.”

“The BloodVeil killed the leaders of the other vampire houses. That is correct. But she didn't kill her own family. That is a lie perpetuated across Nocteraia, probably engineered by Draven himself.”

Noctua hung her head, deep in thought. “Interesting.”

Lily watched Noctua to see if she would manage to piece together the final bit of the puzzle. Noctua’s head was still trained on the ground. The music that had been setting a mood stopped altogether.

“You said the election was rigged. How could it be rigged?”

“Aha!” Lily exclaimed, walking to the door. “That is the key to Draven's elaborate deceit. Think about what we found out just last night.”

“His daughter?” Noctua tried. Her head shot up. “She's a witch, she could have—”

Lily shook her head. “No. Tamsyn was just a child… too weak to weave such complex sorcery as to fool the entire vampire fraternity.”

“Then… her mother, surely.”

Noctua’s eyes were wide with excitement, enticing her to confirm the hypothesis. Lily smiled.

“But who, Noctua? Who is Tamsyn's mother? That is where the madness really begins.”

With her statement hanging in the air like a guillotine waiting to fall, Lily walked out the door. She had the same metaphorical guillotine to sharpen alongside Carmine Nightcreed, one she would cause to descend on Draven Blackcross’ neck.

The Graveyard Witch

An hour shy of the Salvia Moon, Draven Blackcross flew through the darkness of Nocteraia. Flapping silently beside him was a fox-nosed bat, the only creature alive that he trusted with his life. Given that the Salvia Moon was fast descending, Draven couldn't hazard this long journey on foot. Of all the people to draw him out of his castle at such a perilous time, it was a witch. Shivering under his black garb, the cold seemed to penetrate his bones. But his shivering wasn't entirely due to Nocteraia's glacial air; the witch who inspired this impromptu sojourn was as dark as they came. It was Zeus who finally unearthed her location after decades of searching for the powerful crone. Draven was under no illusions he would have to approach her carefully, for she was far gone from the innocent girl he met almost two centuries ago in a lonely cabin in Graven Hollow.

Amaranth was her name, old, wise, and powerful like her compatriots at the Beltraine Sisterhood. Draven wondered if they knew Amaranth was alive. Probably not, he thought, for she had gone to great lengths to remain in the shadows like a ghost dwelling with the dead. Draven happened to know that the consortium of ruling witches—the Magisterium— was trying desperately to find Amaranth to throw her into the Blackmaiden witch prison for using forbidden magic. Draven considered if the decision to meet with her was rushed. He was ignorant about just how powerful Amaranth was, and it was possible he should have brought along some of his underlings to help defend him if the need arose. Draven shook his head against the assaulting wind. Time was of the essence, the Salvia Moon was mere minutes away, and he had to get to her before his vampires attacked Beltraine.

Zeus lowered, his flapping less frantic. Draven followed, his misgivings increasing as he progressed through the fading Emberglow night, the moon ominously shrouded in dark clouds. They were getting close, he realized. He spotted the twin institutes of Beltraine and Alphatenory beneath him, his mind wandering to the mission he'd delegated to his cohort. The attack was to be the first part of his grand scheme, though it had almost been ruined from the start at the meeting with the leaders of the respective vampire houses. It was Lily who had mentioned the BloodVeil, who was the crux of the plan he’d fashioned long in advance. He intended to seek the BloodVeil alone. But with Lily mentioning her, together with the optics he had to maintain as the Vampire King, he had to quickly adjust his plan to include the vampire leaders. Although he’d been crestfallen to hear the revelation from Lily’s Heka, it had confirmed what his primary source told him… that the BloodVeil was indeed at the Sisterhood. Draven wanted to be absolutely certain she was there, so he could return and kill her himself if necessary.

They soared over the Shadowgrove forest, the Fangsworth residence coming into view. Zeus plummeted into a dramatic dive, heading for a remote part of Nocteraia Draven had never ventured before. Tensing as he dove, Draven shed energy to buffet himself to a controlled pace ever downward. There were no grand structures here, only lonesome houses, desolate valleys, and dark open spaces. Who could live here? he thought. Anyone who did, endured a perverse and miserable existence fit only for pigs and pestilence. But Zeus flew past even those, heading toward a place where the darkness could only be described as perverse. Draven wondered if his trusty bat had gone mad. Draven tailed nonetheless, the atmosphere beginning to teem with oppressive energy. He was far away from sensible aid if something went wrong in the meeting with Amaranth. Again, Draven questioned his decision to come here. Zeus landed on a high cypress overlooking a graveyard. A crow cawed ominously as Draven’s feet found soft, muddy earth laden with leaves and twigs. Glancing around him, he knew by intuition they'd come to the right place. Hiding in a graveyard was exactly what a dark witch would do. How Zeus had come to find her, Draven could only guess. And as he glanced up at the cypress to where the bat had perched, the bat had vanished, a clear sign the place was malignant.

Abandoned by his pet, Draven put a cautious foot forward. He was among what looked to be dozens of graves scattered haphazardly about him. Some had larger tombstones for whom he presumed were more prominent figures when they were alive. As Draven passed them, walking without a destination, he appreciated the paradox of his presence here among the graceful dead. He represented a glorious triumph over death that they had fallen victim to. As he thought this, his foot sank deep into the earth. A surprised yell left him as he sank. Flaring his vampiric energy, he tried to rise from it, but the earth held him firmly in place. Draven knew it for what it was. Magic.

“Amaranth,” he said coolly.

His descent ceased. Draven knew he couldn't kill the witch, but she couldn't kill him either. The lengths he'd gone to prevent death ensured this.

“You mock the dead.”

The throaty voice startled him so much that Draven actually felt the earth budge as his energy jolted. Suddenly, a mist spun itself from pure darkness, dredging up leaves and loose dirt. Then, it vanished as though it wasn't real. Draven gazed at the display, the first whirlings of mortal fear breaching his confidence. The vanishing mist revealed a tall, gaunt woman with long, dreadlocked hair rolling down to her forearms. Her bony face shone with a sick pallor in the darkness. Draven peered at her intently, barely recognizing the witch he once knew as a sprightly girl with a radiant smile.

“Amaranth,” Draven repeated, half out of shock, half out of confusion about the morbid degree to which she'd fallen from grace.

“Draven Blackcross,” Amaranth replied, slowly advancing.

Draven tried to gauge the woman's intentions, but her face was a statue of death.

“How brave you are. I could kill you now. Take a bath in your undead blood. Rip asunder the veil of immortality you think you possess.”

“I come in peace, Amaranth. I simply have a few questions.”

Amaranth held him in her gaze for almost a minute. He got the unnerving sensation her deep-set eyes beneath their dark sockets weren’t looking merely at the physical, but at something more subtle inside him. Slowly raising her long, spidery fingers, the mud slackened at Draven’s feet. He rose from it, shifting his position to more stable ground.

“So, the rumors are true then? You’ve immersed yourself in dark magic?”

“What do you want?” Amaranth shot back in a foul tone. Her veiled red frock fluttered as she spoke.

Draven hesitated, considering how best to word what he wanted from her. He knew finesse was required, especially after Amaranth's hostile greeting.

“There is a peculiar matter at hand,” Draven began. “One that directly involves the vampires and the witches. It turns out the only people who can stop an all-out war is you and I.”

Draven stopped, observing the witch's reaction. Amaranth's face twitched in the shadows.

“That is nothing new. Witches and vampires cannot peacefully coexist together, as you well know.”

Amaranth’s voice came across as a sibilant whisper. Draven got the sense some bestial creature was speaking through her.

Draven nodded. “I cannot disagree. However…” He paused, drumming up in his mind the right words to say to sway the witch. “Sometimes a greater evil rises above us all. In such instances, we are better served uniting to defeat it.”

Amaranth stared at him for almost a minute before responding.

“I see what this is about,” she said.

Draven got the impression she concluded this through magic rather than through rational thought.

“You’re speaking of the BloodVeil,” she said.

“So you know she's alive despite the rumors saying otherwise?”

Draven chose his words carefully. He wanted to discover how much the dark witch knew. Amaranth erupted into a fit of rasping laughter.

“Why don't you ask what you really came here to ask? I already see your vain desire in your soul-less frame.”

Draven conceded. It appeared his subtlety wasn't working on the old witch.

“Yes,” Draven said. “I have to inquire about the prophecy concerning the BloodVeil. You were present to hear it in its entirety. I need to know what was said before I walked through those doors.”

Amaranth folded her hands, her lips drawn tight. For the first time tonight, she revealed her former self, an albeit twisted caricature of herself in her youth. She seemed nervous.

“That information I cannot give, especially not to a snake like you,” she crowed. “I'm taking that to my grave.”

Draven felt the rage rising from the pit of his stomach. The prophecy was the only thing stopping him from transcending the measly title of Vampire King and ascending to godhood.

He pressed, “The BloodVeil poses a threat to both witches and vampires. It is in our best interest to eliminate her before all hell breaks loose. Don't you understand that?” After he spoke the words, he saw that Amaranth was still unmoved.

“Even if I reveal the remainder of the prophecy, it would change nothing. I have lived long enough to understand the power of fate. The prophecy outlines what must come to pass. Your meddling will only serve to add fodder to the ever-burning fire of destiny.”

With that, Amaranth began walking back to where she came from. The mysterious mist returned to drape her thin frame. Draven watched her, fumbling for a last trick to stall her.

“The BloodVeil is at Beltraine,” he croaked. The words came from him as if by themselves.

Amaranth stopped in her tracks, her frame as stiff as a corpse. Then, she turned suddenly, impressing her ghastly visage on him again.

“What did you say?”

“Beltraine,” Draven repeated. “The BloodVeil is there under the watchful eyes of your three friends. Tell me, Amaranth, how does that play into the prophecy and your idea about fate?”

“How did you discover this?” she asked, her voice rising a couple of octaves.

Draven saw that the witch was finally taking him seriously.

“I have multiple sources confirming this. One of them is a Moonshadow. She used Heka to commune with the spirits. They confirmed the BloodVeil is there masquerading as one of the sisters… waiting to strike, I presume.”

Amaranth hissed. “If that is true, I admit it’s a strange way for fate to play out. And unfortunately for you, it is I who revel in the strange and the obscure, not you.”

Amaranth vanished, this time in a blinding red haze. Draven took flight immediately, glancing at the moon. Tonight was a failure, and the fringes of the moon had already darkened from the onset of the Salvia Moon.

Metamorpha III: The Bloodtiding Ball

On the night of the Bloodtiding Ball, Crimsonia was still holed up inside the Ashenhollow guest room. For the first time in her four nights here, she knew mortal fear. For one, she could clearly hear the flurry of activity just outside the door as the vampires made their way past. And although the door was locked, that gave her little assurance she wouldn’t be discovered. What would happen then? She’d asked Claudia that question, only to have the vampire respond with an unnerving silence before she said in her high-pitched voice: “Let’s not think about that, Crimsonia. Why dwell on things outside of your control?” Needless to say, Claudia’s response made her even more on edge than she was before she asked.

Crimsonia parted the curtain and looked down on the manor. She saw vampires piling in still, their movements rushed, almost mad. The males were dressed lavishly in well-tailored tweed suits, mostly black and gold, the females preferring black and scarlet lace corsets, their pale faces shining like the moon.

Nocteraia was currently on the final night of the Widow Moon, the effects of which Crimsonia felt as a quiet storm, a prelude perhaps to something bizarre that was to occur. Of course, it could be that her mind was fooling her— that Claudia’s memorable description of the strange phenomenon had caused her to expect the absurd. It was about a thirty-foot drop from where she was, but Crimsonia had made up her mind to try her luck with the fall should the unthinkable happen. Claudia had joked about Crimsonia’s paleness before she left to revel in the event, taunting her that she could pass for a vampire and that if she were adventurous, she would leave the room and blend in unnoticed among the swarm of bodies in the main hall. Crimsonia was not nearly so brave as to attempt such a thing, especially since her magic hadn’t fully returned since the werewolf attack. Claudia had theorized the dark magic she’d performed to bake the lycan’s heart zapped her energy.

The music downstairs got markedly louder, the stringed chords from the classical rendition floating to her ears. The vampires seemed to be having a good time, she thought. She imagined them dancing, fraternizing, and drinking blood from crystal glasses in their gothic jamboree. The door opened. Crimsonia tensed, holding her breath. Music streamed in unbidden as Claudia stumbled inside, closing the door behind her. She had a bottle in her hand.

“Hey, girl. How ya doing?” Claudia spun playfully as she spoke, and Crimsonia had to wonder if she really was a hundred-year-old vampire and not an immature adolescent.

“I brought you a gift,” Claudia continued. She waltzed over to her, extending the bottle.

Crimsonia noticed Claudia was slurring her words. Drunk, she thought.

“I’m okay,” Crimsonia replied, shaking her head.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Claudia insisted, making her way over to the cabinet.

Crimsonia watched as she extracted two wine glasses and laid them on the nightstand along with the bottle.

“I’m okay,” Crimsonia repeated as Claudia began pouring the liquid into one of the glasses.

“It’ll take the edge off,” Claudia drawled, filling the second glass. “Plus, rum is known to restore magic. You said your magic hasn’t returned, no?”

“Right. But I’ll pass on that, thanks.”

Claudia put on a wounded expression, a grimace creasing her face.

“Fine,” she shrugged, downing a mouthful of rum.

“How’s it down there?” Crimsonia asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Seems you guys are enjoying yourselves.”

Claudia giggled longer than she should’ve, peering wistfully at the door.

“Yep! The vibe is great. This is, without a doubt, the most fun Blood-tiding yet. Downstairs is packed! All the vampire houses represented, even the ones we don’t like.”

“There are vampires you don’t get along with?” Crimsonia inquired. “I always thought you were all close.”

Claudia made a hissing noise. “I wish. We Ashenhollows despise Blackcrosses. Snakes they are, every last one of them!”

Crimsonia juxtaposed this with what she knew about her own witch fraternity. She’d never heard about witches disliking other witches. The closest the witches came to that was the Magisterium condemning dark witches to the Blackmaiden prison underneath the Vestalmount building.

“Why though?” Crimsonia pressed. “What did the Blackcrosses do?”

Claudia poured herself another glassful before she responded. Seeing that Claudia was already intoxicated, Crimsonia got the urge to warn her about drinking any more rum.

“We’d be here all night if I listed everything Rodwick has done.”

“Rodwick?” Crimsonia repeated.

“Oh, my bad,” Claudia piped. “Rodwick is the head of the Blackcross house…a haughty, power-hungry man. He’s doing everything he can to wrest power from my father. He lies, kills, steals. You name it, he’s done it, all in the name of ascending to the throne of Vampire King. But my father won’t let him.”

“Oh I see. Your father is the Vampire King?” Claudia nodded aloof.

“He’s not my real father, but he may as well be,” Claudia replied. “Satin is his name, but of course you wouldn’t have heard of him.”

Crimsonia realized the vampires seemed to be more organized than the witches, what with vampire houses and a Vampire King ruling over them. There was no such structure among the witches, not as far as she knew.

“Anyway,” Claudia said. “My dance is passing me by.” She paused, fixing Crimsonia a provocative stare. “Unless…you’ll do me the honors?”

Crimsonia reacted faster than she should have, shaking her head.

“No. Can’t dance to save my life.”

Claudia giggled loudly, almost spilling the rum as she staggered out, closing the door behind her. The second Claudia exited, Crimsonia wished she hadn’t, for a sudden, inexplicable loneliness engulfed her, such that her mind floundered for something to keep her from thinking about her mother and sisters. She knew they were being tortured by her absence, their agony reaching maddening proportions. Crimsonia’s eyes settled on the glass of rum Claudia had left behind. It resembled honey as the light from the chandelier brightened the tantalizingly beautiful golden brown. Perhaps a taste wouldn’t hurt, she thought, already reaching for the glass. It almost slipped from her hand due to its strange coldness, which seemed to seep into her bones. Crimsonia took a sip nevertheless, grimacing as her tongue stung. A pleasant warmth radiated through her chest, spreading to her stomach. This isn’t so bad, she thought as she took another, longer sip, quite liking the feeling the rum was offering. Crimsonia was thrilled to realize her body was already relaxing, her mind mellowing from the drink’s effect.

…

Twenty minutes later, Crimsonia was at the door, her head spinning like a top. She’d been seduced by the music as the liquor rode her like a night horse. With soft, dulcet tones massaging her mind, Crimsonia opened the door to a gloomy haze. She was standing on a circular balcony overlooking a grandiose hall below, which housed more bodies than she could count. She saw it was a free-for-all as the vampires wove through each other, hitching short, spirited dances as the music transitioned. The infectious atmosphere, coupled with the intrusive will of the rum inside her, controlled her like a marionette, her feet moving toward the set of stairs as if by their own volition. Crimsonia had enough wits about her to realize she was making a reckless decision, but by now she was long gone under a more persuasive hypnosis. She descended the carpeted stairs slowly, an ungainly progress—a stark contrast to the faster-than-normal movements of the vampires. Someone blazed past her, making their way down into the fray. Her senses muted, she only caught sight of a shadow, which now melded into the crowd of bodies. What was she doing? she thought even as her feet took her to the fringe of the action.

It took no time for someone to notice her. To her right, she saw someone gazing. She recognized this since he was conspicuously stationary, leaning against the polished wood of the largest piano she’d ever seen. His serious red eyes made a stark contrast with the fanged smile he now offered. Crimsonia lowered her gaze, the rum yet to have subdued her shyness. Perhaps the vampire took this as an invitation, for he now pushed himself from the piano, weaving adroitly through the storm of bodies between them. Bowing as he reached her, he extended his hands without a word. Crimsonia hesitated, regarding the vampire, the realness of the situation somewhat sobering her. He had a tall, lean build, and flowing black hair. Something about his refined, regal air made her think of nobility. Crimsonia got the impression he was young (about her age). But she couldn’t tell anymore, having already been hopelessly deceived by Claudia’s young guise. He could be two hundred years old for all she knew.

“Draven Blackcross,” he said. Crimsonia took his hand, flinching; his hand was a glacier, and she couldn’t understand for the life of her how such an ice box could support life.

“Crimsonia,” she said, offering a coy smile.  Draven was handsome, and as he returned a fanged smile, an odd sensation of de ja vu descended on her; the surest sign of the Widow Moon’s power. She’d been here before, she thought, perhaps in a wild dream.

“I haven’t seen you before,” he shouted over the music. “What house are you from?”

Crimsonia scrambled for an appropriate response, wishing her strained reaction to such a simple question wasn’t too revealing.

“This house,” she breathed. She’d been trying to recall Claudia’s family name to no avail.

“Ashenhollow?” Draven helped. “I never knew such beauty could come from Ashenhollows.”

It was a backhanded compliment that was not lost on her, both insulting the Ashenhollow house and lauding her looks all at the same time. Crimsonia smiled nonetheless. She had recognized the name ‘Blackcross’ as the vampire house Claudia loathed.

“Your hair,” Draven continued. “It’s like fire.”

This time Crimsonia laughed genuinely. She’d never heard her hair described like that before. She supposed it was an apt metaphor, more apt than he knew. Draven laughed with her, but it sounded more like the barks of a savage dog. He stared at her for a while, and the rum must have drowned her shyness totally, for she stared back, unflinching, making her mind up that Draven, despite his haughty father, wasn’t so bad. He stretched his hand toward her once more.

“You know…I’ve never danced with fire before. May I have this dance, Crimsonia Ashenhollow?”

Her new name amusing her, she smiled inwardly as she took his hand, flinching once more from its coldness. The moment Draven whisked her into the whirlwind of gyrating bodies, Crimsonia felt as though she’d been transported to another world. The fact that she couldn’t dance didn’t matter: Draven's vampiric strength coiled around her, his hand directing her movement with the precision of a puppeteer. Crimsonia would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying the moment, her heart leaping as the experience both thrilled and terrified her. The combined effects of the alcohol singing inside her brain, the rhapsodic rhythm charming the atmosphere, and the way her body was being made to move, numbed what would have otherwise been a mortifying experience. There were a few moments when other male vampires, in their marauding through the dance floor soliciting dances, tried to whisk her away. But Draven held her tighter as though he was claiming her for himself, to dance with for the entire night.

Ten or so minutes in, she caught sight of Claudia, who saw her and froze mid-dance, her face falling. Crimsonia smiled giddily at her as Draven spun her in the other direction. It was not long before her pirouetting came to a screeching halt. Crimsonia vomited on Draven, soiling his lavish red-velvet tweed suit.

“You alright?” he asked coolly.

“I need a break,” she said.

Her nausea increasing, Crimsonia realized their stationary state on the dance floor amid the moving bodies was drawing curious stares from the other dancers.

“Take me outside,” she said, her body rearing to vomit again.

An empty convulsion racked her as Draven stared at her with an expression she couldn’t read. Just then, a sequence of thoughts occurred to her: Do vampires vomit? Did Draven already know she wasn’t one of them? Would he really try to harm her if he knew the truth? Draven wheeled her through the crowd, past the foot of the staircase, and down a narrow corridor lined with frames containing abstract paintings. Somehow, being alone with the vampire resurfaced her fears as they piled outside onto a porch.

The cold Nocteraia air caressed her face, a pleasant but strange feeling after being indoors for four nights. Draven pulled her into a dark space on the premises astride the porch, just as a tall vampire exited hastily, his head flashing about him. Was he following them?

“How are you feeling?” Draven asked, his crimson eyes on her.

Crimsonia peered at his soiled clothing, embarrassed.

“Much better,” she said. “Sorry.”

“You’re drunk?” he said rather than asked.

“What gave it away?” she asked sardonically.

But Draven didn’t smile, his expression as cold as the coldness pitching from his body.

“You must be the bravest person I’ve ever met,” he muttered.

Crimsonia felt the chill lingering in her spine as she regarded him for a sign he knew she was not a vampire.

“What makes you say that?” she tried. Crimsonia realized her magic still hadn’t returned; she was dead if Draven tried to kill her.

“I know you’re a witch,” he said flatly.

Not a moment spared, Crimsonia took her first step toward the high gate cordoning the mansion from the dark, winding path she knew led to the main street of Nocteraia. Draven grabbed her hand roughly, hurting her wrist.

“It’s not me you should be worried about,” he said, gazing at the tall vampire who was now making his way to the gate. “He probably knows you’re a witch too. If he catches you…you’re dead.”

Crimsonia remained silent as the lanky vampire gazed off into the darkness beyond the gate.

“Well, I definitely had fun tonight,” Draven mused. “Thanks to you, this year’s version of Bloodtiding provided a welcome change from the usual boredom. I’d ask you how and why you came here tonight, but I think that’s a tale for another time.”

Crimsonia nodded. “Thanks. I had fun too…despite the circumstances.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Crimsonia. Something tells me the night is far from over. After all, it’s the Widow Moon.”

After close to fifteen minutes of hiding at the dark side of the Ashenhollow mansion, Draven decided it was best to leave through the forest at the back side of the premises. Crimsonia could only agree, watching the suspicious vampire heading back up to the castle. She was certain he had somehow detected something fishy with her and had trailed them through the mansion as they made their way outside. The vampire stopped suddenly midway to the porch, peering in their direction.

“Time to go,” Draven whispered, pulling her through the thick reeds astride the building.

Crimsonia took a final glance at their observer, her feet moving faster on account of what she now saw: the vampire was striding fast toward them! Draven put it into words presently, his voice shrill.

“Viktor’s coming! I’m going to get in trouble for this.”

Draven pulled Crimsonia through a mass of switchgrass taller than them both on the way to the shadowy forest, her exposed flesh assaulted by their sharp blades. Draven glanced backward, then immediately pulled her with greater force, all the time cursing under his breath.

“We’re not going to make it,” he bemoaned. “Not like this.”

Crimsonia dared not look back as she was sure it would cause a fall at their breakneck speed in the darkness. They sprinted into the woods with Crimsonia’s feet already aching from cuts and exhaustion. Draven stopped suddenly, his head flashing backward again. Crimsonia questioned his motives with wild eyes before an unhumanly quick movement stole her breath. Draven scooped her into his arms and ascended. Crimsonia couldn’t suppress a scream as they rose, defying gravity, with Draven weaving through tall trees with the agility of a bat. Holding onto him for dear life, Crimsonia shook from cold and fear as disturbed air currents whipped her hair and dress, which flapped about her like a dancing ghost. Before long, they cleared the trees of the forest, soaring high over Nocteraia. Draven said something, but she didn’t hear it in the wind whooshing about them. The cold from both the air and the vampire she was now pressed upon made her teeth clatter. Crimsonia realized she hadn’t told Draven where she lived— where their crazed transit should terminate.

“Graven Hollow!” she shouted. “That’s where I live.”

Draven didn’t respond, and Crimsonia glanced up to see him deep in thought, his face more serious than she’d seen it since they met. Despite the mad scenario they were now in, she thought about how his actions tonight in securing her might put him in peril with his kind. Something told her he would be okay because of his charm. What a crazy last four nights it had been. She’d been attacked by a lycan, attended a vampire party, and now she was soaring over Nocteraia in the arms of a vampire. How could anyone believe her story?

“I think we lost him,” Draven said drably. “But you’re still in danger.”

“From falling?” she asked, noting that they were finally descending.

Draven shook his head but didn’t elaborate. By now, Crimsonia could see familiar buildings. Foremost among them was Vestalmount, (her destination before her encounter with the lycan) looming large over the other buildings in the city.

“That’s the Blackcross mansion,” Draven said.

Though there were many structures around, Crimsonia knew from its gothic appearance which building Draven was referring to. It was a structure with an oily-black exterior and a massive pair of wing-shaped projections attached to its mid-section. They resembled bat wings forged from some metal alloy. Crimsonia found it amusing that a vampire dwelling was so close to the witches’ headquarters at Vestalmount. Their steady progress brought them to the outskirts of Graven Hollow. Soon thereafter, Draven lowered upon a woody area just a few hundred feet from her house. After directing him to it, they continued descending until Draven’s feet touched the ground. Crimsonia jerked in his arms before he pivoted her slowly down. She wobbled as Draven released her, disoriented. The yard was eerily quiet as he shook his head at her, his lips curling into a smile.

“What a night. The Widow Moon surely delivered!”

But Crimsonia was looking past him at the open front door. She sensed something was wrong as she began jogging to it. She slowed to a walk as pain rocketed through her legs due to all the running and dancing she’d done tonight.

“Is something wrong?” Draven croaked behind her.

Just then, someone bustled through the door, apparently seeing her approaching. Crimsonia narrowed her eyes, surprised that out of everyone to greet her after such a protracted absence, it was not her mother nor sisters, but her friend, Amaranth. The gaunt girl flailed madly, beckoning her.

“Sonia! Sonia! Come inside! It’s your mother! I think she’s dying!”

Crimsonia ignored the pain in her feet and dashed inside the dark house behind Amaranth, who sprinted through the kitchen and into the small space they called the living room— a far cry from the Ashenhollow hall she’d graced not an hour ago. She heard a voice issuing from somewhere. Crimsonia spilled into the hall, only to be met with the strangest thing she’d seen tonight. Amaranth, shocked, clamped a hand over her mouth in horror. Floating in mid-air was Crimsonia’s mother, a faint blue tinge lining her levitating frame. Her eyes were closed, but Crimsonia knew she was not dead, for they now fluttered and opened. Her mouth moved. A rasping voice that was not hers erupted from her, words Crimsonia would remember for as long as she lived.

The spirit of the BloodVeil shall rise
Born from a womb of Gemini
Her birth augured by the Widow Moon
Sired by the blood, mothered by the fire

The one shall hide in the serpent’s blood

Her energy, estranged, nurtured by the fire

And as the serpent coils around the Veil

It coils around itself

Quickening both peace and darkness…

Her heart crossed in revenant black

The birth of a terrible power to crumble worlds
Rebuilding with blood for mortar

And the whitened bones of the graceless dead

Amaranth

Amaranth watched from the shadows as the vampire left the graveyard. She stood between two gravestones, deep in thought. It was as though her past had come crashing into her, trying to remind her that it existed. She had gone to great lengths to engineer a new life far removed from the life she’d lived until her mid-thirties. She and Draven had a long, complicated past, which began when he’d appeared alongside an injured Crimsonia at her home in Graven Hollow. Crimsonia had been missing for days, and her older sister, Lysandra had begged Amaranth to stay with their sick mother, while Lysandra and Meirothea went in search of her. Being a friend of Crimsonia, Amaranth had been distraught about Crimsonia’s absence and had quickly agreed to Lysandra’s wishes, disappointed she couldn’t have gone in search of Crimsonia herself.

Amaranth sighed, breaking her reminiscing. She slapped her hand onto the gravestone to her right, watching as the structure flattened, reclining to reveal a dark space. There was a groaning rumble as the stone ground to a halt before Amaranth floated down into a cloistered space carried on the currents of enchanted mist. Her feet finding ground, the gravestone resealed with a bang, echoing inside the underground cavern.

“Lux Aethereum!” she whispered, igniting a pair of torches on either side of the room. The ensuing silence haunted her, forcing her to face the true meaning of Draven Blackcross’ visit.

“What do you think, Amethyst?” she croaked as the mist spun itself before her like a sentient whirlwind. “I need counsel.” Amaranth was now staring at a blue-tinged body rising upright to face her. Amethyst represented her most impressive display of dark magic. She was the animated corpse of her sister, Amethyst, who she’d resurrected from the dead using a taboo form of Artageca magic, pulling forbidden energy from the darkness between the stars.

“What do I think?” Amethyst’s voice sounded like it came from somewhere far away, echoing off itself in a metallic, discordant hum. Amethyst continued, “You probably shouldn’t have let that bloodsucker leave the graveyard alive.”

Amaranth could have bet her leg her sister would have chosen the darkest path possible.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” she said. “The prophecy involves him. It must come to pass.”

Amethyst erupted into a fit of laughter, which Amaranth felt down to her soul. 

“Sister,” Amethyst said. “We have always disagreed on the matter of fate. Things are not set in stone. The future shifts like a maggot’s feast.”

While Amethyst spoke, Amaranth hobbled over to a wooden table and lifted a badly stained scroll the size of her palm. She had written the prophecy upon it to remind herself of the sordid fate of Nocteraia. Chilling and nightmarish, the thirteen lines of dense imagery iced her blood even now, centuries since it was first spoken. It was a prophecy uttered from the lips of Artemesia, Crimsonia's late mother, accomplished witch, and renowned Seer. She read it out loud.

The spirit of the BloodVeil shall rise
Born from a womb of Gemini
Her birth augured by the Widow Moon
Sired by the blood, mothered by the fire

The one shall hide in the serpent’s blood

Her energy, estranged, nurtured by the fire

And as the serpent coils around the Veil

It coils around itself

Quickening both peace and darkness…

Her heart crossed in revenant black

The birth of a terrible power to crumble worlds
Rebuilding with blood for mortar

And the whitened bones of the graceless dead

Amaranth felt her skin crawl as she read the prophecy. Her reaction was the same every time she read it. The prophecy read like a deeply layered poem. And Amaranth knew there was much more to it than met the eye. She knew the BloodVeil was a force that was born every century or so. The idea was that Nocteraia was cursed as a result of the abhorrent practices of its inhabitants more than a millennia ago, having birthed such unnatural creatures as vampires and lycans. Because of Nocteraia’s accursed nature, its fate progressed into ever-increasing chaos, eroding the balance that once was. From what Amaranth understood through communing with the dead souls of her ancestors, the purpose of the BloodVeil was to return Nocteraia to normalcy. The prophecy she was staring at referred to the latest incarnation of the BloodVeil.

“Draven wants to kill the BloodVeil in order to rule in her stead,” Amaranth said.

Amethyst’s amorphous essence fluttered like a velvet veil beside her.

“I didn’t know it was possible…to kill the BloodVeil, I mean.” Amethyst drew closer to take a look at the prophecy.

Amaranth nodded. “It has only been done once before. Even I shudder to think of the devilish sorcery it took to pull that off.”

“That’s crazy!” Amethyst murmured. “How do you kill something divine?”

Amaranth scoffed.“The best person to ask is the one who just left the graveyard.”

Amethyst was silent for a while before a groan issued from her as she thought.

“Draven killed the last BloodVeil!? But why is she on Draven's agenda now, if he already got rid of the last one?”

Amaranth didn’t respond. Amethyst asked a great question: one didn't have the answer to. Amaranth thought for a second, laying the scroll on the table.

“Well, it's not been that long since the last BloodVeil died,” Amaranth reasoned. “It isn’t time for the next one to replace her. So, I am not sure why this is suddenly high priority to Draven.” Amaranth sat upon the table, her aspect grave in the gloom.

“Remember, he tried to spin me a tale that the next BloodVeil is already here,” Amaranth continued. “But I think he’s desperate to hear the prophecy in order to try to circumvent the process of another one being reborn.”

“Maybe things are changing,” Amethyst said. “ It seems the last BloodVeil hadn’t fulfilled her purpose before Draven killed her.”

Amaranth snapped her bony fingers as a light went off in her head. She shook her head, amused she hadn’t thought of that before.

“That is definitely possible, Amethyst. The BloodVeil probably was born prematurely to finish what the previous one started.  But something is confusing me,” Amaranth mused. “It's like there's something I should be figuring out, but I'm not, for some reason.”

“And what's that?” Amethyst gazed at her with the whites of her eyes glowing in the dark.

“I've been confused about something in the prophecy for some time now. The second line speaks to the BloodVeil being born of a womb of Gemini. At first, I'd thought it meant either the BloodVeil or her mother was born under the Gemini zodiac sign, but now I’m not so sure that’s what it meant.”

Amethyst hissed. “What else could it mean?”

Amaranth shuffled off the table, deep in thought. Something was nipping at the fringes of her mind—perhaps a grand revelation that would make sense of something Draven said before he left.

“Gemini means twin,” Amethyst continued, lumbering over to her side.

“That's what I was thinking. I was wondering if it is possible that the BloodVeil might be one of a pair of twins.”

“Maybe you are the BloodVeil,” Amethyst said darkly, her tone low. “Or me.”

Amaranth couldn't tell if her sister was joking or not. She shook her head anyway.

“No. A line in the prophecy said the birth of the BloodVeil is augured by the Widow Moon. To me, this means the process of her birth started on a Widow Moon. I’m trying to figure out why Crimsonia and the others would admit the BloodVeil into the Sisterhood.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Amaranth,” Amethyst chided. “We don't know that bloodsucker isn't trying to double cross us.”

“That was my first consideration. Nevertheless, it seems I’m going to have to pay our old friends at Beltraine a surprise visit. If the BloodVeil is indeed at Beltraine, then this is personal.”

“Are you sure, sister? Remember what happened the last time you saw them?”

“Yes. But I’m not afraid of their judgment. They all have dark secrets of their own, and I can use them to shake up their little bond if they try me. And I won't even have to use magic to do it. I'm just going there to confirm if the BloodVeil is indeed there. Let’s hope she’s not. Because if that devil, Draven is telling the truth, then it won’t be long before he unleashes hell on Beltraine.”

The Mirrored Message

Gloria awoke with a start, a warm breeze playing on her face. She felt numb. She was still on the carpet after collapsing upon it on her way from the Astrum. Faelina still hadn't returned. Gloria glanced at her empty bed, rising. Curtains were fluttering above her own bed like long, faceless apparitions veiling the waning Ashveil Moon. She’d lost consciousness for at least six hours. Closing the windows, Gloria was assailed by fragmented memories of the night of the Salvia Moon. Most haunting was her attack on Morgana and the gruesome discovery of her cold corpse. Had her body been discovered? Was she a suspect in Morgana’s death? Gloria’s mind spun from the gravity of these questions. She decided to take a bath and change her clothes to at least eliminate some of the evidence of her horrid night. She was clueless about what the sisters should be doing now, the introduction of the Artageca drills having confused the usual schedule.

Gloria made a step to the restroom when a rustling sound stalled her. A furtive glance between her and Faelina's bed revealed the source. A dark object was stuck to the mirror, twisting as if under the sway of an invisible force. Startled, Gloria stepped back, watching the odd display. After a while of observing the strange object, she realized it was actually inside the mirror, forcing its way through to her side of the room. The rustling continued for another minute before the object fell onto the dresser as a physical thing. It was a plain white envelope with a circular red seal. Had someone sent her a letter through the mirror? she mused, lifting it to her face. Considering that Beltraine was a place teeming with witches using magic, she supposed she shouldn't be too alarmed to witness such a phenomenon. Gloria scratched off the wax seal and extracted a letter. Doing this released a strong aroma of lemon, which she recoiled from. The letter was written in black-inked calligraphy. Gloria read the letter in the darkness.

Gloria. I hope this message finds you well. You should have realized your cravings have intensified as of late. It is with deepest regret that I take full responsibility for it. Your seal is eroding and needs immediate resealing. I know you aren't aware of who speaks to you through this message, but it has to remain that way for now... until the resealing. Similarly, you are oblivious of your past life and who you are. This too is intentional and likewise has to remain as such until the time is right. I have brewed a potion to appease your cravings for a while. The potion of which I speak is this message itself, dissolved into the ink with which it was penned. The parchment will disintegrate exactly a minute after you're finished reading it. Fold and place it inside a container as soon as you're done reading. I'll send you another message concerning the time and place of the resealing. Until then, be disciplined, and refrain from doing anything rash.

Gloria turned the parchment over in her hands, unsure of what to make of it. Her scar was indeed a seal! she thought. Remembering the time-sensitive actions she was supposed to perform, Gloria grabbed a crystal vase from the dresser, removed the three roses from it, and then slipped the parchment inside. Her actions were automatic; Gloria had somehow trusted the person behind the message. Whoever it was, it was the same person responsible for why she was here at Beltraine. She watched the vase for a while as a million questions arose inside her mind. A knock on the door broke her concentration. Gloria flung her head around.

“Gloria?”

The voice had an urgent tone to it. She gazed from the door to the vase.

“Gloria? You in there? Open the door, now!”

The deep voice was unmistakable: It was Rowan, the head prefect.

“Yeah,” Gloria heard herself respond. She still hadn’t showered, her clothes blood-soaked and sweaty. She opened the door slightly, gazing at the second-year prefect. Before she said a word, Gloria was drawn to her pulsing neck, an insatiable hunger filling her.

“I’m just informing you… there will be an Artageca training session on the Ebenveil Moon. As a Terrae, you’re expected to be in the forest.”

Gloria nodded. “Okay. I'll be there.” Gloria would have closed the door, but Rowan wore a strange expression.

“I didn't know you had a fire ascendant,” she said, looking past her.

Perplexed, Gloria questioned her with her eyes.

“No. I'm an Earth ascendant,” she corrected.

Rowan pointed into the room. “That's definitely Pyrae magic.”

Gloria glanced behind her quickly. The vase had erupted into a cloud of pale blue fire, levitating in thin, crackling wisps to the ceiling. Gloria turned back to Rowan, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

“Oh! Faelina did it before she left,” she lied.

Rowan gazed at her for almost a minute before she backed away as though she'd seen a ghost. Rowan didn't believe her, Gloria realized. And as Aurelius breezed past her, floating doing the aisle, Rowan turned stiffly, muttering something to herself as she went. Gloria hobbled over to the dresser, noting that the flames had now totally ravaged the parchment. Sweet-smelling plumes of smoke were now billowing from the vase, ash settling on the dresser, some floating to the carpet. Inside the vase, however, was a pitch-black, gooey liquid, presumably the potion she was instructed to drink. Gloria watched the liquid as it bubbled inside the vase, considering if she should consume it. After all, she had no clue who’d sent her the message. On account of how much the person knew about her circumstances, Gloria supposed she should trust that the potion would do what the message claimed it would— curbing her cravings. Lifting the vase, she studied the liquid again. Its scent was a curious mix of molasses and sulfur. Gloria put the vase to her lips and tasted the concoction. It had no distinctive taste, though it burned her tongue slightly. Gloria drained the liquid into her mouth, swallowing it all in a gulp. Her tongue burned, and so did her stomach, which now lurched beneath her navel as the scar reacted to it.

Owl Nightcreed

Following the meeting with Draven and Kain Fangsworth at the Blackcross castle, Owl Nightcreed sat cross-legged in his study. Contrasting with the typical vampire, he liked the light. Light was all around him, pitching illuminance through a constellation of lamps suspended on the high rafters. The small study was his sanctum, where he often came to ponder important things. Tonight, a particular matter rested uncomfortably on his spirit, one that warranted a visit to the book-strewn room. Stock still in concentration, Owl hardly noticed when his pet raven, Pluto flew through the open window. A loud caw spun him in his chair as the creature landed on his shoulder.

Lately, he’d been suspicious of Draven Blackcross’ movements and intentions concerning matters of their kind. And as much as he trusted himself with identifying issues requiring discernment, Owl had to admit his suspicions were second-hand, first brought to his attention by his wife, Carmine. At first, he’d thought Carmine’s scathing words about Draven were nothing more than the jealous accusations of a woman greedily grabbing for power. But Owl had finally sensed Draven’s shady actions first-hand, embarrassed it took him more than ten long years to recognize his shifty nature. To correct his error (and possibly prove Carmine’s suspicions), he’d done something he never thought he’d do in a million years. Pluto cawed softly on his shoulders, the creature’s voice coming across as coherent as human speech. Owl tensed, his face falling.

He’d left Pluto at the Blackcross castle to spy on Draven. And from what the raven just communicated to him, Draven had gone on a long trip in the dead of night. Even though Owl had taken similar trips to sustain himself with the blood of those the gods had turned their backs on, it appeared Draven’s late-night excursion was for far more sinister purposes. Pluto erupted into another cawing frenzy, revealing yet more damning details about Draven’s movements. The lamplights flickered as Owl’s aura roiled within him like dark clouds laden with a storm. Ending its speech, the raven flapped from him, perching atop a shelf packed with books. Draven’s treachery was deeper than he could have ever imagined, which meant Carmine’s suspicions were validated. Releasing an audible groan, Owl rose, massaging his temples. He felt a massive headache incoming, which was his shrewd mind forcing him to solve a complicated problem.

Draven was his friend since childhood, and he knew one thing that was an absolute fact: Everyone who opposed Draven Blackcross was either dead…or worse. To consult with a witch was one thing, but to conceal a prophecy that could erase all vampires from the face of Nocteraia was a completely unacceptable kind of sin.

The Plan

Lily filled three small glass vials with blood as Carmine sat opposite her inside the main hall of the Moonshadow house. Noctua stole furtive glances at the bald woman as Lily handed her a glass. The brunette Lily had abducted showed no signs of discomfort as she slit her wrist with her sharp thumb-nail. Flesh parted, the shedding blood plopped messily into the vial, smearing the sides. Lily glanced at Noctua as she shunted the brunette away. Noctua was visibly nervous, the glass shaking in her hand. Lily didn’t judge her: Carmine’s appearance wasn’t exactly pleasant, what with the strange tattoos lacing her pale, wrinkled skin, thin black lips, and eyes as red as the blood she now drank greedily, draining the glass with one swig. Lily sat, eager to break the awkward silence that had draped the room. Carmine forestalled her.

“Who is this?” She pointed boldly at Noctua, whose anxiety seemed to grow, fidgeting in her chair.

“This is my second, Noctua,” Lily informed. “I told her to be here as she should prove useful in explaining some of the matters we’re about to discuss.”

Carmine was silent for a while, her crimson eyes steady on Noctua. For a second, Lily thought she would object to Noctua’s presence, but she relaxed her gaze, directing her attention back to her.

“What brings me here, Lily? Your messenger described it as urgent.”

“Yes.” Lily nodded, her demeanor shifting into one of seriousness. She downed a mouthful of fresh blood before she began.

“I recently made an interesting discovery a few hours ago. I debated in my mind who I should reveal it to and decided it is best to tell you, since we share the same displeasure with Draven’s leadership.”

Carmine pursed her lips, laying the empty glass down on the table before them.

“I see. And what is this you’ve discovered that deprives me of my well-needed rest at this hour?”

Lily sensed a trace of annoyance in her tone, but she ignored it. Carmine was bound to be intrigued by what she had to reveal.

“It would appear— ” Lily began, “if my brother, Rael’s eyes are trustworthy— that Draven and his daughter have been hiding an abominable secret. One that, if true, makes him not only unfit for the title of Vampire King, but a common criminal.”

“Oh?” Carmine leaned forward, her emerald earrings dangling. Her eyes shone as though they’d been given life by what she heard.

“Tamsyn, is it not? Never liked that young woman. Crass, just like her father. What are they hiding?”

Lily replied, “Well, she was here not long ago, sent by Draven to inquire about any helpful information our house’s Heka revealed about Beltraine— information that could assist with the planned mission.”

Noctua reached for her blood-filled glass, Carmine’s eyes having freed her from their bondage.

“And?” Carmine barked impatiently, leaning in even more.

Lily smiled smugly, knowing the information she was about to reveal would both shock and excite Carmine all at once.

“Tamsyn Blackcross is a witch.”

Lily leaned back in her chair as silence reigned in the hall. Carmine’s eyes danced from her to Noctua as her brain registered what she said.

“A damning accusation,” Carmine finally said. “One that requires proof.”

Lily had expected this response, but she couldn’t get Rael to sit with them at this meeting, at least not before Carmine arrived.

“RAEL!” Lily bellowed to the porch and waited. After a few seconds, she heard Rael’s contraption rattling, before he wheeled himself into the hall, his expression mean.

Lily said, “Explain to Carmine what you saw when Tamsyn came to visit us.”

Rael shrugged, his eyes cast at his lap. “Witch energy,” he grunted at once. “Her body held the unmistakable signatures of a witch.”

Carmine fixed him a piercing gaze. “How certain of you of this?”

Rael answered immediately. “One hundred percent certain. Not only does she have witch energy, it is strong inside her. I wouldn’t have seen it otherwise.”

Carmine seemed unconvinced, her eyes narrowing. “Lily,” she began. “Remind me how Rael’s eyes work. Forgive me, I’m not too familiar with Moonshadow techniques.”

Lily nodded. “Not all Moonshadows have the ability. I don’t. But it’s an ancestral trait handed down to a fortunate few. I would be lying if I said I know exactly how it works. But it’s sort of how snakes see their prey using the heat signatures they emit. Likewise, witch energy registers to those with eyes like Rael. It is revealed as a particular auric arrangement.”

Carmine nodded. “And what do you see when you look at me, Rael?” Her eyes were directed at Rael, who now fidgeted nervously, glancing at Lily.

The brunette whose wrist Lily had slit moved suddenly. Lily took this to mean her compulsion had finally worn out. The lass was probably terrified of what she was now witnessing. But the moment was significant; Lily would have to restore the compulsion later.

Rael’s soft voice filled the room. “Are you sure? I see things you might not wish to reveal.”

Carmine smiled a fanged smile. “Tell me.”

Rael sat up in his chair, studying Carmine. “Your vampire aura is strong, but it seems it’s mixed with lycan energy to a small degree. Perhaps…”

Carmine cut him off, raising her hand. “Say no more. You’ve proven yourself.” Carmine’s head tilted to the ceiling.

Lily could tell she was deep in thought.

“Interesting. Very interesting,” Carmine said. “The Vampire King’s daughter being a witch raises a million questions.”

Lily was prepared for this line of reasoning. She glanced at Noctua, who had traveled down this train of thought not half an hour ago.

“Questions like ‘who is Tamsyn’s mother’,” Lily anticipated.

“But that’s for later,” Carmine said. “For now, we should focus on how to prove Tamsyn is a witch to the rest of the vampire fraternity. Although Rael’s eyes seem legitimate, they will not suffice as proof.”

Lily smiled. “And that’s why I asked Noctua to sit with us. She was once a witch. I was the one who turned her.” The moment the words left her lips, Lily regretted saying them. She could have easily lied and said Noctua was turned by someone else.

“That’s a serious offense, Lily.” Carmine shot her a caustic glare. “Turning a witch is almost equally damning as the offense you’re accusing Draven of.” Carmine paused, gazing at Noctua.

She continued, “But I’ll overlook it in light of the more serious matter of Draven’s treachery. I take it your second in command has a surefire way of exposing witches?”

“Indeed she does.” Lily glanced at Noctua, whose eyes had comically widened at the prospect of explaining the method to Carmine.

“Noctua?” Lily prompted.

“Yes.” Noctua cleared her throat, her nose twitching. “It is a simple procedure, actually,” she explained. “The Headmistresses at the Beltraine Sisterhood uses it in the recruitment process to determine who they admit into the institution. I remember the incantation.”

Carmine’s brows raised. “And what does the spell do exactly?”

Noctua laid the empty glass down before responding, sitting up in her chair. Lily saw that she’d regained some of her confidence in light of explaining something she was knowledgeable about.

“The spell forces the person’s body to shed some of its magic,” Noctua said. “If Tamsyn is a witch, she will manifest it based on her dominant element, whether earth, fire, air, or water.”

“Excellent!” Carmine said animatedly, rising. “The plan is straightforward then. We will demand a meeting with Draven and the other leaders under some compelling pretext. And while we’re there, we will reveal Draven’s treachery. Afterwards, we shall push for Tamsyn to be executed on the spot, and Draven to be immediately stripped of the title of Vampire King.”

Lily clapped triumphantly. Carmine had voiced exactly what she was thinking. Carmine rose, a wry smile playing on her lips.

“The Nightcreed house will send our raven with further details.”

Lily rose also, a feeling of accomplishment overwhelming her.

Carmine said, “Well done, Lily. You and the Moonshadow house really outdid yourself with this revelation. The Nightcreed House shall reward you in kind when Draven is deposed, and Owl becomes the new Vampire King.”

With that, Carmine hobbled over to her and pulled her into a deep embrace. Lily inhaled a whiff of jasmine emanating from the woman before she retreated, fixing her forbidding red eyes on her once more. Without another word, Carmine Nightcreed ambled out the door.

The Shadowgrove Forest

The Salvia Moon was in full swing. A white-furred wolf bounded through the Shadowgrove forest. It was the second time in as many nights that it ventured into the woods, each time for an urgent cause. The person it had braved exposure to meet with had failed to keep the young men at the Alphatenory Brotherhood safe, a fact that had prompted its swift, deadly action. Father Forsythe would have to explain his ineptitude tonight, especially since he’d put their son’s life at risk. The wolf blazed past a tall banyan, noting that it marked the spot where she’d encountered a trio of young wolves out in the dead of night playing a dangerous game. The wolf slowed as the Alphatenory main building came into view, its summit shrouded in mist. It stopped before making its way to the structure, standing still at the rim of the forest. A caustic annoyance rising inside its bestial frame, it glanced around impatiently, already peeved to be kept waiting.

“I’m here,” a voice erupted from somewhere to the left. “You can change.”

The wolf spotted the figure who spoke, now emerging from behind a great elm. He masked his scent, the wolf thought, a wise choice, but annoying nevertheless. The wolf studied Father Forsythe for a while before its body metamorphosed smoothly into the form of a woman.

“Are you sure the young men aren’t watching us?” she asked. “After all, it seems you allow them to roam the forest unchecked.” Her sarcasm betrayed her anger.

“No, Sandra. I double checked before coming. Before I say anything else, I must apologize for the other night. Those young men found a way to leave the campus secretly.”

“Unacceptable, Cadmus,” the woman snapped. “I was forced to kill one of them. Jace was lucky to have issued a distress call. If I hadn’t arrived when I did…”

“I am aware what would have happened, Sandra,” Forsythe interjected. “And I take full responsibility. But what exactly happened? I’m still trying to piece everything together.”

Lysandra ran a hand through her hair as she recalled the sordid details.

“Isn’t it obvious? The boys ventured here to transform. Two of them managed to do so. Their transformation made them aware they were from a rival pack since one attacked our son. Jace issued a distress howl, and I had to come here to defend him.”

Forsythe nodded. “I assumed as much. It seems our recruitment wasn’t as thorough as we thought it was. Hale— the wolf you eliminated. I thought he was from our lineage.”

“We?” Lysandra shot back with a glare. “I don’t remember recruiting him. That’s on you. And that’s a gross oversight you should be stripped of your position for making. Jace could have been killed, and you weren’t even aware of what was happening to save him. What if he had died, what in the world would you tell me then?”

Forsythe was silent. The weight of Lysandra’s question hung in the air like an executioner’s blade.

“How are your sisters?” Forsythe asked.

Lysandra realized he was trying to ease the tension.

Forsythe continued, “I haven’t seen them in a while, especially Crimsonia.”

“Quite frankly, she doesn’t particularly wants to see you,” Lysandra quipped. “Her intuition is immaculate as always.”

“And yet, you managed to keep your secret from her and Meirothea for so long,” Forsythe pried.

“I’m not so sure about that, nowadays,” Lysandra piped. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew everything.” Lysandra shuddered at the words that left her lips. She’d been concerned about her sisters unearthing her lycanthropic condition for a while. It was the first time the thought found a voice. Forsythe said nothing. But Lysandra could see that something was bothering him.

“Have the Wolf Games been conducted already?” she prodded. “Chosen the new cohort of guardians?”

Forsythe’s face creased as he glanced at her.

“No, we were actually supposed to begin today. I’ll ensure it begins come Emberglow. Hale’s death stalled everything.”

Lysandra shook her head firmly. “No. In light of what transpired here in the woods, it’s actually good it hasn’t begun.”

Forsythe exhaled heavily, his shoulders dropping. “I have to agree. The fact that Hale and Gibran are descendants of rival packs brings into question the lineage of the others. Such a travesty it would be if we chose enemies as our protectors.”

Lysandra scoffed. “And if that were to happen, I’d kill you myself.” She paused, allowing the threat to achieve its full effect.

“Postpone the Wolf Games,” Lysandra continued, “do a more thorough background check on each young man.”

Forsythe fixed her a defiant glare. “Kill me?” he repeated. “Should I remind you why you’re here talking to me, and not dead, or did you forget?”

Lysandra said nothing. It was a memory she had been trying to erase from existence. But like a dam now broken by Forsythe’s words, the memory came streaming in.

It was on a night of the waning Ashveil moon— a couple of nights after the Widow Moon. Her mother’s health was rapidly deteriorating from a strange fever. Lysandra had been out in the bushes searching for yarrow herb to ease her fever. After an hour in the bushes, she had been unsuccessful, unluckily locating every other medical herb in existence except the one she sought. Determined to find yarrow, she ventured further into the bushes than she would normally have, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Lysandra had shuddered as the amber eyes stared at her, glowing in the magical light she’d conjured to dispel the preternatural darkness of Graven Hollow. She had turned to make a hasty retreat back to the cabin, only to release a shrill scream as another pair of savage eyes met her. Red eyes. The night quickly spiraled into chaos as Lysandra discovered she’d been surrounded by no less than eight savage wolves. They seemed to have been stationed around the house all along, watching. The red-eyed beast lunged, gouging her arm. In what was to become fodder for dark humor between herself and Forsythe, Lysandra, out of pure panic, had fired off a dancing hex as the wolf leaped upon her. The spell missed, hitting an ash, whose limbs rocked as if in sync with an animated beat. The battle she was embroiled in was no joke, however, as the wolf mauled her chest, each strike directed at her throat. At some point during the ordeal, she had abandoned magic altogether, the light she’d conjured long since extinguished. Lysandra fought for her life with thrashing, fueled by grunts and screams. Then, out of nowhere, something charged into the wolf, the attacker’s velocity sending the pair of them rolling and skidding through the grass. What happened next she had to be told, for she’d lost consciousness.

Lysandra understood that a young Forsythe had followed his pack of wolves to Graven Hollow in his human form. Lysandra learned their purpose there on that night was way more complex than she could have imagined. The genesis of it was their attack on Crimsonia, who was on her way to Vestalmount after she was sent there by their mother, to sit in her stead on an important witch caucus. An alpha wolf had attacked Crimsonia on the way to teach young Forsythe about the way of the wolves: hunting and killing. However, the wolf was brutally slaughtered by an Ashenhollow vampire, an unlikely savior who then brought the bleeding Crimsonia to the Ashenhollow her family castle. In the aftermath of his kin and mentor’s death, laden with grief and vengeance, Forsythe followed Crimsonia and the vampire to the Ashenhollow vampire castle, watching the goings-on there each night. Eventually, Forsythe told the remainder of the pack what had transpired, and as a young Draven Blackcross accompanied Crimsonia home, the wolves plotted to kill them.

Lysandra felt a surge of anger as she recalled the sordid events that punctuated the night.

Lysandra had woken from unconsciousness deep into the Ebenveil night, hidden under a mass of reeds where Forsythe had placed her. She discovered the wolves had launched a coordinated attack on the cabin while she recovered. Her mother did not survive the attack, her sickness having rendered her incapable of defending herself. Forsythe relayed that it was Meirothea’s magic that prevented the night from descending into more of a nightmare after she cast explosive magic in response to their mother being slaughtered.

Since then, Lysandra and Forsythe had developed a strong friendship and subsequent romantic relationship. Her sisters were none the wiser that it was he who was directly responsible for her being alive, and that she’d undergone a slow and painful transformation into a lycan from the multiple bites inflicted on her. Lysandra was intent on taking her secret to the grave, especially because she had become the very thing responsible for their mother’s death. Lysandra had hated herself in the decades following her first transformation. But she gradually got over it, helped by the realization that lycanthropy had its benefits. Her lycan aspect bolstered her witch magic through her connection with the moon.

“I think we should let both academies meet sooner rather than later,” Forsythe said, scratching his stubble. “The young men are a bit unmotivated at the moment. They find it quite odd they haven’t met the young ladies at Beltraine as yet. It’s been almost two years.”

Lysandra leaned on the rotting cypress beside her. Forsythe made a good point. She hadn’t been thinking about how it would appear to anyone outside of herself and Forsythe, that the students from the respective institutions hadn’t yet met each other, even though they were technically twin academies under one umbrella. On several occasions, Lysandra had rebuffed not only her sisters but the students of Beltraine themselves, who had eventually mustered the courage to approach her. Lysandra faced most of the heat concerning this subject since Alphatenory was her brainchild; she acted as the intermediary between both institutions, giving the final word on matters linking Alphatenory and Beltraine. When Lysandra finally responded, a wave of exhaustion overwhelmed her, causing her to sway a bit even though the cypress supported her.

“I would have given your suggestion more consideration if it weren’t for a recent development at Beltraine,” she wheezed.

Forsythe raised his brow. “What development?”

Lysandra sighed, her body weakening by the second. Had she exerted that much energy to come here in her wolf form?

“The vampires,” Lysandra said weakly. “Meirothea managed to obtain intel that they’re planning some sort of reconnaissance mission.”

“Oh! Is that right?” Forsythe’s face lit up.

Lysandra thought she saw a shadow play across his face. Shaking her head, she noted her eyes were dimming from exhaustion.

“Reconnaissance?” Forsythe repeated, his tone derisive. “And of course, you’re treating this as if it’s an attack?”

Lysandra shrugged, a simple gesture that felt like lifting blocks of lead.

“To be fair, we aren’t treating it with the seriousness it deserves. It breaks my heart to say it. But I’m afraid, Cadmus, our youthfulness has left us. The specter of death has stolen almost all our will. My sisters and I’ve been through a lot over the centuries. My nights as of late are pure nostalgia, reminiscing on our long and eventful journey together as sisters— the glory days when we would rally around each other no matter the obstacles we faced. Now…I don’t know what we are.”

Forsythe’s features softened, his shoulders dropping, and for the first time in a long time, Lysandra saw the boy she fell in love with as a teenage girl. Lysandra watched him close the distance between them, before pulling her into a deep embrace.

“I’ve never heard you speak like that before,” he said. “Which makes me know you feel strongly about what’s happening with you and your sisters. I’ve always been jealous of your close-knit bond…and Amaranth as well.”

Lysandra flinched at the mention of ‘Amaranth’. “Her name is not spoken among us anymore,” she said hoarsely.

Forsythe withdrew, narrowing his eyes. “I know you’re no longer associated, but she did have a significant place in your lives.” He paused, regarding her with his brown eyes.

Lysandra grimaced, waving her hand dismissively. “Have you brought it?”

Lysandra eyed Forsythe, who now nodded, retreating behind a mass of reeds. Bending, he then hoisted a chest, bringing it over to her. The container’s metal handle glimmered in the moonlight, contrasting with its dark form. Lysandra had the chest fashioned from drakenwood: A fibrous, coffee-brown wood derived from the mystical drakenwood tree, found only in the mires at the fringes of Nocteraia. The chest was one of three, possessed by each of her sisters. They each contained a powerful magical item they kept dear. Lysandra gestured for Forsythe to lay it down. She stooped, reciting a spell only she knew. There was a soft ‘click’ as the locks disengaged from the inside, the domed lid swinging open. Peering inside, Lysandra then lifted a piece of parchment from its dark interior, bringing it to her face. The document had writing on each side detailing thaumaturgy of a crude kind. Seeing that her possession was safe, Lysandra returned the scroll to the chest.

Midnight Scheme

Half an hour after the meeting with Amaranth, Draven Blackcross, and his bat, Zeus descended the stairs leading to the lowest part of the Blackcross castle. They’d entered through a trapdoor deep within the forest surrounding the manor. He’d built it for clandestine meetings like the one he was heading toward. His footsteps echoed through the narrow, cavernous space littered with pepper lights studded into thin wires running almost a mile along the rough walls. Zeus disappeared into the darkness beyond, leaving Draven with his thoughts.

His visit to the graveyard had been woefully unsuccessful as the dark witch, Amaranth had refused to be swayed by his diplomacy. Draven was now realizing the journey had been ill-advised in hindsight. For one, he’d indirectly revealed his plan to attack the witches, and secondly, he’d misjudged Amaranth’s reaction and allegiances. Furthermore, Draven had almost gotten himself scorched by the Salvia Moon, which was now in full swing. He glanced ruefully at his burnt arm, sizzling hatred bubbling inside him as he considered the witches and the power they had over the vampires. A single minute more under the Salvia Moon’s glare, and he would have been vaporized into nothing but dust and memory. Draven wheeled himself around a sharp bend, sojourning ever downward, the space becoming increasingly dark and humid.

Voices met him now as the space widened into a plain, square-shaped room whose stone walls were more precisely chiseled. The air, however, was even clammier, almost stifling. No less than four dark forms stiffened upon his entry, the room descending into dead silence.

“Gentlevamps!” Draven exclaimed heartily, glancing around the room. “It appears everyone is present. Good.” Draven spotted Zeus hanging upside down in a corner of the room.

“The moon almost got me,” a grating voice issued from among the vampires. “Two seconds more and I’d be as dead as the witches will be tomorrow.”

The voice belonged to Sanguini, an old, rogue vampire who originally hailed from the Fangsworth House. Draven guffawed along with a few of the others.

“Likewise, Sanguini,” Draven said, extending his arm. Draven surprised himself with this gesture as the injury became more visible under more powerful incandescent lights. Hideous-looking, bubbling red pustules had appeared under the sleeves of his moon-burned cloak. But Draven felt no pain.

“You’ll have to address that,” another voice echoed. “Moonburns are unpredictable. One never knows if they will be fatal.”

Draven gazed at the vampire, whose name was Evan, a descendant of the now-disbanded Ashenhollow house. Draven ignored his comment, ready to get into the matter at hand.

“Perfect transition into the purpose of this meeting. You all know why you’re here,” he began. “It has come to my attention that the witches are as weak as they’ve ever been. This period represents a time when we can strike them and leave a mark. They’ve been subjugating our kind from as far back as I can remember, even before everyone in this room existed. The Salvia Moon has prevented us from achieving greatness, stifling our lifestyle, killing those of us unlucky enough to be caught in its witchery.”

“Vestalmount’s the target then?” one of the vampires inquired in a low tone. “That’s where our assault will be felt most.”

Draven shook his head. “No, Rodwick,” he said strongly. “It is true that Vestalmount is the meeting place of the most powerful witches in Nocteraia. But I believe striking the witches at the Beltraine Sisterhood is wiser.”

Rodwick scratched his head. Draven could see he was not convinced.

“Why is that?” he asked. “Do you know something we don’t?”

Draven studied the one-eyed vampire, sensing defiance in him.

“The Salvia Moon was actually created by witches connected to the headmistresses at Beltraine,” Draven said. “My sources reveal killing them will erase the bewitchment, reverting the moon to its original state.”

Sanguini coughed. “That’s a huge revelation! If that is so, the entire mission is dependent on if that is true.”

Draven nodded. It was a fair point. “I got confirmation from two separate sources about that. I have Crowe to thank for the aid he provided on that front. We aren’t sure that it will reverse the bewitchment immediately, but everything indicates that it will. That is our hope.”

The vampire known as Crowe, piped, “And what is in it for us, Draven? After all, we’ll be risking our lives going against those harlots many claim are like gods.”

Draven had anticipated this question. He had the response preloaded in his mind.

“When the mission is complete, I am prepared to use my position as Vampire King to disband the other vampire houses. In their stead, all of you will sit with me to comprise the new vampire council. My considerable resources as the Vampire King will be shared with each of you. After all, they who sit with me currently as heads of their respective houses are nothing but traitors envious of my status. They all want me dead, to have my position as theirs. I have a plan to eliminate them all once the mission is complete.”

Silence draped the room in the wake of Draven’s promise. But he knew it did not mean they believed him.

“A bold promise,” Crowe snarled, a nasty smile playing on his black lips. Draven observed Crowe incredulously.

“Have we not been in this very room before—this very position?” Draven said. “I know it has been what, fifty…sixty years since I called on you all to partake in crushing the Ashenhollows. Have I not delivered on my promise back then? Rogues though you are, I pardoned your sins against your respective houses, transforming you from common criminals to noble soldiers in defending our kind’s cause. It is by my mercy that I stayed the hand justice from striking you down.”

Another bout of silence descended and prevailed for a while before Draven spoke again.

“Does anyone question my will? I’ll allow you to leave if you do… if you reject the reward I’m willing to bestow.”

Draven glanced at the figures before him. He noticed Evan Ashenhollow fidgeting on the spot, stealing furtive glances at the others. Finally, he stepped away from them, shaking his head.

“I’ll pass,” he said as he approached the entrance. “Such a reward is not enough for the risk we’re taking.”

Everyone watched in silence as Evan made his exit. Just as he pulled astride Draven, there was a flash of form as Draven buried his good hand into his chest. Evan twitched limply, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and terror. Streams of blood washing over his wrist, Draven yanked his hand out, his power overcoming the tension of muscle and tendons. Evan collapsed at his feet with a thud of finality. Draven studied the heart in his hand before tossing it beside the corpse. The mute vampires stared at him, and Draven could tell they were trying their best to feign composure.

“Evan made his choice,” Draven said. “I shall allow you all to make yours also. Nowadays, I am a stickler for democracy.” When no one moved, Draven nodded.

“Good. Now we shall discuss strategy. Rodwick, how many of your men can you deploy to Beltraine? I hear your cult is burgeoning in the west.”

Rodwick cleared his throat before he spoke, prizing his eyes from Evan’s crumpled corpse.

“It is indeed, Draven. I am willing to part with fifteen able vampires… very fierce, and stubbornly loyal. I’m confident they will be an asset to you.”

Draven nodded, pleased.

“And you, Crowe? You have been quite dependable lately. There is a reward coming your way soon. I always reward good work when I see it.”

“Much appreciated, Draven,” Crowe said, his voice coming as a hiss. “I can guarantee ten vampires. Forgive me, my following hasn’t been flourishing as Rodwick’s has.”

“No matter, no matter,” Draven said. “Your track record speaks for itself. I was impressed with the way your men fought against the Ashenhollows. I expect it will be no different this time. What about you, Sanguini? If memory serves, your service was underwhelming last time. I assume you’re eager to redeem yourself for your failings?”

Sanguini offered a pained smile, his tobacco-stained teeth bared.

“I have a dozen vampires to unleash upon the witches,” Sanguini replied. “They live for missions such as these.”

“Perfect,” Draven said, smiling. “Before I forget, I have another mission to embark upon following Beltraine— one I have to embark on myself, along with some of you of my choosing.”

“Another witch hunt?” Rodwick inquired, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Yes, actually, but of a different kind, and potentially even more dangerous than the Beltraine mission.” Draven paused, running a hand through his hair. “I shall convene another meeting to discuss it, but suffice to say it will be at Blackmaiden.”

A few of the vampires gasped, a reaction Draven had expected.

“The witch prison?” Sanguini said rather than asked.

Draven nodded. “I’ve come to realize rather regrettably, that having witches on our side is useful, especially dark witches—  witches whose heart matches ours. And there is a particular witch I seek.”

Draven stopped though he wanted to say more. The less the vampires knew, the more likely it was for the mission to run smoothly. After all, it was a witch who once told him success blossomed most brilliantly in the dark.

Vain Fangsworth

Owl glanced through the open windows in his study to see forks of lightning streaking across the night sky. The electric display was the violent herald of the Salvia Moon. It would be only minutes before the familiar purple began its slow progress across the moon. Owl got up to close the window just as there was a knock at the door. Owl closed the window, and then darted to the door, making his mind up as to what he would tell Carmine concerning Draven. He knew she would be content to hear what he discovered. He swung the door open and saw not Carmine, but his daughter, Selena. Her ashen face and wild expression told him something was wrong.

“What’s the matter, Selena?” Owl asked, regarding her.

“Someone’s at the door asking for you,” she said in her usual drab voice.

Owl found it strange that someone had come to the Nightcreed castle at the onset of the Salvia Moon.

“Who is it?”

Selena thought for a second, her eyes angled upward.

“Vain, I think his name was. He looks pretty rattled.”

“Vain?” Owl repeated in surprise. “Send him up. The Salvia Moon is about to begin.”

Selena nodded before scuttling away. Owl remained at the door pondering what could have brought Vain here at this hour. It didn’t take him long to figure it out. And when he did, a frustrated sigh escaped him. Owl sensed high drama incoming. He hated drama, and it was especially annoying when it was drama that could have avoided him. Vain was obviously here because Draven had enlisted his son to sojourn with them on the mission to Beltraine.

“You alright, dad?” a voice startled him out of his thoughts as he waited for Vain.

It was Sebastian. His son had been watching him through his room door across from the study. Owl saw an open book in his hand.

“I’m fine, Sebastian,” he said, smiling. “Just a bit tired.”

Sebastian went back into the book as Owl finally sensed Vain’s aura coming quickly toward the study. Owl had only just retreated into the study when Vain almost burst the door off its hinges.

“Is that how you treat an old friend?” he barked, his expression wild and manic. “You couldn’t oppose Draven this one time? Kain is all I have left! The gall of that bastard!”

Owl observed Vain calmly, searching his mind for the best way to de-escalate his temper.

“Relax, Vain. It’s only a recon mission. Kain accepted the task gracefully. He’s old enough to make his own decisions.”

“You really are Draven’s lapdog, aren’t you? You know as well as I do what would have happened if my son declined.”

Owl remained quiet. Vain had a point, of course, but the situation hardly warranted this extreme reaction from Vain.

“It was foolish to come here at this time, Vain. The Salvia Moon…”

“Salvia Moon my ass! Tell me where my son is! I’m not losing another of mine in one of Draven’s schemes.”

Owl gave up on trying to mollify Vain’s anger. He only wanted him gone from his house before the Salvia Moon began.

“Kain was actually with Draven and me at the Blackcross castle,” Owl murmured. “I’m surprised he hasn’t found his way home as yet.”

With that, Vain moved faster than Owl could see, smashing through the window, and flying off into the night.

A Fiery Death

Ever since she’d bound Kain up with magic, Tamsyn found herself petrified with panic, her eyes glued on the grounded Kain. She also saw that fiery remnants of her magic still flickered on her fingertips. Wide with fear, Kain’s eyes stared up at her, no doubt confused as to why she resorted to doing what she did. Tamsyn regretted it, desperate for a way to reverse the magic. Her cat, Theo circled her in a frenzy, purring loudly. A glance out her window caused the entirety of her predicament to dawn on her. The lightning display meant the Salvia Moon would begin in a few minutes. Kain would be stuck at the Blackcross castle for more than six hours before it ended, which was more than enough time for Draven to discover her deed, and that she was a witch. What would happen next, Draven had made very clear. He’d told her himself he would not hesitate to kill any witch, no matter who they were. Kain writhed against the invisible bonds, limbs locked together as though bound by thick metal chains. Tamsyn knelt beside him, still confused as to what she should do. She wanted to touch him, to reassure him that everything would be fine, but a glance at her hands showed her flames were still jetting from them.

“It’s okay,” she heard herself say, barely believing herself. What if she couldn’t restore Kain to the way he was before magicking him? Could she even live with herself if that happened? Tamsyn shoved the thought from her mind. She had more pressing things to think about. Tamsyn rose, taking deep breaths. Only rationality would prevent the situation from descending into total disaster. She had to hide Kain, so he wouldn’t be seen if anyone came inside. Tamsyn felt a glimmer of hope as she saw that her once fiery fingers had now returned to normal, though they still tingled with energy she knew was untapped, latent magic. She wondered if Kain’s bind would fade just like the fire on her fingertips did. Although Tamsyn had performed mild healing magic non-verbally, she’d always thought the flashier displays of magic (like the kind she performed on Kain) required a spell to cast. Clearly, she’d thought wrong; she’d cast the binding spell without words. Tamsyn gripped Kain’s feet to shift him under her bed, but the second she did this, there was a knock on the door. Tamsyn bolted upright as chills washed her body. Draven had probably figured out what was happening! Tamsyn spun in panic, almost toppling over Kain, who was now tossing and turning more frenetically. Another more urgent knock sounded.

“Tamsyn. You in there?”

Tamsyn closed her eyes as a relieved gasp escaped her. It wasn’t Draven, though that fact was not much more calming. Why was the guard here to see her though? she wondered.

“Yes, Cole?” she answered as she got to dragging Kain’s form under the bed. Theo watched her with his yellow eyes as she pulled the sheet downward to conceal Kain.

“Someone’s at the door to see you. Make it quick. I’m retiring to my space in a few. The Salvia Moon is incoming.”

Tamsyn flicked off the light before partially opening the door. She was sure she didn’t hear Cole correctly. The guard was already making his way back down the stairs.

“Did you say someone’s here to see me?” she asked after him.

Cole answered without turning. “He wanted Draven. I fetched you since he isn’t here.”

“Who is it?” she followed up.

Cole had already disappeared down the stairs. Tamsyn followed him down, curious to see who was mad enough to brave the Salvia Moon to see Draven. She caught sight of Cole as he continued down the flight of stairs leading to the Dungeon where he stayed on Salvia Moons.

“Where’s Draven?” a voice startled her from the living room.

Tamsyn flashed her head around to see the visitor standing before the fireplace, a murderous look on his face. Tamsyn instantly realized the night would produce yet more chaos as Vain Fangsworth stepped menacingly toward her.

“Father’s out, apparently,” she said, avoiding eye contact.

“Bullshit! It’s the Salvia Moon. He’s holed up here somewhere. DRAVEN!”

Tamsyn gazed at Vain in amusement. “Exactly,” she said sternly. “It’s the Salvia Moon. Why aren’t you holed up at the Fangsworth castle?” Tamsyn regretted her tone instantly. It was a bit too rude to utter to an elder.

Vain stared at her silently for a while, before his gaze shifted. He appeared to sniff the air, his head aloft.

“My son is here too, isn’t he? The lot of you…finalizing plans on how to get yourselves killed at Beltraine.”

Tamsyn shuddered at Vain’s words, especially the bit about Kain being here at the castle.

“Kain isn’t here either,” she lied, her mouth drying up.

Vain studied her, a curious expression on his face. “Are you really Draven’s daughter? You don’t seem to have inherited his gift of lying.”

No sooner had he said the words than Vain blazed past her, the breeze from his blinding velocity whipping her hair and dress alike. By the time Tamsyn registered what was happening, he was already halfway up the stairs. Spinning, Tamsyn sped after him during which time a chilling thought hit her. Could Vain sense his son’s presence here? She knew some vampires possessed the ability to detect auras, notable among them being Owl Nightcreed. Did Vain possess the same ability? Tamsyn panicked, accelerating after Vain, who she now saw was making a beeline for her room!

“HEY!” she bellowed. “STOP!”

BANG!

Tamsyn watched in horror as her room door cartwheeled into the darkness of her quarters, crashing into something inside. Theo scampered out, meowing as he dashed by her.

“Shit!” she cursed, just reaching the head of the stairs. By the time she scurried into the room, Vain was already kneeling. Tamsyn stood at the doorway feeling faint. Vain began fishing underneath the bed blindly with his hands, and Tamsyn, overwhelmed with a melange of emotions teeming inside her, watched her hands slowly rise before her face. What had been small flames at her fingertips when she bound Kain, was now a single, roiling mass of lilac fire. And unlike before, when her magic had control over her, this time Tamsyn had full control. She let the flame leap from her hand like a leopard, the force pushing her backward. The flame lifted Vain upon contact, who screamed as the hungry fire spread across his body, cackling like a horde of demons. The luminous vampire thrashed as the magic dominated him, his screams already dying. Vain’s form whittled down to granules before even those were swallowed up by the energetic bands of animated fire. Then, with a crack of finality, the flames extinguished, leaving behind a scent of pungent ozone.

Chaos In The Forest

The gong struck for Ebenveil with a resonance that roused Gloria from a dreamless sleep. Groggy and dappled with sweat, she levered herself from the bed. Tonight’s Ebenveil Moon commandeered devilishly cold air that nipped at her skin like shards of ice. Gloria closed the window presently, glancing over at Faelina’s bed. She was pleased to see that her roommate had returned, now sound asleep, her teal blanket rising and falling with her breathing. The commotion outside indicated the sisters were bustling about getting ready to attend the all-important Artageca training session Rowan had told her about. Given its alleged importance, Gloria was surprised the prefects hadn’t already come banging on the door. Her eyes caught something conspicuous on the dresser: the empty vase from which she drank the potion. The bottom of it was stained black with the remnants of the gooey liquid. Gloria had yet to determine if it actually worked; the only thing it did so far was cause her scar to pulse and drift her into sleep.

She scooted over to Faelina’s bed and shook her. A pang of disappointment hit her when she remembered Faelina was a Pyrae. Hence, she would have her Artageca training session with Mother Crimsonia’s group separate from Gloria’s Terrae set. Faelina stirred under the covers before turning to face her.

“It’s time for training,” Gloria breathed, her scar pulsing beneath her navel.

Faelina leveled her head toward the door, rising as she heard the noisy corridor.

“Ebenveil already?” Faelina yawned, standing. “Had a nightmare just now. Dreamed I was being killed by a vampire.”

“I hope it wasn’t me,” Gloria said.

Faelina shook her head. “It was so real!” She cast her eyes on her. “Anyway, where were you, by the way? We didn’t see you at Opal Moon.”

“What happened?” Gloria inquired.

“The Dorms had a meeting with their Mothers concerning the Artageca drills,” Faelina informed. “Dorm L went to Mother Lysandra’s cabin.”

“Oh.” Gloria wondered how much she should reveal of what happened on the Salvia Moon inside the Astrum. Faelina’s expectant stare coaxed her into speaking.

“I was inside the Astrum,” she began. “When I left you and Osara there, I couldn’t leave the chapel because the Salvia Moon had already started.”

“Oh, I see,” Faelina said, nodding. “Well, you didn’t miss much. Mother Lysandra told us we might finally get to meet the guys from Alp3tenory. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

Gloria nodded, hardly hearing what Faelina said. It wasn’t hunger, but a powerful urge to take her blood had suddenly assailed her. She eyed her lustfully; Faelina’s blood literally called to her from beneath her flesh. The potion didn’t work, Gloria realized: her grim desires were still there. But after what she did when feeding from Faelina on the last occasion, she was afraid to ask for what she wanted. Gloria still wasn’t versed in the subtle art of asking politely for blood. It was a struggle the first dozen times when Gloria, hunger reducing her to a weakened shell of herself, had to muster up the courage to ask Faelina for a generous doze of crimson sustenance. Subsequently, Faelina seemed to know when to throw herself at her. Sometimes Gloria got to wondering if she had unwittingly compelled her roommate into these advances. And as Gloria thought this, Faelina approached her, eyes glossy either from sleep or compulsion. She proffered her hands for her to take, pulling Gloria from the bed. Then, with the tenderness of a slow, burning ember, Faelina eased the back of Gloria’s head toward her. Intent on not falling victim to the barbaric urge to take the girl roughly…to rip her to pieces, Gloria inhaled deeply. She pressed her lips to the gently flowing amaranthine river beneath Faelina’s flesh.

“Thank you,” Gloria whispered before she parted her skin.

Faelina moaned, gripping her more tightly as her body weakened. Another wave of dark urges seduced Gloria as the blood caressed her tongue, which she greedily condemned to the hell of her gut. Colors swirled around her as she siphoned liquid life, blood both blessed and accursed. The activity outside was now hushed as their world dissolved into a red haze of passion. Gloria licked, rubbed, and kissed, all things she wouldn’t normally allow herself to do. This was the language she chose to communicate just how appreciative she was of the girl pressed against her, ideas feeble words couldn’t express. Gloria held Faelina’s hands as life and death oscillated between them. She was the darkness whom the grave had barely missed and Faelina the glory to fill the void. Then it was over. Gloria retreated, barely sated though still satisfied.

Faelina studied her but said nothing. Then, smiling, she crouched and pulled out one of the drawers on the dresser. Gloria watched her for a while before going to the restroom, her body still teeming with warmth. As she washed her face and mouth, she heard a knock on the front door. Rowan, she thought. Gloria ran a comb through her hair before hurrying out. Faelina bustled past her, muttering something she didn’t catch. The room door was ajar. Rowan glowered at her from the doorway.

“Chop chop, princess!” She clapped her hands for emphasis. “The gong sounded all of ten minutes ago. Terrae to the forest, Pyrae to the Astrum, Hydrae and Aerae to Mother Meirothea’s cottage.”

Gloria nodded as the prefect progressed to the final room in the hallway. Gloria muscled on a navy blue argyle sweater with patterns streaking across it, a pair of washed-out jeans, and sneakers. Faelina emerged from the restroom, throwing a scarf around her neck. Though she knew it hid the bite marks, Gloria thought it looked mismatched with the remainder of her clothing. She refused to comment on it.

“I wonder if Osara left already,” Faelina stated wistfully. “No time to check on her though. Rowan is being pushy.”

“I think she already left,” Gloria said. “Rushed by Rowan, maybe.”

“Where are we going, by the way?” Faelina inquired, pulling on a jean shirt.

“Pyrae are to head to the Astrum,” Gloria said as they piled into the hallway, just as Cassandra and Philippa were passing with Rowan.

“Could’ve stayed in bed,” Cassandra jibed, her eyes on Gloria.

“Shut up,” Gloria snapped. Cassandra offered a hollow chuckle, rolling her eyes.

“You can’t do magic anyway. What’s the point?”

“Almost forgot,” Rowan said. “Channelers are grouped with Terrae.”

Gloria and Faelina trailed them silently down the stairs. Gloria pondered Cassandra’s quip about her not needing to attend the training since she couldn’t perform magic. She wondered what exactly a Channeler could even do under the Artageca system.

Faelina whispered, “Do you ever feel like, you know…hurting her?”

Gloria smiled. It was an odd question to ask, especially as Cassandra was only a few feet from them.

“Yes,” Gloria responded bluntly.

“I would if I were you,” Faelina said. “If I was…like you, I—”

Gloria silenced her, placing a finger on her lips, glancing behind them, where Hannah and Timea chatted as they trailed. Once outside, Faelina huddled deeper into her clothing as the Ebenveil cold attacked her.

“I just can’t get used to this cold!” she bemoaned, walking toward the chapel. “Anyway, see you later.” She waved at Gloria as she followed Cassandra to the chapel. Gloria stopped as Obsidia passed above, her aspect recalling an oversized bat. Gloria turned her nose against the foul odor the vestal emitted.

“Follow Obsidia,” Rowan said imperiously as she stalked off toward the main gate.

Gloria walked behind Philippa, thinking about what Faelina had said about “hurting” Cassandra. The thick tartan scarf around Philippa’s neck billowed in the frigid Ebenveil breeze, and Gloria fantasized about ripping it away and finishing what she started with Faelina. She salivated as the girl now caressed her neck as though the shadow of Gloria’s intent somehow affected her. She’d probably taste sweet, Gloria assumed. Obsidia’s dark form melted into the gloomy Shadowgrove forest. Gloria heard the voices of the sisters as she slowed inches from the forest’s rim, wary of the grim tales of the sisters who ventured into it without permission. Gloria quickly shoved the image from her mind, not wanting to think about souls being sucked from bodies. Philippa seemed to have no such reservations, for she strode casually into the misty gloom. Gloria followed tentatively, her mind settling once more on the uncertainty of how she would be made to participate in this practice session in light of the fact she was a mere Channeler. Would the Mothers be there? she wondered, a sudden tightness gripping her chest. What if her vampiric nature was revealed?

The smell of damp earth dominated the forest as she followed Philippa. Gloria observed that a faint amber light enveloped the entire forest as far as her eyes could see, and the bone-chilling coldness she’d expected in the forest was non-existent. Instead, the forest air was pleasantly warm. Perhaps it had been bewitched to be so. The sound of voices brought her anxiety back, and Gloria didn’t have the chance to prepare mentally before facing the source of them as she and Philippa stepped into a bare space comprising a smattering of sisters. Second-year prefect, Thalia was addressing them from the center, flanked by two other second-years whose names Gloria didn’t know.

“As I said,” Thalia was saying. “This drill is pretty straightforward. Follow the rules and you should be fine. Any questions? Should I repeat the rules?” Thalia flashed her head about her, before pointing to Philippa, who had raised her hand.

“Yes, Philippa?” Gloria heard Philippa exhale before speaking.

“Could you repeat the rules?”

Thalia studied her for a while. “Of course not…you’re late. Let this be the first lesson. Discipline is everything when it comes to Artageca. As your Terrae overseer, I will not tolerate any foolishness from any of you.”

Philippa pouted, her eyes downcast. Gloria felt her body quiver. On the one hand, she enjoyed watching Cassandra’s crony get humbled. On the other hand, Thalia’s refusal to repeat the rules meant Gloria had to embark on this exercise blindly. She watched as one of the sisters beside Thalia whispered something to her. Thalia nodded, whispering back to her in turn. A tap on Gloria’s arm frightened her. Gloria jumped, forcing a nervous smile from the sister who’d touched her.

“Sorry,” she said in a sing-song voice. “You know the rules?”

Gloria hesitated. The girl’s deep green eyes emphasized her question. Gloria knew she was a first-year like herself, but she’d never spoken to her before, though she admired her freckles and dimples.

“Not really,” Gloria replied. “Just came.”

“Well…it’s sort of a magical simulation,” the freckled girl said. “Things will attack us. You have to defend yourself using a Terrae spell. Don’t attempt to use a Pyrae or any other type of spell, else it will affect us somehow. I’m not sure how.”

Gloria nodded. “Thanks. Is that all?”

The girl thought for a second, her head angled upward. “And don’t turn your back to whatever is attacking you. Also, never attack your teammates.”

Gloria nodded again. “Thanks, but I can’t do ma—”

Thalia’s voice silenced her, ringing through the forest.

“Okay, ladies! Listen while I announce the pairings. And remember, just follow the blue dragonflies. The pair successful in following them into the forest and back wins the challenge. You may also capture one. Do so, and your team wins automatically.” Thalia cleared her throat. “First pair: Alyx and Phaedra.”

The freckled girl beside Gloria shuffled away, giving her a weak smile. The timid-looking Phaedra broke from the group of sisters and dragged her wiry form to the center. Phaedra was Timea’s younger sister from Dorm M. One of Thalia’s assistants took Alyx’s and Phaedra’s hands and whispered something over them. Gloria watched as a thin, golden cord spun itself from thin air, wrapping itself around each girl’s wrist, connecting them.

“The tether around your wrists binds you together as a team,” Thalia announced. “If it severs, you immediately lose. On the other hand, points will be awarded if it thickens. That would mean your teamwork is strong. Next…” She paused, bringing her palm closer to her face. “Hannah and Scarlet, please step forward.”

Hannah, the plump sister from Gloria’s Dorm bounced forward, a broad grin on her face. Scarlet, a tall, blond from Dorm C strode to the front. Scarlet reminded Gloria of a flamingo. There was something about the way she walked— graceful with long strides. By now, it was clear Gloria would be paired with Philippa as only the two of them remained. Thalia didn’t bother to announce their names, proceeding to kneel, hoisting a large green satchel. Philippa shot Gloria a stare of deepest loathing, rolling her eyes as she made her way to the rest of the group. Gloria walked to the front, cursing her luck having been paired with Cassandra’s clone. Thalia could just announce that they lost from now and avoid the embarrassment that was about to happen. Thalia’s scarred assistant took Gloria’s hand and recited an incantation which made her hand tingle. An ethereal green cord coiled itself around their wrists, emitting a faint buzz. Then, Thalia fumbled inside the satchel and withdrew a small glass instrument resembling an hourglass. Fluttering around inside it were three large dragonflies, each emanating an intense aquamarine glow. Gloria found them rather beautiful as they flitted up and down inside the container. Unbottling the object, Thalia spoke.

“Get ready to run, sisters.”

With that, the three insects hovered out, floating above them.

“Hey, fool!” Philippa said. “If you make me lose, we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Likewise,” Gloria snapped, staring defiantly into her eyes.

“Go!” Thalia raised her hand theatrically, which seemed to unbind the dragonflies, which zoomed deeper into the forest, a trail of blue light in their wake. Gloria hesitated even as the other pairs of sisters dashed after them, their luminous tethers undulating like thin snakes as they went.

“Come on!” Philippa screamed, sprinting after them.

Gloria broke into a run after her, the problem of containing her vampiric speed worrying her. The dragonflies were quick; they effortlessly wove through the dense trees and shrubs as though maneuvering through open space. Gloria caught up with Philippa, who seemed desperate to win the challenge as she overtook Hannah. The plump girl appeared to be already tired. Scarlet, realizing Hannah wasn’t by her side, slowed down, glancing back at the now panting girl. Gloria whizzed past them, now alongside Philippa.

“Going to channel from you at some point,” she shouted.

Gloria was about to respond, when Philippa released a sharp yelp, crashing to the ground. Gloria halted, seeing the mass of tangled reeds responsible for her fall.

“Terrum Evisco!” Philippa bellowed at the reeds snaring her ankles. The plants receded into the ground, which told Gloria they had been bewitched.

“It’s like all that?” Philippa breathed, rising.

“Traps,” Gloria stated.

“We’re losing the dragonflies!” Philippa broke into a run.

Gloria saw that the dragonflies were indeed zipping further away, the leading pair of Alyx and Phaedra in hot pursuit. In light of Philippa’s fall, Gloria watched her feet as she progressed, twisting sharply as the dragonflies swerved suddenly. She was surprised to see the leading team halt abruptly. Gloria saw the reason at once. She heard Philippa laughing beside her, seeing what had obstructed them.

“Damn! I bet that’s a creation of the Mothers.”

Philippa was referring to the light-based bear blocking Alyx’s and Phaedra’s path. Gloria saw three luminous lines of what appeared to be incantations emblazoned in thin air between the girls and the bear, which was now advancing menacingly on them. Gloria and Philippa lost sight of them as they set eyes on another dragonfly that had shifted from the path of the first. As Gloria wondered what other obstacle would present itself, a shadow moved across her path, causing her to veer into Philippa. They both plummeted, falling heavily on the damp forest floor. Gloria shoved her hand before her face milliseconds before impact.

“What the hell!” Philippa yelled, already rising.

“I saw something,” Gloria said, finding her feet. “A shadow—” Her voice trailed away as the thing that had caused the collision stood before them. Also before them was a triad of blazing, uniquely-colored incantations hovering in midair. Gloria had enough time to realize that one of them featured fiery lettering, and another was maroon-brown. The dark form lunged, faster than Gloria had prepared to move. She evaded the would-be blow, the creature’s clawed hand groping the space she occupied only seconds prior. Philippa had whipped her head around to look at her, an act that proved costly. The being’s hand that had attempted to catch Gloria caught her instead, the impact of which flung her backward. Gloria, having quickly learned not to take her eyes from the thing, bleated out what she thought was the Terrae spell among the triad of hovering spells.

“Terreo!”

Nothing happened. Gloria tried again, more hysterically. The shadow darted at her. Gloria shifted, faster than sight, faster than she wanted to. An unnaturally strong wind whipped her hair.

“Terreo!” Philippa had found her footing, casting the spell that now burrowed into the shadow’s fabric, ripping it to shreds.

“Come on!” Philippa shouted, already chasing after a dragonfly that had progressed further into the woods. Gloria could see the Alphatenory Brotherhood in the distance. The forest became increasingly sparse as they jogged in pursuit of the dragonfly. Gloria slowed down somewhat to feign exhaustion, matching Philippa’s pace. Gloria glanced over at the panting girl, wondering if it was worth the risk to use her vampiric speed to catch the dragonfly and win the challenge outright. She quickly pushed the thought from her mind. They were probably in the lead anyway, she thought, though she had no idea how close the other teams were to their target; the other dragonflies had apparently taken other paths. Gloria spotted a bewitched reed up ahead camouflaged with vines snaking along the forest floor. She veered to the left, away from Philippa, refusing to make the same blunder as the last time when they collided. But no sooner she swerved than something blocked their path, something large. Gloria and Philippa braked, Gloria sliding a bit from the sudden deceleration.

“Shit!” Philippa cursed, retreating. “These things are looking more real everytime.”

Gloria barely heard her, chills spotting her skin as she gazed at the leering seven-foot wolf. Its amber eyes shone like small flames in the night as it slinked slowly, almost daringly across the path, its eyes never leaving them. Gloria knew from instinct that this was no bewitched obstacle. This was real.

“Where are the spells we’re supposed to—” Philippa began, but Gloria cut her off with a raised hand.

“Head back to Beltraine,” she instructed, an odd sense of duty overtaking her. She felt oddly calm despite the harrowing situation facing them.

“Hell no!” Philippa shrieked. “We’re close to—”

Philippa never got to finish her sentence as the wolf reared up before them, releasing an ear-splitting howl. Gloria’s hair stood on end as she retreated.

“This is not a part of the challenge,” she yelled. “This is definitely a real wolf.”

“Pssh!” Philippa scoffed before she stepped forward.

Gloria made a half-hearted grab at her and missed.

 “TERREO!” Philippa hollered.

A thick, snake-like vine shot up from the ground, lashing at the wolf which shifted nimbly to the side, faster than Gloria had anticipated a beast of such size to move. The next sequence of events happened in a blur. The wolf lunged, ripping Philippa’s dress with its claws. Frozen, the girl screamed. The wolf, mere feet from them, lunged again. The spine-tingling turn of events had coaxed Gloria’s vampiric instincts to the fore. She moved so fast that her bones creaked. She only had the time to shove her hand outward madly to block the blow of the wolf. A wounded yelp told her the gesture was successful. The creature staggered, dazed.

“Run, Philippa!” Gloria screamed at the petrified girl. A moment passed before Philippa snapped out of her terror-induced stupor, her eyes impossibly wide. She took a blind, mechanical step backward, her eyes squarely on the wolf, which was shaking off Gloria’s blow.

“RUN!” Gloria bellowed again, more desperately.

To her annoyance, Gloria watched as Philippa’s face transformed from absolute fear to stubborn defiance. She grabbed Gloria’s hand as the wolf leaped again. Gloria’s body tensed as she readied herself to either evade the wolf’s attack or to deal a blow. She had no idea which. But she found herself suddenly weak. Philippa’s hand shot upward.

“Salvia Minor!”

Gloria felt the heat even before the spell roared from Philippa’s fingertips. Flaming purple tendrils arrowed skyward, toward the descending beast. Philippa had channeled energy from her, and Gloria, now tearing up from the spell’s heat, realized she was now part of a miniature form of the Chain of Glory, amply linked both by physical touch and by the radiant tether. The wolf’s head caught the brunt of the spell. Thrashing and afire, the beast was now a ghastly silhouette in the gloom. Gloria charged into Philippa to push her from the path of the falling thing, the force of her effort propelling her awkwardly through the air. The Shadowgrove forest was awash with lavender as they both fell heavily, skidding in mud. The ground shook moments later as the beast fell, its momentum cartwheeling it into a bare oak. The flames burned through the remainder of the wolf’s shell, already snaking halfway up the oak’s trunk and spreading rapidly across the forest floor. Gloria stood, only now seeing that Philippa’s forehead was badly bruised and bleeding. Her ripped clothing also revealed more wounds: a couple of gashes from the wolf’s claws. They looked deep enough to worry about, the open gashes seeping blood. Philippa looked dazed, her eyes unfocused. Gloria extended a hand, which Philippa took, groaning as she did. Gloria almost released her hand at once as a remnant of the Salvia spell remained as weak sparks jetting from Philippa’s fingertips.

“We should head back,” Gloria said, gazing at the spreading fire.

Philippa’s mouth moved, but no words came out, only a sick rattling noise. A sudden thirst gripped Gloria as the smell of Philippa’s blood seduced her. She cast her face away, lest Philippa saw something suspicious in her eyes. The rattle came again as she tried to speak, and as Gloria set her eyes on her once more, she finally understood why she was having difficulty speaking. Philippa coughed, doubling over as gobs of blood and saliva slicked from her mouth. Gloria held her, clueless as to what she should do. Philippa had recited an illegal incantation: the spell she’d cast was Pyrae magic even though she was a Terrae. Hence, she was now facing the terrible consequences. Gloria knew the particular spell Philippa had performed was only permissible under the strict condition that they were using it within a proper Chain of Glory. Furthermore, even though the Salvia spell she’d pronounced was a weaker version of the Salvia Lumina incantation, Gloria surmised it was designated for more than one witch. Considering this, Gloria was surprised Philippa was still conscious, let alone alive. A twig broke close by, yanking her upright. Philippa fell as Gloria released her. This time, Philippa did not rise.

“What the hell happened?” Thalia glanced from Gloria to the grounded Philippa, before her eyes settled on the crackling purple flames by the oak. The wolf was now fully consumed by the flames, banished like a vampire would be. Thalia didn’t wait for her response, dashing toward Philippa. The ordeal had Gloria wary. All the running and channeling had zapped her strength. The yellow tether glowed brightly between herself and Philippa. She realized it had thickened, appearing more physical than it was when they’d started the challenge. Thalia scooped Philippa into her arms.

“Come,” she said to Gloria. “Your night is far from over.”

Salvia Lumina

Ten minutes after her ordeal in the forest, Gloria sulked inside the Astrum. She was inside the dark space in amid the Pyrae lot listening to Rowan speaking about the Chain of Glory. The place reeked of ash from the drill the Pyrae had done before she entered. Thalia had told her on the way from the Shadowgrove forest that she was expected to be present here since she was the only Channeler at Beltraine, and that the Pyrae needed to siphon energy from her to feed the Chain of Glory they were going to perform. Gloria was pissed at her bad luck. As far as she knew, she was the only sister required to participate in two Artageca drills in one night. Apparently, she was to have no reprieve from the grueling last half an hour, which saw her almost killed in the forest alongside Philippa. Her body ached from exhaustion, especially her legs and right wrist, where Philippa had held her with hands alight with Salvia fire. Gloria glanced at it now, disgusted at the raw flesh with her dried blood caked around it. The wound would probably have been visible to anyone who looked closely, had the luminous tether not been present, though faint and fading.

The Astrum looked quite different with the shelves and tables removed, rendering the stone-walled interior dark and forbidding. The luminaries remained, however. Gloria counted seven of them hovering over them like a host of blue-winged seraphim, their double wings beating a mile a minute. There was a seven-foot-tall obelisk at the center of the seven-member Pyrae contingent.

“The final drill…” she heard Rowan saying. The head prefect was flanked by Lystra, Rowan’s droopy-eyed assistant, and deputy prefect from Gloria’s Dorm. Gloria’s mind ran on Morgana as Rowan spoke. Had anyone found her body? It was now upwards of ten hours that Gloria had discovered her cold corpse. She pushed the image from her mind.

“The Chain of Glory is traditionally taught to second-years,” Rowan continued. “But the Mothers deemed it fit to teach it to all the Pyrae since it’s based around the fire element.”

Gloria spotted Faelina across from her, guilt seeping into her as she laid eyes on the scarf draped around her neck. Faelina then stared directly at her. Gloria fidgeted on the spot, before casting her gaze away. Sighing, she caressed her burning wrist, hoping the suffering she was bound to endure in tonight’s channeling would pale in comparison to all the other channelings she’d done before.

“The spell is simple enough,” Rowan crowed. “The most challenging aspect of the Chain of Glory is achieving resonance. As you’ll soon see, everyone’s energy must be at the same level for the Salvia spell to work. Think of it like singing on a choir. The harmony of the choir will be garbage if even one member is off-key. Except that instead of sounds, it’s your minds that must harmonize. Failure to achieve this, and you’ll be in dissonance. The spell will fail.”

Gloria’s mind went to Philippa and how much of a painful night she was having. She’d both recited a forbidden spell and was gouged by a wolf. Both of those things brought severe consequences, and Gloria knew Philippa would have to undergo a long and grueling recovery. Despite her stubbornness, Philippa displayed virtues Gloria could only respect, what with her determination in the face of adversity and her resilience. She recalled the steely look on her face when the wolf was descending upon them. To channel from her in that moment took guts when most people would cower or run. 

Rowan continued, “The Channeler is the only one exempt from this harmonizing aspect. The only thing the Channeler must do is grant permission for energy to be channeled from their body. Otherwise, no energy flows through the chain.”

A hand shot up, stealing Gloria’s attention. She saw that it was Cassandra a few sisters away from Faelina.

“Cass?” Rowan pointed to her.

“Is a Channeler even necessary? I mean, can’t the real witches harness their own energy to fuel the Salvia spell?”

Gloria saw that Cassandra was stealing furtive glances at her as she spoke. Gloria shook her head out of disgust, amazed someone could be so annoying. She made a mental note to confront Cassandra about her continuous jibes at her. She’d always thought Cassandra’s problem with her stemmed from the fact that Gloria was the only other first-year qualified to be a part of the Chain of Glory. But now she was not so sure. It must be something deeper, she reasoned. The only other possible reason she could think of was that they had both come to Beltraine at the same time. But of course, Gloria didn’t remember a single thing from that night. It was usual for sisters to forget their prior lives after coming to Beltraine. But as far as she knew, sisters were supposed to remember their first night, which she understood from Osara mostly entailed being interviewed by the Mothers.

“Yes, Cass,” Rowan responded. “A Channeler is extremely necessary.” She rubbed the smooth obsidian obelisk. “The Salvia spell requires a lot of energy. I mean, a lot! It’s not like the normal fire spells in the drill you just did. Actually, Morgana is the best person to explain this particular point because she has the most energy reserves out of all of us. She’s sick at the moment, so she couldn’t be here tonight. But not even she can produce a single spark of Salvia Lumina flames on her own.”

Rowan paused, still staring at Cassandra, whose expression had transformed into a frown.

“Even though Channelers can’t manifest their magic outwardly,” Rowan continued, “they are invaluable because they naturally possess incredible amounts of magical energy—energy required for certain powerful spells. With that said, there are a few weaker Salvia-based spells that one witch can do, but it won’t be enough for vampire banishing.”

Gloria’s hair raised at Rowan’s mention of Morgana. She’d used the word “sick” to describe her. Did Rowan just describe Morgana as sick because she didn’t know what happened to her, or was Morgana really alive? Gloria shuddered at the latter explanation, Morgana’s pale, haunting face floating up inside her mind. Gloria shook her head to evict the macabre image. Gloria was sure Morgana was dead; her vampire instincts had told her definitively that there were no signs of life in the sister. Esther raised her hand beside Gloria. She tensed as all the eyes darted in her direction. The Dorm M Pyrae didn’t wait to be acknowledged before she spoke.

“What are some other examples of spells that have to be done as a group? I was reading up on this, here in the Astrum, but the books don’t go into details.”

Rowan was silent for a while. Gloria watched her shoot Lystra a quick, almost imperceptible glance. Lystra shrugged, appearing to understand Rowan’s coded gaze.

“That’s a great question, Esther. I suppose there is no harm in revealing this to you lot,” she paused, gazing once more at Lystra, who now whispered something to her before Rowan continued.

“There are certain forbidden magics that can be performed as a group. The spells requiring a Channeler are usually forbidden. This is not always the case, but usually. The Salvia Lumina spell is one of the few exceptions.”

Rowan’s voice trailed off into silence. Gloria couldn’t help but be curious about the specifics of those “forbidden magics”. She intended to inquire into it.

“Okay, ladies,” Rowan said after conversing with Lystra. “Enough talking. The Ebenveil Moon shall soon pass. It’s time we begin the Chain of Glory drill. Make a circle around this obelisk.” She tapped the structure before her. Gloria shuffled forward as Lystra began positioning each sister. Gloria saw that the circle would be significantly smaller than she was used to in a Chain of Glory. This meant she wouldn’t have much space inside it alongside the obelisk to suffer while they siphoned her energy. Lystra placed Esther to Gloria’s left before pausing in front of Gloria.

“I think—” Lystra began, turning to Rowan, who was tinkering with the obelisk that now began glowing a forbidding orange.

Lystra whispered to her, and Rowan nodded in response, her attention still on the structure she was enchanting. Lystra spun back toward her.

“Gloria, you’ll be part of the Chain this time though it’s not an ideal practice for the Channeler to be physically connected to it.”

Gloria almost rolled her eyes, wanting desperately to get the drill over with, so she could sleep off her pains and exhaustion. She groaned when Lystra beckoned to Cassandra, who now modeled over from the other side of the now fully luminous obelisk.

“You go beside Gloria,” Lystra hissed to Cassandra. “The strongest and weakest link should be connected to the Channeler though Rowan and I will also join to start.”

Cassandra shook her head ruefully as she settled into the space to Gloria’s right.

“Just so you know,” Cassandra whispered. “I’m taking all the energy your magic-less body has to offer.”

“Don’t you know I can corrupt the energy I share with you?” Gloria snapped. “You can actually die from taking my energy.”

The lie slid from her tongue like butter. A nervous chuckle rumbled from Cassandra, a strained smile playing on her face. Gloria smirked, spotting Lystra positioning Faelina into the chain. She heard the second-year mention something about Faelina’s scarf. Gloria tensed, focusing her attention on the exchange. She watched anxiously as Faelina fumbled with the silken fabric. The puncture wounds the scarf hid would be on full display once it was removed. Faelina’s hands trembled, twisting the scarf instead of removing it. Then, just as Gloria lost all hope of Faelina hiding their secret, Faelina turned up the shirt collar and unraveled the scarf. Lystra took it, pausing to glance at it as Rowan finally retreated into the circle. A moment passed as Lystra studied the scarf, before pocketing it. Gloria wondered if Lystra’s prolonged attention to the scarf was because she’d seen blood on it.

“Join hands!” Rowan instructed.

Startling herself with her boldness, Gloria grabbed Cassandra’s hand, feeling the girl jerk from its coldness. She’d let Cassandra bully her for too long. It was time to turn the tables.

“So cold!” Esther moaned, glancing at her. “Are you a vamp, Gloria?” she joked.

Gloria offered a tight-lipped smile.

“The Salvia fire should be directed at the obelisk, tonight’s makeshift vampire,” Rowan stated. “Remember, the spell should be pronounced perfectly. S-A-L-V-I-A L-U-M-I-N-A.” She paused, nodding to Lystra before continuing. “Watch out for my gesture for you to chime in. I’ll begin the chant in D-minor. But first, Gloria…do you permit your energy being pulled?”

“I do,” she heard herself say.

Cassandra eyed her. “Don’t mess up like the last time we were here, okay?”

Confused, Gloria turned her body toward Cassandra, straining the link with Esther on her other side.

“Last time we were here?” Gloria repeated. “What do you mean?”

Cassandra laughed as Rowan began the Salvia chant alone, her deep voice reverberating through the hollow Astrum. Gloria felt nothing as Lystra joined, quickly harmonizing with Rowan. Before long, the pair sounded like one voice. The ice box that was the Astrum began a gradual thawing as they chanted, the air heating with energy. Rowan broke the chain momentarily, gesturing for the others to chime in. When they did, Gloria immediately felt the beginning of something happening inside her. It wasn’t painful, the sensation comparable to a small electric current teasing on her flesh. Goosebumps flooded her skin though the atmosphere wasn’t cold anymore. Cassandra must have sensed something happening with her, for she swiveled her head toward her, gripping her hand more forcefully. Gloria’s mind went to Cassandra’s weird statement about not messing up like the last time. The sensations grew steadily, Gloria’s back starting to sweat. The sisters hadn’t fully harmonized, she realized. No Salvia fire was manifesting because enough energy wasn’t being pulled from her.

This was now Gloria’s third time participating in a Chain of Glory ritual, the other two times with experienced sisters banishing actual vampires. Gloria knew she would have been in complete agony by now in that circumstance. Rowan broke the chain again, hoisting her hand.

“Stop!” Her gesture silenced the Astrum. “You probably were feeling the effects of the spell. But it isn’t being done properly. Remember, our keys must match for this to work. Listen while Lystra and I harmonize towards resonance.” Rowan began the spell once more, Lystra joining afterward.

“SALVIA LUMINA! SALVIA LUMINA! SALVIA LUMINA!”

Gloria noticed the difference immediately: the two sounded like one, so much so that she couldn’t even distinguish the voices. They paused.

“Alicia,” Rowan said, her gaze directed at a short sister from Dorm C. “Begin the chant after us. We’ll go clockwise from Alicia.”

Rowan and Lystra proceeded to harmonize again, Alicia joining them upon Rowan’s gesture.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Cassandra’s voice was almost drowned out in the chanting.

“Remember what?” Gloria stared at Cassandra.

“Your first night… how you almost ruined the banishing right here in the Astrum. That vampire almost killed everyone.”

Gloria considered the possibility Cassandra was trying to mess with her, though it was true that she didn’t remember her first night at Beltraine.

“You probably dreamed it,” Gloria said. “What is there to ruin in me channeling?”

Cassandra shook her head as Faelina joined the recital.

“Interesting. So all this time…”

Cassandra stopped speaking as the sister to her right, Lystra’s younger sister, Cadence began, her voice cracking after the first few syllables. Gloria’s mind swam from what Cassandra said. Had she really been part of a vampire banishing ritual on her first night at Beltraine? If so, that was extremely strange. Maybe it was all a lie, she reasoned. But her intuition told her Cassandra was telling the truth. A million other questions arose in her mind. They were vanquished when Cassandra began her recital. She harmonized with the others at once. Seeing this, Rowan skipped Gloria, gesturing to Esther, who began vocalizing the spell.

The Chain, now restored, sang in earnest, finally achieving resonance. Gloria heard the crackle before the flames roared to life inside the circle, directly in front of Rowan. Gloria’s energy sagged dramatically, a sudden weariness overcoming her such that her already aching legs weakened. In that instant, she knew why Channelers weren’t supposed to be part of the Chain: their proper place was on the ground, free to thrash in anguish as their life drained away. Her hands still clasped with the sisters on either side of her, Gloria fell to her knees as her insides burned. The pain radiated from her scar and snaked its way like slithering embers throughout her entire body. The purple flames gashed menacingly inside the circle, flickering as it floated toward the obelisk.

Gloria noted in agony that she seemed to forget just how painful channeling was. It was as if the Salvia fire not only manifested externally but internally as well, roasting every fiber of her being. Screaming now, Gloria’s eyes watered from the pain, sweat dripping down her face. Her hands strained against Cassandra’s and Esther’s, threatening to break the Chain. Through her distorted vision, she saw someone walking behind Rowan. Gloria squinted, wondering if it was a pain-induced illusion. The sister looked like a ghost as Gloria watched her ungainly progress through the shifting purple flames. Frightened, Gloria broke the Chain out of pure terror, the Salvia flames extinguishing with a ‘pop’. Morgana stopped and turned toward her with the palest, most stone-dead face she’d ever seen.

Fanning Fires

The Salvia Moon had ended with Kain Fangsworth still bound from head to toe. Tamsyn was slowly losing her mind as the situation became more desperate with each passing minute. She’d been having haunting flashbacks of Vain’s burning corpse floating grotesquely above her bed. It was still hard to believe she’d murdered Kain’s father. And it would only take someone skilled in aura detection to see that he was wiped from the face of Nocteraia. Such a person would also discover that Kain was inside her bedroom with her guilty magic on him bared for all to see. Furthermore, tonight was the planned reconnaissance mission at the Beltraine Sisterhood, a mission of which Kain should be a part.

Cole had stormed up to her room after he heard the bang as Vain broke down her room door. Luckily, the flames had already reduced the Fangsworth to dust, Kain tucked out of sight underneath her bed. Tamsyn had spun Cole the obvious lie— that Vain, in his anger-fueled search for Draven, had barged into her room, before proceeding to make a speedy exit out the window once his attempt to locate her father failed. Tamsyn had been pleased that Cole seemed to have gobbled up her deceit like cotton candy, not bothering to ask about the purple ashes scattered across the bed, nor the pungent scent of ozone her killing fire had produced. Despite her reservations, Cole had taken the initiative to reattach the door, claiming that Draven would kill him if he returned to see it unhinged, even though it was Vain who did it. For her own sake, Tamsyn had gone ahead and requested that Cole attach two additional bolts, enduring the extra ten minutes or so it took while a product of her secret lay mere feet away from being discovered.

She caressed Theo now, the black cat purring in her lap. She was awed at how such a simple act stilled her chaotic mind into one of almost sinful calmness. It dawned on Tamsyn that she’d have to tell someone about Kain sooner rather than later. After all, Kain had to feed, and she couldn’t keep him here in this state forever. But who did she trust in the vampire fraternity? Who among them could she trust with the fact that she was a witch? Draven would kill her, that was for sure. But the second she thought this, an idea came to her. Draven never liked speaking about her origins…her mother in particular. Tamsyn had learned to stop asking him about her mother years ago. Draven erupted into a fit of rage after she’d pressed him on the matter. He’d claimed her mother was dead, proceeding to offer no explanation about how it happened, which had annoyed her. It had been before she was cognizant of his deep loathing for witches when she had asked if her mother was a witch. Tamsyn shuddered from the memory of what Draven did next. His face contorting like a raging psychopath, Draven had yelled at her so much she cried, the only time she remembered ever crying. Draven had grabbed one of the guards in his rage, shoving a hand through his chest before her young eyes, yanking his heart from his chest. Then, he uttered a combination of words she would never forget. “This is what I do to witches and them who blaspheme my name, claiming I am in cahoots with those whores. You’re lucky you’re my daughter, or this would be your heart in my hand.” He’d shoved the heart toward her for emphasis, before squishing to a soggy mush in his palm, thick blood splashing onto her face.

Tamsyn remembered the moment like it was yesterday, the abuse burned into her mind like a mental tattoo. She’d never asked him about her mother again, forcing herself to be okay with being motherless. But the reality of it was that her mother had to be a witch since Tamsyn had the trait. From whom would she have inherited her magic? Despite Draven’s abhorrence toward witches, he had to have been intimate with at least one in the past for her to possess magic innately. Tamsyn gazed at Theo curled up in her lap. The cat was the only thing that pointed to the fact that she had a mother. Draven had let slip one night while drunk on Oxychrome, that the cat had not nine lives but ninety, due to the number of times he’d tried to kill it and failed. He said her mother left it for her, and that he was forced to comply with her wishes. He didn’t allow Tamsyn to unpack what he’d revealed, resorting to his usual aggression when questioned. Since then, Theo had a special place in her heart, something handed down out of the love her mother had for her.

“Mother,” Tamsyn whispered. “If you’re still alive, I need you now more than ever.”

A rap at the door startled her from her thoughts.

“Tamsyn?”

She hoisted Theo from her lap and went to the door, hesitating as she stared at the dark mahogany. Was that Draven?

“Yes?” She pressed her ear against the door. The voice came at once. It was Cole.

“Open up.”

Tamsyn unbolted the door and muscled it open. Cole’s scarred face regarded her, then he peered past her into the room.

“There’s a meeting in the guest room,” he said. “You’re expected to attend.”

“Meeting?” Tamsyn repeated. It was an odd time to call a meeting, though she surmised it had to do with the mission at Beltraine in less than three hours. She realized Kain’s absence was bound to be a topic of discussion.

“Is Draven here?” she asked, trying to appear calm. Cole nodded.

“Yes.”

Cole retreated down the stairs.

Closing the door, Tamsyn scooted to her bed, kneeling. The dark form of Kain writhed, still clearly bound. Sighing, she let the sheet fall, before retracing her steps to the door. Steeling herself, she stepped out, making her way to the guest room. She hadn’t heard when Draven returned. Tamsyn assumed he’d been busy finalizing the planning of the Beltraine mission. She heard voices issuing from the guest room before she entered. The room quietened upon her entry, more people than she’d anticipated staring at her. She took her usual seat around the table beside Draven, who wore a bland expression as he stroked Zeus perched on his shoulder. From what she could see, all the usual heads of the vampire houses were in attendance, except Vain Fangsworth— an absence she was directly responsible for. Guilt nipping at her conscience, Tamsyn chose to avoid eye contact with everyone, leveling her head directly before her at nothing in particular.

Beside her, Lily Moonshadow whispered something to Noctua. Tamsyn cocked her head subtly to see Rael Fangsworth— the disabled, gray-eyed vampire— now downing blood from a crystal glass. His eyes found hers now, and like the time she’d visited the Fangsworth house a few hours ago, she felt naked under his gaze. Why was he here? she wondered. Owl Nightcreed and his wife, Carmine whispered to each other on the other side of the table. Their children, Sebastian and Selena were absent. Pluto, Owl’s raven, flitted to and from its owner’s shoulder to the table, cawing periodically. Tamsyn couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding as she sat among the vampires. Something was wrong; she didn’t know what.

“I believe we may begin.” Draven’s voice filled the room, its usual verve absent as he dimmed the light issuing from the chandelier above them.

“Kain Fangsworth is absent,” Carmine stated, her tone serious.

Tamsyn fidgeted as Draven shrugged.

“We can’t wait forever,” Draven said. “There are more important matters to attend to. Lily, I believe it was you who requested this meeting. You claim there’s something urgent that needs to be discussed before we set off for Beltraine? Please, the floor is yours.”

Lily stood beside Tamsyn. She noticed a vial containing liquid on the table before her. The Bloodwhisper Elixir, Tamsyn thought. Did the Moonshadows finally discover something with their Heka?

“Yes,” Lily boomed, pausing.

Tamsyn glanced up at the woman, who seemed to be searching for her next sentence.

“A lot has happened since our last meeting,” Lily continued. “And the Moonshadow house would be remiss not to address them since they directly impact our way forward as a unified fraternity.”

Tamsyn caught Draven scrutinizing her, his red eyes betraying a hint of apprehension. She wondered if Cole told him about Vain. Averting her eyes from Draven’s gaze, Tamsyn poured herself a glass of blood from the pitcher as Lily continued.

“I consulted with the spirits through the Moonshadow Heka. What it revealed, in combination with what Rael discovered, paints a damning picture of the Blackcross house.”

Tamsyn was becoming more agitated by the second, her hands beginning to shake from a mixture of anxiety intermingled with magical energy. She realized she needed to find a way to control her blossoming magic going forward. Draven caressed Zeus nonchalantly, his gaze on nothing in particular.

“What did your Heka reveal?” he asked calmly.

“It revealed something we’ve always been wondering about Tamsyn.”

Tamsyn froze, her glass almost slipping through her fingers. She wanted to disappear. Clearly, Lily knew she was a witch.

“You’ve always been scheming,” Tamsyn responded, defending herself. “It’s no secret you’re lusting after my father’s position. Also, it’s common knowledge your house’s Heka is ridiculously unreliable.”

Lily scowled, peering down at her. But it was Owl who spoke next.

“All that is secondary if Lily can provide proof that what she’s saying is correct. Do you have irreputable evidence for us, Lily? If not, you should refrain from making such accusations.”

Lily prized her eyes from Tamsyn, nodding. But Draven forestalled her response, standing.

“My daughter is correct. You, Lily, along with Carmine, have always desired the throne. I will not simply sit and allow you to tarnish the Blackcross legacy in my own house!”

Presently, Theo walked into the room, spurring a new wave of panic in Tamsyn. She didn’t believe in omens, but she would have read more into the timing had the attack she and Draven were now fending off been less tense. But the fact that Theo was here meant her room door was wide open for anyone to see what… or rather who lay beneath her bed. The black cat made a beeline for her before leaping casually onto her lap. Amused, Tamsyn rubbed its head as Theo purred quietly.

“I have no such ambitions,” Carmine’s guttural voice erupted. “But with that said, the position of Vampire King is not an autocracy as our creed outlines. Anyone with justifiable cause may question the leadership.”

Tamsyn shook her head out of defiance. Though Carmine was correct, Lily had yet to reveal she had a justifiable cause for questioning Draven’s leadership. Tamsyn spoke up.

“I think we should at least wait until—”

“It cannot wait,” Lily interjected. “What I have to reveal tonight affects our decision to embark on the mission at Beltraine. Unless you have a confession to make here and now, Tamsyn...”

Tamsyn remained quiet for a while, gazing at Draven, who now seemed on edge, his shoulders tight and hunched. This made Tamsyn even more anxious in the drawn-out silence, which seemed to stretch on for ages.

“The Blackcross house has nothing to hide,” Draven said, appearing to have regained his usual level of confidence. He fixed Lily a testy glare.

“Good,” Lily said. “I have reason to believe, after doing extensive due diligence, that Tamsyn is a witch!”

Tamsyn’s mouth went dry instantly. Theo stirred in her lap as if it understood the gravity of Lily’s accusation. Tamsyn shook her head vehemently. Although the accusation had rattled her, Tamsyn maintained a degree of calmness that surprised even her. Perhaps she’d been subconsciously preparing for this very moment, and her calmness was the effect of her brain shielding her from a mental breakdown. Otherwise, it was easy to imagine herself doing something rash. Still, it was a wise choice to run now, in case Lily had the means to prove she was a witch. Draven laughed nervously.

“Is that what this is about?” Draven hissed. “I admit, I’m disappointed. Of all the ways of trying to dethrone me, you stand there and accuse my daughter of being a witch? My hatred for witches exceeds all of yours combined. If Tamsyn was a witch, I assure you she would be long dead.”

Lily smiled, her fangs glinting even in the dim light.

“I had a feeling you’d say that, Draven. I shall present you with a glorious opportunity to do just that.”

Tamsyn felt the weight of a thousand eyes on her in the wake of Lily’s words. Again, she thought of running, her muscles tensing to do just that. But she stayed put for now as Lily uncorked the vial containing the scarlet Bloodwhisper Elixir.

“In the meantime, Draven,” Carmine said, “can you tell us, once and for all, who Tamsyn’s mother is? You have been skirting around the issue for decades now. Your continued secrecy on this matter alone puts your leadership into disrepute. One can only imagine why you would go to such lengths to hide it for so long.”

Draven eyed Carmine with an expression Tamsyn didn’t know how to read. Tamsyn’s heartbeat suddenly began thundering against her chest, her hands beginning to sweat in what was a dramatic and disproportionate escalation of her body’s reaction compared to her mind’s relative calm.

“Fine,” Draven said finally.

Tamsyn’s head shot up, finding Draven, who was wearing a defeated expression, looking worn and haggard.

“I shall reveal who Tamsyn’s mother is as soon as Lily is through with her shenanigans. It’s not so much a matter of keeping it a secret. Revealing it would cause an unnecessary upheaval in the vampire fraternity.”

Owl responded, “Whether or not it is unnecessary should be determined by the fraternity itself, not you…respectfully.”

By now, Tamsyn’s body was awash with sweat, her body teeming with an energy she now recognized well.

Magic.

She wanted to walk out of the meeting, but she knew her guilt would practically be confirmed at that point. But what else? she thought. It was a lose-lose situation. Tamsyn remained seated out of inertia. She noticed Lily was stealing furtive glances at her as she mixed the red potion. And it was then that she realized a fact that deepened her anxiety even further. Was Lily’s actions coaxing the magic out of her? If so, it was a perfect and surefire way of proving she was a witch. Tamsyn’s heart made a powerful thrust, physically jolting her. The force of her movement was enough for Theo to leap from her lap and onto the table. It was at this point that she shoved her chair from beneath the table, the noisy groan spurring the pair of Owl’s raven and Draven’s bat into a discordant racket. Tamsyn rose as the heat in her hands flared. She didn’t look down at them in fear of what they would reveal.

Someone yelled something as she dashed for the door, her mind a cloudy haze of panic and confusion. In the next second, someone crashed into her side, slamming her into the wall astride the door. Pain rocketed through her side, her eyes watering from the most intense agony she ever felt. Tamsyn stood quickly despite this, about to take another wild shot at escaping, but she saw it was not to be. Standing before her now were four seasoned vampires whose combined ages and raw strength outstripped hers ten times over. They had surrounded her, and Tamsyn felt trapped and hopeless like she imagined the humans she’d preyed upon for blood on the streets of Nocteraia had been. The quartet of vampires stared at her silently. The long, flickering shadows dancing over their aspects told her flames pulsed from her hands. Tamsyn felt like a stranger in her own home, an enemy amid beasts. This was exactly what her nightmares were made of. Words escaped her lips; she didn’t know what she said.

Draven now spoke, his voice colder than she’d ever known.

“Forgive me, colleagues. Lily, you were correct in the end. Allow me to correct my oversight.”

Shaking uncontrollably now, a solitary tear trickled down Tamsyn’s cheek. She peered into the soul-less red abyss of Draven’s eyes, pleading silently to the beast inside them. An evil leer played on his lips as he moved faster than her sight could trace. Tamsyn closed her eyes, awaiting the final blow…awaiting death.

The Floating Sister

Gloria woke in a strange room with flashing neon lights piercing through a haze of smoke. She stirred, glancing around the unfamiliar space, trying to figure out where she was. Two pairs of eyes met hers.

“She’s up,” Lystra said. “How are you feeling?”

Rowan was in a corner with her back turned, fumbling around inside a wardrobe. Gloria presumed she was inside the prefects’ room on the third floor of Dorm L. Gloria appraised herself before responding.

“Good,” she finally said. “I feel much better.”

“Nice. You have the Aerae to thank for that. They worked on you earlier. Their healing magic seemed to work. The channeling drained you sick.”

Gloria offered a sheepish smile, her mind wafting to the person she saw just before her mind flickered out. Although she looked dead, Gloria supposed Morgana yet lived. She assumed the second-year hadn’t told anyone what happened between them in the Astrum on the night of the Salvia Moon. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been channeling in a Chain of Glory but being banished inside it.

“Well… we’re late,” Rowan said, swinging a leather jacket over herself. “The meeting is probably half way through by now.”

“What meeting?” Gloria asked.

Lystra stood as she responded. “Right. There’s a meeting with the Mothers in the chapel.”

Again! Gloria thought. The meetings were becoming much too frequent for her liking. Every time Gloria shared the same space with the Headmistresses, there was a huge risk of them discovering her secret.

“What’s it about?” Gloria asked. She realized incense was burning atop a chest of drawers, diffusing a rich lavender scent throughout the room.

“Artageca,” Lystra replied. “Let’s go.”

...

The chapel was still being filled with sisters when Gloria arrived.  Gloria spotted Osara in the bustling hall. She was seated next to the considerable frame of Hannah in the second row at the west side of the chapel. Someone touched Gloria’s shoulder as she made a beeline for Osara. Thalia, the prefect of Dorm C, smiled at her, ushering her to the opposite side. Thalia directed her to a seat five rows down from the pulpit. Gloria scanned the chapel for Faelina. Then, she recoiled momentarily as she saw who she was about to sit beside. Cassandra fixed her a hateful stare as she sat. Gloria returned it, though at that moment she was more curious than bothered. Cassandra had yet to unpack what she said in the Astrum concerning Gloria’s mysterious channeling on her first day here. As she grappled with the idea of asking about it, the chapel quietened dramatically. Gloria knew why before she turned to confirm it. The three Mothers had entered, walking in single file down the aisle between the rows of seats bisecting the chapel.

Aurelius and Obsidia floated in a mass above the trio, weaving into and out of each other like agile clouds. Gloria theorized that Paracelsus was still at the gate due to the Mothers’ unwillingness to further compromise Beltraine’s security by having him here. Mother Lysandra led the way, sporting a red tunic, a maroon headdress, and her usual stern expression. She gripped a wooden, body-length staff, stomping it on the floor periodically. Gloria thought Lysandra resembled some sort of high priestess on the verge of performing a powerful rite. Trailing her was Mother Meirothea in a white tunic with epaulettes on the shoulders. Her silvery-white hair fell to her back, bundled through a white cloth knotted around her forehead. Mother Crimsonia brought up the rear, garbed in a black tunic. Gloria never got to analyze her more closely, for her attention was captured by someone.

Her movements languid and mechanical, Gloria’s sighting was among the prefects and sub-prefects watching the Mothers’ progress from the chapel’s rear. It was Morgana, her pallid face recalling alabaster. She now whispered something to Rowan, who nodded in response. Gloria’s mind raced, panicking. Cold sweat washed her back as she stared, though she didn’t want to make eye contact with her. Again, Gloria thought about what she’d seen in the chapel on the night of the Salvia Moon. She was sure Morgana was dead when she found her. If she’d had a pulse, Gloria would have known. Besides, her body had already gotten cold, her eyes glossed over in what Gloria knew by instinct was surefire evidence of death. Another more important matter sent her into a head-splitting depression: Morgana knew what she was! Obviously, she must have already told someone. What if the Mothers had called this impromptu meeting not to discuss Artageca but to publicly execute her? Gloria felt her muscles clenching as her body screamed at her to flee before disaster struck. Gloria glanced around nervously, realizing that if there was any chance of escaping Beltraine alive, it was right now. She felt herself rising as if in slow motion. But the second she heard the austere voice of one of the Mothers, she slid back into her seat as though compelled.

“Greetings, sisters of Beltraine,” Mother Lysandra’s gravelly voice boomed. “Welcome to yet another meeting. You must be wondering about the increased frequency with which we’re having these get-togethers. It is a testament to the fact that the times are getting much more rife with evil. The fragile peace we’ve been enjoying in Nocteraia for some time now has been broken. Our enemies have suddenly become emboldened, testing our supremacy. Humans are the most affected in their acts of aggression– being unable to defend themselves against the bloodthirsty savages who slaughter them like animals in the streets.”

Gloria relaxed somewhat, her breathing returning to normal. If her secret had been discovered, it was sure to be the first topic of discussion. She glanced back at Morgana once more. The second-year sister was staring at Mother Lysandra in rapt attention.

“As such,” Mother Lysandra continued, “we have decided to accelerate the curriculum. This has already begun, of course. Mother Crimsonia has already introduced you to Artageca, and you have been doing certain Artageca drills according to your respective ascendants. This meeting is a continuation of that; we plan on equipping you with the tools necessary to defend yourselves should the savages breach our walls.”

As soon as Mother Lysandra said this, the sisters broke out in hushed whispers, prompting the Mother to raise a cautionary hand.

“Breaching Beltraine is unlikely. Our walls are protected by the most sturdy defensive charms. But of course, we cannot fall into the sin of complacency. We have to prepare ourselves nevertheless, in the off chance our charms are undone.”

Cassandra whispered something to Timea. Gloria noticed Philippa was missing. Due to what had happened in the Shadowgrove forest, Gloria understood why. It was then that Gloria spotted Faelina in the row behind hers. She seemed distant, her face wearing a blank expression. Gloria noticed she wore another scarf (this one knitted and even more conspicuous than the one she wore to the Astrum). She rubbed it absently now, her head stiff. Mother Lysandra stopped speaking, and Gloria prized her eyes from Faelina to see Mother Meirothea at the rostrum. The remaining Mothers were now also standing.

“Ladies,” Mother Meirothea began. “Give us your undivided attention as we demonstrate the formidable power of the Artageca system. We’re doing this exercise to give you an insight into what you can accomplish with it in your own journey of magical excellence and self preservation. To give some background, my Artageca triad is air, water, fire. This means I command air and channel it through bodily movements. Mother Crimsonia’s is fire, fire, earth, which means she commands fire and manifests it through her voice with spells. Finally, Mother Lysandra’s triad is earth, air, water, giving her the ability to command earth and manifest it most powerfully with her mind.”

With that, Mother Meirothea retreated from the rostrum, stepping into the vacant space between the rostrum and the shawl draping the backside of the platform. Her misgivings about the meeting now mellowed, Gloria waited with curiosity as the Mothers shuffled around in preparation for what they were about to demonstrate. Mother Meirothea raised her hand slowly. The effect was a thin, smoky light partitioning the rostrum from the remainder of the chapel. Gloria assumed it was some sort of barrier to protect the sisters from the effects of what was about to occur. Crimsonia acted first, crouching as she bellowed a spell Gloria hadn’t heard before.

“Inflagrantis Magnanima!”

A great whooshing heralded the magnitude of the incantation. Gloria watched in awe as a ball of green fire the size of a disco ball blazed through the air at Mother Lysandra. With the reaction of a cat, the Mother of Light stomped her staff with authority. A block of granite stabbed through the floor. Gloria’s legs jerked from the compact conjuration. The ball of fire crashed into the granite shield, spreading across its surface as aggressive tongues of fire.

Some of the sisters were standing as the demonstration raged on. A terrible crackling filled the chapel as the undying flames ate at the barrier, which seemed to be withstanding the fire’s onslaught so far. Until it did not. Gloria watched the slab of granite crack down the middle before shattering into a million pellets. Mother Lysandra seemed to have expected this, for when the pellets slammed into the light barrier, she directed them with her hand at Mother Meirothea.

The old Aerae spun on the spot in response. Gloria had taken her reaction as one of surprise, but she quickly realized her spinning had a purpose. Instead of being hit with what would have been a deadly barrage of high-velocity chunks of dense rock, the pellets deflected as they came within a certain radius of her body. Wind, Gloria realized. Mother Meirothea was releasing what she guessed was a rather powerful band of wind, which now tore the shawl clean off, catching the fabric in a frenzied orbit before ripping to shreds. With Meirothea’s gyrations slowing, Gloria saw that her spinning feint marked the end of her display. The other two Mothers had taken defensive positions Mother Crimsonia within an iridescent cube of light, Mother Lysandra behind a polished ivory structure the shape of a sarcophagus. A while later, Mother Meirothea ended her pirouette, vanquishing the windstorm. Several sisters began clapping as Mother Meirothea undid the barrier, glowing embers of granite crackling under her sandals. As soon as the barrier was banished, all the scents from the demonstration came rushing in. Gloria smelled burnt wood, ash, myrrh, and ozone. The chapel returned to its prior calm as Mother Crimsonia shuffled to the rostrum.

“What you just saw was just a snippet of Artageca’s power. Of course, we held back a lot, and it doesn’t begin to describe what would have happened in an actual battle with dark witches. Successfully defending yourselves against vampires and lycans, however, requires a somewhat different approach and skillset. Not only do you need to wield powerful magic, you also need exceptional reflexes and cunning. One wrong step… one careless moment of hesitation, and you’re gone. Dead where you stand.”

Mother Crimsonia paused, rubbing her hands together, a smile playing on her lips.

“Now for the main event of the night…and don’t worry ladies, the stage shall be charmed so no one gets hurt…much. Take a good look at the person beside you. She will be your opponent in this drill.”

As soon as Mother Crimsonia had announced the sisters were to duel, Gloria’s scar pricked as it had never done before. Her stomach writhed as though a parasite were beneath her skin. She had the urge to vomit, the pain reaching nauseous proportions. It seemed the effects of the channeling session weren’t gone completely. Furthermore, she’d endured a harrowing Terrae drill alongside Philippa. Gloria ignored Cassandra’s sniggering beside her. No doubt Cassandra was taking her reaction for one of consternation at the prospect of dueling her.

“Aww, Gloria,” she cooed. “I’ll go easy on you. I promise.”

The sisters rose as the sisters corralled them into the open space at the back. Thalia appeared astride their row now, and Gloria peered at her through teary eyes, planning on informing her she would have to skip the dueling session. Cassandra rose, grabbing her wrist.

“Come on, fool. My spells need to be directed at someone.”

Gloria yanked her hand away roughly, fixing Cassandra a murderous stare.

“Whatever,” Cassandra snapped, proceeding to the open space at the back.

Gloria was now conspicuously among the last seated.

“Gloria?” Thalia prompted, gesturing for her to get moving.

“I don’t think—” Gloria began. She paused as Mother Crimsonia dashed by them, her black tunic billowing as she hurried through the door, disappearing into the dark campus. Gloria spotted Morgana by herself at the door, a dreamy look on her face. A new wave of worry smacked her.

“You don’t think what?” Thalia asked, gazing at her testily. “It’s fine that you’re a Channeler. We actually prepared something special for you to do.”

Mother Meirothea walked past them, her head stiff. With Mothers Crimsonia and Meirothea making hasty exits, Gloria wondered if something was wrong. Gloria felt a faintness to go with her pain and nausea.

“It’s not that,” she explained. “I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll skip this session.” She all but forced the words out through gritted teeth.

Thalia studied her for a while before nodding.

“I understand,” she said sympathetically. “We might have pressed you too hard with the drills. Can you at least observe the session? It’s really important that you be a part of it.”

Gloria shook her throbbing head. “Don’t think I can,” she wheezed. It was the truth, but she also didn’t feel like being present, especially among any of the Mothers, seeing that Morgana was alive and could crumble her entire world. She glanced back at the door where she saw her last. Morgana was still there, standing as stiff as a statue, gazing into thin air.

“Okay then,” Thalia began. “You can see yourself out. I’ll…”

Thalia never finished the sentence. A piercing scream ripped through the chapel, shifting everyone’s attention to its source at the back. Gloria stood suddenly as she beheld the horror, the pain reduced to a weak slap on the wrist from the adrenaline surging inside her. Morgana was floating in mid-air halfway to the ceiling! Her hair fell beneath her, and she began convulsing like Gloria had never seen someone convulse before. Fresh screams ripped through the chapel as yet more sisters witnessed the macabre sight. Morgana’s head and chest bobbed like a ragdoll. It was as though something was trying to free itself from her body.

Lysandra appeared beside the girl, fanning the sisters away. As the ghastly scene unfolded, Gloria noticed her own situation had escalated. The space from her chest to her navel was covered in blood, the scar leaking out onto her white shirt. She sat at once to hide her soiled clothing. Raw blood had oversaturated the fabric, snaking down her pants. Mother Lysandra’s hands were raised toward the shaking Morgana as if to catch her if she fell. But Gloria saw this was not her intention, for jets of orange light pitched from her fingertips, her lips moving as she recited silent incantations. Gloria rose once more when Thalia left her and strode over to the scene. At that moment, Gloria formed a plan to slip through the enraptured sisters unnoticed. But Morgana’s convulsions waned, the girl descending slowly. Mother Lysandra knelt at once, tending to her. Gloria watched in shock as a mass of black smoke lifted through Morgana’s lips. The girl stirred at once, raising her head. Gloria got the sense a spell had been lifted from her. Despite Mother Lysandra resting a hand on her chest, Morgana rose, her face still ghostly pale.

“I’m okay,” she said, but her voice was nothing more than a screech. “Where’s Gloria?” she inquired, glancing about dreamily. “Gloria attacked me in the Astrum a few nights ago. I’m pretty sure she’s a vampire.” With that, the girl’s eyes keeled over, before she fell again. All eyes found Gloria as she sat mortified, blood pooling at her feet.

“Everyone to their Dorms now!” Mother Lysandra cried, spinning to face her.

Gloria shook as the Mother of Light cast eyes of wild judgment upon her. They changed before her very eyes, taking on a savage, almost bestial amber.

The Lost Friend

Amaranth rose from the ground of the dead, her mind teeming with excitement she hadn’t experienced since childhood. After almost a century, she’d finally pieced together the prophecy uttered by Artemesia on that fateful night of the Widow Moon. The Ebenveil night was extra cold as she glanced around the cemetery, mist shrouding the gravestones like souls of the dead keeping watch over their hollowed-out bones. She’d forced Amethyst to remain inside their tenebrous lair to ward off unwelcome trespassers. This was a journey she wanted to embark on alone. How long had it been since she saw her childhood friends? Surely, it was close to a decade. Amaranth walked barefooted on the damp earth. Her skin, ever sensitive to the graceful dead, tingled as she progressed. Amaranth wondered how Crimsonia in particular would react upon discovering she was alive. Would she greet her with estrangement or embrace? Would she resort to cursing her, being the practitioner of the dark craft that Amaranth was? She had no clue what would happen once they set eyes on each other. Yet, her recent discovery warranted a trek to the Beltraine Sisterhood.

The prophecy was more layered than she could have ever imagined, each word spoken with deep purpose. She would be remiss not to reveal its true meaning to one of her kind, especially since it would give witches the ascendency over vampires and lycans. Amaranth walked out of the cemetary and onto a dirt track lined with hydrangeas and nightshades. What if Crimsonia had already deciphered the prophecy? she mused. After all the time that had passed since the prophecy was spoken, it was indeed possible she realized the prophecy was about her and her children. Amaranth imagined Crimsonia would have gone through hell to keep them safe, given the future the prophecy had prescribed for them. Amaranth progressed slowly, preoccupied with her thoughts, a queer nervousness settling into her. Only her former friends could get her this way. That was as if the trio of sisters considered her a friend after the deeds she’d done over the years. She had narrowly escaped incarceration inside the Blackmaiden witch prison on countless occasions, the Vestalmount council having deployed skilled witches to capture her. And given Meirothea’s connection with them, it was not farfetched that the Aerae extraordinaire would attempt to subdue her. As for Lysandra, Amaranth had to assume she would have nothing but a fierce rebuke of her path. But most of all, she feared Crimsonia’s judgment.

Amaranth had been close enough to the witch to appreciate her devilish command of fire, the likes of which could scorch the world. It was good that Crimsonia had found a noble cause in nurturing young witches into upstanding denizens in a land plagued with darkness. In truth, Amaranth was proud of her friend’s resolve. But sometimes one’s ambitions were hopelessly out of line with their fate. Sometimes darkness conquered the goodwill one sought to embody. Amaranth, invigorated by her own goodwill, stepped with renewed purpose. A thought hit her as the Sisterhood came into view. It was possible Meirothea and Lysandra didn’t know about Crimsonia’s twin secrets. If that was the case, Amaranth wished to keep it that way: Crimsonia’s secret was hers to tell, and what a terrible rift revealing it would create in the tightly knit sisters! Their bonds would be sternly tested, for Crimsonia not only committed the sin of fornication—an act that blasphemed against the sisters’ vow of chastity—but she had done so with a vampire. Crimsonia’s deed spat in the face of her foreparents, who had sacrificed their lives to eliminate the savages from Nocteraia.

Amaranth began making her way up to the Beltraine main gate, her black saree swishing around her skeletal frame. The tall pines lining the gloomy path did little to filter the oppressive wind streaming in from the east. Amaranth was versed enough in magic to know the wind was unnatural—part of a complex magical system constructed by one or more of the headmistresses. She whispered as she progressed, trying to undo the matrix of spells guarding the space. Amaranth smiled, knowing a lesser witch would have already been undone. Her dark magic came in handy for occasions such as these, as it had been for escaping the many attempts at her life since traversing the unhallowed path of power.

Amaranth halted suddenly, her aura sagging as invisible, insidious energy roiled around her, intermingling with the whirling wind. To her chagrin, she realized she’d been too smug: her passive protection wasn’t enough. Kneeling to avoid the brunt of the windstorm, she extracted an ivory thorn from her pocket, pressing it into her thumb. Blood oozing from her parted flesh, she whispered a spell over it, which caused the liquid to rise and expand into a faint red sphere. Her blood hovered above her before ballooning, surrounding her like a light bubble. When Amaranth saw that her shield was repelling the wind satisfactorily, she stood, resuming her progress toward the gate. Her blood barrier clanged periodically as aspects of the protective charms placed around the Sisterhood impacted it. She made a mental note to laud the sisters’ defensive apparatus when she got the chance.

Amaranth’s journey toward dark magic had begun rather tamely, not long after the harrowing night of the Widow Moon. A pack of blood-thirsty wolves had followed the pair of Crimsonia and Draven back from wherever they’d come. Amaranth had slaughtered a couple of them, and out of pure chance, she’d discovered that the soul-rending act of killing had gifted her temporary authority over the soul of the deceased. This revelation came after she employed an obscure form of Artageca magic, pulling magic from the void between the stars.

Amaranth pulled up to the gate, but just as she did, she sensed someone behind her. Spinning, she glanced through the blood orb’s distorted air, seeing no one. Convinced, Amaranth maintained her gaze down the track, her vision clearing. Two figures were indeed making their way up. They didn’t see her, she realized, backing into an underbrush. She wanted to see who the trespassers were and how they were resisting the magical matrix defending Beltraine. Amaranth saw that they weren’t any of the headmistresses, for the trespassers’ auras seemed unusually static and cold. Dead. Then it hit her.

Vampires!

What were they doing here? Amaranth’s face creased in puzzlement. That was a question she had to know the answer to. She backed further into the bushes as the hooded figures approached. Amaranth noticed they were staying close to the edges of the walkway so as not to be seen by anyone looking out from the gate or inside Beltraine. But again, the fact that they were repelling the magical matrix bothered her. She judged from the details of the matrix that it should be especially lethal to vampires. Did the headmistresses have a deal with them? No, she decided at once. Vampires hated witches even more than the witches hated them. But how? The two dark forms seemed tentative; their refusal to use their vampiric speed was most curious, and deliberate. Amaranth glanced into the Beltraine campus, wondering if someone was coming to meet them. A few young women were making their way from the chapel, perhaps heading to their Dorms, but no one paid any attention to the gate. The pair of hooded vampires stopped exactly in front of her hiding place, whispering to each other.

“Tenebris Velamen,” Amaranth muttered. And as the spell acted, she realized why the vampires had managed to walk through the magical protection unscathed. How stupid am I? she thought, watching the light from her blood orb receding not only from around her person, but from the entire path she’d traversed from the street to where she was now. She’d overdone her blood orb, unwittingly gifting the vampires absolute protection. What interesting timing though, she mused as her spell draped her with a veil of darkness.

“Should it be this simple?” the shorter of the two vampires murmured. “Draven said we should expect some resistance.”

The taller vampire didn’t respond, turning on the spot as he observed the place. Amaranth tensed momentarily, wondering if her masking spell was effective. By now, it was clear what was happening: Draven had sent the pair here. If she were to hazard a guess, she would say they were tasked with launching some sort of attack on Beltraine. Amaranth watched as the last remnants of the blood orb vanished, waiting on the magical matrix to do its work on the now vulnerable vampires.

She didn’t have to wait long. The shorter of the two vampires gripped his chest, a muted scream escaping him. Amaranth watched with glee as his body rose, his hood falling from his head to reveal a pale, grimacing face. In the next second, his limbs were torn from his body, starting with his hands, now twitching in the dirt. His legs followed in a similarly. The vampire’s air-borne head and torso writhed in a sort of danse macabre as he struggled to extricate himself from the deadly sorcery claiming his life. But both he and Amaranth knew the end was near. His terrified green eyes flickered as his head slid away, falling with a thud of finality. The remainder of the corpse, still caught in the throes of the bewitched air buoying it up, now flaked away, its skeleton briefly exposed before that too was destroyed. The fate of the other vampire was less severe. He had managed to transform himself into a crow to make his great escape. Amaranth stifled a cackle as its wings flapped uselessly against the animated wind, its body caught in a death trap. The bird fell not long after, the carrion stiffening as death took its hold. Amaranth undid the masking spell and emerged from her hiding place, stepping over the mess strewn about. She stretched her hand toward it, the dead crow floating toward her. Gripping it tightly, she prized the head off, pocketing it. She could use it for a ritual later, she thought, stepping up to the gate. A pearlescent mass emerged from the booth to meet her— Meirothea’s vestal. Amaranth tensed at the possibility it might attack her. To pre-empt this, she spoke quickly as it approached.

“I… Amaranth request audience with Crimsonia. I have some important news to relay.”

The vestal circled her, its presence disturbing her protective orb such that it dimmed, expanding and contracting by some force the vestal exerted. The spectral thing stopped suddenly before shooting off through the gate and onto the campus like an ethereal comet. She watched its serpentine trail pass the chapel, vanishing into the night. Amaranth only had to wait a few seconds before the vestal returned, but it didn’t come alone. A witch had embedded herself within the folds of the vestal in what was a delightfully novel method of transport. It was not who Amaranth had requested, however, but she guessed the vestal felt compelled to fetch its creator. Meirothea glanced at her with an expression she knew all too well, its austerity unnerving.

“I suppose I can’t be surprised the rumors concerning your death are all false.” Meirothea’s tone was mocking.

Amaranth cackled. “After all, how can the embodiment of death die?”

Meirothea’s seriousness prevailed. Amaranth saw that her gaze was upon the severed limbs of the vampire and the headless crow.

Amaranth explained, “I watched a couple of vampires searching for a way in. They were lynched by the protection. I must commend you lot for its sophistication. I admit I’m—”

“Watched?” Meirothea interjected. “Brought them here, you mean? They wouldn’t have gotten this far otherwise.”

Amaranth was stunned into silence though she shouldn’t have been. After all, she should have suspected Meirothea would have been suspicious of her visit coinciding with that of the vampires.

“We may not see eye to eye, Meirothea, but we do share an abhorrence for bloodsuckers. This was a mere coincidence, one I admit is peculiar.”

Meirothea prized her eyes from the carnage on the ground, fixing her a combative gaze. She doesn’t believe me, Amaranth decided.

“Why did you come here tonight, Amaranth? Why should I not alert the Vestalmount council to cart you off to Blackmaiden right this second?”

Amaranth was silent, searching for the correct response. She’d expected to speak to Crimsonia, not Meirothea. The silver-haired witch continued.

“My sisters and I made it clear you are to come nowhere near Beltraine. Dark witches have no place within our institution.” Amaranth scoffed, breaking the veneer of civility she intended to maintain. However, she saw the hypocrisy and irony of Meirothea’s statement. In the end, Amaranth chose not to press the issue, wanting no part of the escalation her pushback was bound to bring.

“It is Crimsonia that I seek,” Amaranth stated. “I have an important matter to discuss with her.”

Meirothea’s stoic expression changed for the first time: She raised her brows, accentuating the deep creases in her face.

“Oh? Is that right? Whatever you wish to speak to Crimsonia about can be done with either myself or Lysandra. We harbor no secrets in our space.”

Amaranth shook her head ruefully. Again, Meirothea had spoken a falsehood. In fact, the very reason she’d ventured here was because of a secret. Once more, Amaranth chose her next words carefully to avoid conflict.

“If that is the case,” she said. “I’m sure Crimsonia will discuss it with you afterwards, Meirothea.” Amaranth was becoming more and more annoyed with the headmistress’ holier-than-thou attitude. For a brief moment, she entertained the thought of telling Meirothea what she came here to tell Crimsonia. She dismissed the idea, understanding that doing so would be a gross betrayal of trust.

“Is it connected to the vampires attempting to breach Beltraine?” Meirothea asked.

Her vestal retreated into the booth. Amaranth supposed it was a fair question, given the circumstances.

“Yes, actually,” she replied curtly. “And the longer we stay here chatting about nothing, the more danger Beltraine faces.”

Meirothea cocked her head before finally nodding. “Crimsonia isn’t here. She left the campus in haste not too long ago.”

A heavy pang of anxiety jolted Amaranth in the wake of Meirothea’s words. Amaranth didn’t know how she knew, but she was certain something was very wrong. Amaranth floundered for an appropriate reaction, scratching her head.

“And it appears you don’t know where she’s gone nor when she’ll return?”

Meirothea didn’t answer her question. Instead, she turned and glanced at the campus.

“I’m taking my leave. With Crimsonia gone, Beltraine’s protect—”

BANG!

The ground shook. Amaranth’s heart surged. Meirothea floated backward theatrically, still facing her. Screams pierced the night air. Amaranth fidgeted as she watched the sisters of Beltraine spilling out onto the quadrangle, running helter-skelter around the campus.

“Come!” Meirothea cried. “We’ll probably need you since Crimsonia’s out.”

Meirothea floated above the gate like a ghost, her hair fluttering. Then, the headmistress turned, the air at her command buffeting her in an arc up and away. The vampires were attacking! Amaranth theorized. She realized the vampires at the gate might have been a diversion, the remainder entering through another opening. She knew from her chat with Draven that he wanted to kill the subject of the prophecy, who was presumably attending Beltraine. Her theory was confirmed as she witnessed a trio of hooded vampires chasing a group of young women toward the Shadowgrove forest. One didn’t make it, and the others probably wouldn’t either. Amaranth took this as her cue to move, shuffling through the gate.

The Crimson Woman

Her head and side tearing apart, Tamsyn sensed she was awaiting death for far too long. Her eyes still shut tight, she wondered if she had actually already died, Draven’s blow too swift and brutal to allow any time for pain. It was someone’s scream that yanked her eyes open. The image that met her was so absurd that she forgot the fact that she should have been dead a second ago. For one, she was inside a cage made of crackling crimson fire. Secondly, Rael, Noctua, and Carmine languished on the floor, writhing against amber cords binding them. As striking as those details were, it was the final observation that stunned Tamsyn the most. Someone was on the table looking down at them with a flaming object in her hand. Her black tunic billowed around her as though caught in a storm, her shoulder-length red hair glowing like an organic crown. Something about the woman’s poise struck Tamsyn. Her expression was a mixture of supreme confidence and sternness recalling a goddess about to dispense justice. Tamsyn’s eyes were drawn to the table itself, where she saw that Lily’s second, Noctua, was sprawled on a chair with a smoldering hole in her chest. Dead. The woman on the table let the heart fall. Tamsyn squinted against the dancing flames of her cage obscuring the woman. She looked familiar, but Tamsyn didn’t recall where she had seen her in the past. In fact, it wasn’t only her face that was familiar, Tamsyn realized. It was more her mannerism—something subtle that couldn’t easily be put into words.

Lily lunged at her like a leopard. The crimson woman’s reaction was impossibly quick, flicking her wrist casually. Her action conjured a fiery amber whip that coiled itself around the Moonshadow’s torso. Bound and burning, Lily screamed as the flames ravaged her flesh. As she fell, Draven put his hands up defensively.

“Quite the entry, Crimsonia.” Draven paused, glancing back at Tamsyn through the fiery cage.

Tamsyn glanced from Draven to the crimson-haired woman confused as to what was happening.

Draven continued, “I suppose our secret is out. You proved your point. You can exit my house now.”

The crimson woman studied him. “Exit?” she repeated, her voice mocking.

Tamsyn watched Theo curling himself up at the woman’s feet as if he was oblivious to what was happening.

“You think I’ll just leave Tamsyn here after what you were about to do to her? I had foreseen you would seek to kill her upon discovering she was just like me.” She bent and caressed Theo before scooping him into her arms. “My Theo here was most watchful—most loyal.”

Tamsyn was shaking inside the cage as she listened to the woman. Draven was silent, his gaze averted. Tamsyn had never seen him this passive. Her mind had already pieced together the puzzle that was the crimson-haired woman. Everything the woman said pointed to one thing.

“I admit,” she continued, “I harbored hope that you would change one day. Change into the kind boy I met that night at the Ashenhollow castle. But since then, you’ve always been slowly revealing the depths of your dark soul. Perhaps you were always this way… a scheming, power-hungry snake who cares about nothing but himself.”

Draven’s barking laughter echoed through the guest room. Tamsyn saw that he too had been touched by magic, his right arm burnt black by fire.

“Your weakness, Crimsonia,” Draven began, “is that you think you can save everyone. It was a mistake to come here tonight. You shall understand this most painfully when you return to that hovel.”

“Beltraine is supremely protected,” Crimsonia retorted. “Your flaccid attempt at attacking us is laughable. The bloodsuckers you deploy are yet more bodies you sent to die in vain. And it’s all for a prophecy you don’t even know the fullness of. I will kill you, Draven. It will be spectacular. Mark my words.”

“Why not kill me now, then? Get it over with.”

Tamsyn noted Draven’s taunting tone.

The woman shook her head sorrowfully.

“You know very well why I cannot do that. It is why you’re so brazen in your actions.”

With an ever-increasing faintness overwhelming her, Tamsyn watched the interaction between Draven and a woman she understood in her heart was her mother. Tamsyn groaned from the pain searing through her body. She’d gone through a lot tonight, both mentally and physically. Tamsyn lowered herself to the ground, kneeling before the fire flickering around her. Sweat washing over every inch of her aching body, she watched the woman flick her wrist, sending a bound Draven to the ground. Her mind fluttering under pain and pressure, the last thing Tamsyn saw before her consciousness faded was the woman called ‘Crimsonia’ heading her way, a smile on her face.

 Battle of Beltraine

Lysandra reeled in her inner beast as she peered upon the young woman bleeding before her. A million questions bubbled up inside her mind. The most pressing one was how the sister had come to be a vampire. The question was important to her because it was now possible that Beltraine had been infiltrated by bloodsuckers, and there was no telling how many of them resided within the walls. Lysandra shuddered as she thought about the other possibility. Had Gloria been like this even before she was admitted into Beltraine? If so, how had a vampire managed to slip through Beltraine’s rigorous admissions mechanism undetected by any of her counterparts? Lysandra was wise enough to know that such a coincidence was impossible, what with the great lengths they’d gone to prevent such a thing from happening.

As she directed her energy to her eyes, Lysandra observed the peculiar vampiric energy coursing through the sister. As she did, sudden empathy gripped her as she stepped closer. Lysandra had more than two centuries’ worth of experience with vampires, and as she stared at Gloria, she seemed not like the abominable beast that she was, but more like a victim of her condition. It was a notable difference, but it nevertheless warranted the same reaction from Lysandra, being that she was the Mother of Light. Gloria had to die. But first, Gloria had to fill in the blanks in her mind before euthanizing her with fire. She needed answers. The girl was shaking uncontrollably now, an expression of pained defeat etched on her face.

“Gloria,” Lysandra said seriously, trying to be as gentle as possible so as not to spook her too much. She needed Gloria to be the most level-headed she had ever been as she drilled her about her condition. “Who turned you into a vampire?”

The young woman began sobbing, clearly frightened of her.

“I won’t hurt you,” she said. “Tell me how you came to be a vampire.”

Silence reigned for a while until Lysandra was convinced she wouldn’t respond, mute from the shock of being outed as the very thing Beltraine rebuked.

“I don’t— I don’t know. I promise, I don’t know. I hate it. I never wanted to be this way.”

Lysandra nodded, her empathy deepening. Gloria was telling the truth, she thought. Obviously, Gloria’s predicament mirrored Lysandra’s own plight after she’d been bitten by a lycan. And she had to wonder if it was fate or a test from the Crown Goddess that she came to be in this situation steeped in irony. Still, more questions arose inside her mind.

“Are you saying you don’t know who bit you, or is it that you weren’t—that you were born this way?”

Gloria shrugged, heaving. “I have no memory from before I came to the Sisterhood, Mother.”

Lysandra listened, processing what Gloria said. She still wasn’t getting any definitive answers.

“So, you’ve been a vampire ever since you came here, or did your…cravings begin at a particular moment while here?”

Gloria seemed to think about it for a second, her forehead creasing. Lysandra noted the blood pooling beneath her on the chapel floor.

“I’ve always been like this, I think.”

“And the blood…” Lysandra pointed at the bloody floor. “Are you injured?”

“No…yes,” Gloria said in quick succession. “I have a scar that bleeds sometimes, but never like this.”

Lysandra stepped closer, shuffling through the narrow row to where Gloria was. There was even more blood than she’d originally realized; the young woman’s clothing was soaked in it.

“Let me have a look.”

Gloria raised her shirt tentatively, revealing nothing but blood on her belly and chest. The blood oozing from the wound obscured Lysandra’s view of what it was exactly.

“Expulso!” Lysandra whispered, waving her hand. The blood slid away from her navel. What remained was a scar that froze her, not because of its grotesqueness, but from what it represented. Gasping, Lysandra shrunk away. She gazed from Gloria’s face to the scar, shocked at what the night continued to produce. Lysandra got the sense tonight was an undocumented Widow Moon, for that was the only explanation for the absurd series of events that were transpiring in quick succession. It had begun with Crimsonia’s and Meirothea’s surreptitious exit, then Morgana’s bewitched possession, and now this. What more did the night have in store? Straightening, Lysandra made a step to vacate the chapel to inform Meirothea about this development but stopped in her tracks as she thought about it. She studied the scar once more to make sure she wasn’t mistaken about what she’d concluded. But the more she observed the familiar shape of Gloria’s scar, the more she was convinced it was the work of Crimsonia: Only she was adept enough at seals to craft the one on Gloria’s navel. The most important question of the night flashed like warning lights inside Lysandra’s mind. What reason in the world could cause Crimsonia to not only fashion the vampire seal but to keep it from her? What was Gloria’s significance that she had to resort to such an extreme and secret thing, all for a teenage vampire?

Whatever the reason, Crimsonia’s actions were already an unfixable betrayal of their bond. With this thought came another worry, and as Lysandra flashed her head around in search of her vestal, Aurelius, she uttered a pained wail when he was nowhere to be found despite her having summoned him. It was the truest sign the magical bond she shared with her sisters was broken. The unraveling of their vestals meant that Beltraine was hopelessly weak and more vulnerable to attacks than it had ever been.

BANG!

The chapel shook under Lysandra’s feet, the tremor rattling the windows, jolting her from her thoughts. Gloria leaped in her chair in fright, her head flashing about her. Ear-splitting screams came next, propelling Lysandra toward the chapel exit, racing past a clearly dead Morgana. As she spilled out onto the fringe of the quadrangle, Lysandra’s head spun from confusion as the chaotic scene unfurled before her very eyes. The sisters of Beltraine were stampeding across the campus. Panic struck her into momentary inaction as she saw the hooded figures chasing the sisters. Turning with fire in her eyes, Lysandra dashed back up to the chapel, ready to slaughter the first vampire of the night. Gloria was still seated in her blood.

“LIAR!” Lysandra yelled before raising her hand to dispense a brutal judgment. Her hands crackled even before she cast the spell. The silent spell barrelled into Gloria, locking her limbs together.

“SALVIA EXANIMUS!”

Flames of deep purple jetted from her fingers, charting a blazing, jagged path toward Gloria. Another earth-shaking bang— louder than the first— arrested her attention, giving Lysandra no time to gaze upon her handiwork. She flung herself into the frenetic fray ensuing on the campus, already accosting one of the hooded figures who had just blown the statue of the Crown Goddess to smithereens. He leered before her, baring bloody fangs.

“SALVIA EXANIMUS!”

Once again, the potent flames roared from her fingertips. The vampire shifted, eluding them. The fire continued toward the main gate, illuminating the blackness like a luminous disembodied spirit. Being a Terrae, the powerful fire spells she’d cast consecutively, weakened her. She’d escaped the usual consequences of cross-casting by harnessing the energy from her moon sign. Lysandra stomped her staff, the earth at her feet elongating into an array of spikes. The vampire leaped, sparing himself a painful impalation by inches. Then, the vampire counter-attacked, his speed blinding. Lysandra moved, but it was too late. Her face stung with pain as his hand scratched her jaw. Lysandra staggered, stunned. Using the opportunity to get even closer, he yanked her into a lock from behind, before digging his fangs into her throat. For a second, Lysandra heard the sick wet sounds of her own blood being siphoned into the vampire’s mouth.

“TERRAMORPHA!” she bellowed, leaving an earthen statue in her place as she propelled herself skyward with her staff. The vampire took some time to notice the transfiguration, Lysandra’s staff leveled at his head as she descended.

“MAGMA FERVIDA!”

Her staff jerked from the impact, the citrine blast rocking the vampire’s head backward almost to decapitation. He collapsed heavily. The lava spell ate through the remainder of his body like acid. Winded from her exertion, Lysandra pointed at the crumpled form, casting a weaker version of Salvia flames toward the creature to ensure he was banished into oblivion. Done, she set her eyes upon yet more chaos. Bodies of dead sisters littering the grounds maddened her. She was reeling from the effects of the complex magic she’d just cast. And with that fact came the realization that the vampires could possibly overrun Beltraine with a sustained attack in number. She and her sisters had significantly underestimated the vampires’ assault. They were currently paying the deadly price. Desperate times called for desperate measures, she thought as she located Meirothea locked in battle with what looked to be a formidable vampire. Beside her was someone she was puzzled to behold fighting alongside her. It was Amaranth, their former friend turned dark witch. Taking a deep breath, Lysandra hoisted her staff above her head and pronounced an incantation meant for not one but three witches.

“SALVIA MAGNUM PANDEMONIA!”

The staff, imbued with magic, flew from her hand, floating above her like a glowing sword. Then, it blazed off with purpose, impaling a vampire careening toward her. The vampire skidded to a halt as the flaming high-velocity projectile pierced the hand he shoved before his face, stabbing through his heart. He went up in granules of ash. The bewitched staff continued, finding another bloodsucker with his back turned to her. He was in the process of feeding on Lystra, her prefect. A similar fate met him— his heart ran through with deadly force. Lysandra wheezed as the magic taxed her old body. The staff, now lacking the energy it required from its wielder, began descending. But with a resolve she all but mustered from nothing, she wheeled her hand above her. Freshly fueled, the staff jerked back upward. She saw a vampire decked in red watching its progress, clearly recognizing its potency. Breaking into a superhuman dash toward the Shadowgrove forest, the vampire stole mad glances behind him as the staff followed. Just as he was about to be undone by a flaming death, a dark figure leaped into the staff’s path. Lysandra watched in shock as a massive black wolf knocked the staff from its trajectory, the vampire vanishing into the forest. The staff shattered shortly afterward. Lysandra fell to her knees from exhaustion, her eyes watering from a splitting headache even as she bore witness to the petrifying entry of not one, not two, but six lycans.

“Bless the Crown Goddess!” she swore from a mixture of surprise and bafflement. What were the lycans doing here? Whose side were they on? A thunderous roar from one of them dominated the air, its force seeming to freeze time as everyone, including the vampires, stopped to gaze at the towering seven-foot newcomers. The question of the wolves’ allegiance was answered when one of them bounded toward Amaranth. The gaunt witch had precious little time to react as the wolf grabbed her arm, yanking her roughly to the ground. Her energy spent, her vestal likely vanquished, Lysandra could only watch the vicious attack in despair. In the ensuing seconds, a few things happened at once: the attacking wolf’s head parted, blood spilling everywhere like a grim fountain, and a dark form descended from the sky like a goddess. It was Crimsonia with serpentine fire coiling and uncoiling around her body like a colony of amber snakes. She had the good sense to remain airborne and started raining jets of fire down on the vampires and werewolves with immaculate precision.

Meanwhile, Amaranth, who was now back on her feet with precious little time to recover from the previous wolf attack, was now facing another. Just then, a movement to Lysandra’s left had her scrambling instinctively for her staff, realizing now that she’d already deployed it. She watched in shock as Gloria staggered from the chapel like a zombie. Lysandra shoved aside the question of how she’d managed to survive her banishing. Lysandra beckoned to her. However, Gloria seemed to be in a stupor, her eyes unfocused, her progress ungainly toward the fierce battles ensuing mere feet from her.

“GLORIA!”

Lysandra bellowed her name, moving toward the sister. Lysandra stopped at once, her head erupting with excruciating pain, the likes of which eclipsed her first wolf transformation. Obviously, she could not even dream of transforming in her weakened state. Gloria stopped, turning her head mechanically in her direction.

“Gloria come this way!”

Lysandra beckoned to her. Gloria stood there swaying on the spot, seemingly oblivious to what was happening around her. A frustrating minute passed as the sounds of bangs, screams, and grunts pitched from Beltraine’s battleground. Lysandra wheezed, bemoaning her magical impotence. Then, finally, Gloria took a step toward her like a toddler taking its first steps. If she could just get a hold of her, Lysandra thought, she could channel some of her energy to summon aid in the form of the Magisterium. Despite their issues with Beltraine, the Magisterium was bound to help given that they shared a common enemy in the vampires. She thought about summoning Forsythe, but decided she wouldn’t: Alphatenory was probably already overrun by both vampires and wolves since the ones here seemed to have come from that direction. Another chilling thought struck Lysandra as Gloria tottered over to her: Could Forsythe have had something to do with the attack? It would mean he was in cahoots with the vampires. Lysandra hastily dismissed this thought. Though she didn’t trust him completely, she doubted Forsythe would side with the vampires, given his violent history with them. Another bang jerked the ground, arresting her attention toward the fray. Lysandra saw that Meirothea’s Aerae magic had downed a tree at the edge of the forest, where she was in battle with a wolf… a wolf she knew well. It was Felix, one of the wolves Forsythe used to defend Alphatenory. Lysandra sighed, the obvious sinking in. Her weary mind concocted a scenario where Forsythe did not betray her: Was Felix’s attack on Meirothea simply a case of mistaken aggression, the wolf having come to defend Beltraine? But as she observed the fierce confrontation, it seemed Felix was the aggressor, his lunges prompting Meirothea’s snappy reflexes in defense. Also, Felix was fighting her alongside the vampire decked in all red.

Gloria finally got within reach. Lysandra grabbed her cold hands, the chill numbing her. She didn’t have time to ask for Gloria’s permission to channel from her. Lysandra pulled energy unbidden, much more than the legal limit, an amount enough to kill a normal Channeler. But the energy that seeped into her was cold and heavy as though she were pulling from a dark river of ice. Lysandra realized she’d made a grave error, one she would not have made had she been thinking clearly. Before she could release Gloria to stem the roiling, discordant energy she was being fed, Lysandra coughed up gobs of black blood. And as she gazed with dimming eyes at Gloria, Lysandra knew why she hadn’t died when burned with the purging fires of Salvia. Gloria wasn’t a vampire, at least not a normal one. She knew this now as the sister’s sinister energy spoke to her from inside her own body. Lysandra collapsed on the damp Beltraine earth with a thud of finality, a morbid pallor already setting into her face.

The Blackcross Serpent

Three hours after Crimsonia left the Blackcross castle, Draven emerged from an underground network leading from his own dungeon. The space he entered now was suffused with incandescent lights burning from bulbs set in the high ceiling. Despite the events that had transpired at the castle, he was in high spirits. A wry smile creased his face as he considered the news he’d gotten from Beltraine a short while ago. The Sisterhood had fallen, the witches mercilessly crushed by his men. Although his arrogance would normally have him claiming the victory for himself, Draven could not have done it alone. He’d requested the services of the man he now came to visit—an old friend whose ambitions harmonized with his. Draven clapped theatrically as he laid his eyes upon him now.

“Well done, Forsythe,” he said. “You executed the plan to perfection. I am highly pleased.”

Forsythe turned toward him, nodding. “It could not have gone any better, Draven. It is a good night for both our people.”

Draven took a seat around a small walnut table, watching as Forsythe did the same, sitting across from him.

“It could have gone better, actually,” Draven challenged. “Some of my men failed to do a couple of crucial things. For one, all of those hags aren’t dead. The one I really wanted in the ground yet lives. Also—” Draven stopped himself. He didn’t want Forsythe to know his other, more important objective in attacking Beltraine, one he had failed to achieve. The BloodVeil had somehow evaded capture, and he was still awaiting the full report on how that happened and where she might be.

He continued, “The witches will respond to this aggression, of course. But I am prepared.”

Forsythe stared at him for a second. Draven knew he was concerned about the witches’ reprisal. Forsythe uncorked a bottle with an amber liquid. Stretching, to a shelf behind him, he pulled out two glasses, pouring the liquid into them.

“I have to ask, Draven,” Forsythe began, “I know I played a small role, but how did you pull it off? Beltraine is notorious for its security. I admit I had my doubts you would succeed.”

Draven guffawed, rocking back in his seat. Although he usually kept such things close to his chest, Draven supposed he could indulge Forsythe in revealing how he came to crush Beltraine. After all, the deed was already done—this chapter of his plan executed.

“The key element was realizing the headmistresses had to be separated,” Draven stated. “I couldn’t have hoped to infiltrate Beltraine with the three of them there.”

Draven paused, raising his head to the ceiling.

“Their ghosts also needed to be taken care of. I had been scheming for years on how to disband them, not realizing the solution had been staring me in the face the whole time.”

“The vestals,” Forsythe mused. 

“Very delicate they are,” Draven replied, “extremely powerful. I understand they were formed through the bond the witches share, completed by complex sorcery. It should have been obvious the association Crimsonia had with me was the key to unraveling that bond, disbanding the ghosts. I knew Crimsonia would come running to save our daughter if I threatened to kill her. She knew it would compromise the ghosts, but I anticipated that she’d leave nevertheless. Of course, when she came to the castle, the Sisterhood was wide open. The rest, Cadmus, is history.”  

“Brilliant!” Forsythe exclaimed. “Well…the most important hag is dead. And you’ll be even more pleased to know that her death unlocked the chest, just as you predicted.”

“I knew it would,” Draven grinned. “After almost a century, I’m finally understanding how their magic works. As potent as it can be, it’s tied to their life force. It’s as if it is with their spirit that they wield their witchery. Breaking their spirits damages their magic.”

Forsythe sipped the beverage, eyeing him. “That’s a reasonable way to put it,” he said. “That is in contrast with their ancestors, whose magic lasts long after their deaths. Their foreparents’ magic lives on through their descendants.”

“Like the Salvia Moon,” Draven agreed. “Now even that should lose its potency since one of its life supports is dead. You have the chest?”

Without responding, Forsythe reached beneath the chair, hoisting a wooden chest and setting it atop the table with a bang. Motes of dust rose before them, spinning under the lights. Draven set his eyes upon the chest lustfully before raising the broken lid. The chest held only one content, which Draven now plucked from its depths. It was a stained piece of parchment with writing inked on each side. He read the side facing him: ten lines of text written in an ancient tongue he could not understand. Yet, he knew the purpose behind the words—a wonderfully dark ritual to raise the dead. Draven knew from Forsythe there were two other chests belonging to the remaining headmistresses hidden somewhere in Nocteraia. He intended to track down those as well. While the witches lived, no one but them or a dark witch could open the chests. Forsythe, who was observing him as he drank, spoke.

“You need a witch to perform the ritual outlined,” Forsythe said.

“I am aware,” Draven replied. “That is the reason behind my visit to Blackmaiden. There is a particular witch that I need to break out of that hell. A sacrifice is also required for the resurrections. Or should I say…sacrifices.”

Forsythe glanced at him, bemused. “What do you mean sacrifices? Only one—”

Draven interjected. “I’m calling all my brethren from oblivion. The vampires shall not fall again. After all, I’ve suffered some regrettable losses tonight at Beltraine despite our victory. Also, like I said before, the witches will seek to strike us. I intend to have the means to fight back.”

The room descended into silence as Fosythe fidgeted. Draven had kept him ignorant about the scale of the resurrections he planned on doing. But to the point of raising not one, but a host of vampires, he understood Forsythe’s fear. Draven intended to resurrect certain characters, who not only harbored deep abhorrence for lycans, but ones with an outright vendetta against them. Draven didn’t much care, for he knew his kin would bless him for awakening them to this glorious time of vampiric ascendency.

“From my end,” Forsythe said feebly “I’ll only resurrect the one I outlined.”

Draven wondered who he would sacrifice for the resurrection. But he was even more interested in who among the lycans he would call forth from death. Draven knew the lycan fraternity had some formidable characters from the past. Draven’s train of thought led him to a sobering truth: Not all lycans were sure to keep the peace with the vampires as they had been doing for a while now. Draven did not inquire. Instead, his red eyes glinted like a pair of small rubies as he stood, pocketing the stained parchment, and marching out without another word.

The BloodVeil

Inside the dark crypt of the Ashenhollow vampire house, Crimsonia wept. The sounds of her sobs intermingled with the crackling flames pitching from her body in her mourning. Tonight was the worst night in her almost three centuries of life. For the past hour, Crimsonia flirted with the possibility of ending it all right here inside the crypt, where a certain Ashenhollow lay dead inside her coffin. She stared at the polished red oak wood now, her sorrow multiplying by virtue of the deep and unlikely friendship she’d kindled with Claudia, the previous BloodVeil. A woman emerged before her from the shadows, pulling Crimsonia into a deep embrace.

“It will be okay, Sonia,” the deep voice said. “Leave it to time to nurse your heartbreak.”

Crimsonia’s gaze shifted to the two forms lying on a bed in the darkness, unconscious. Amaranth pulled away from her, rubbing her shoulder.

“I know you’re grieving, Sandra,” Amaranth stated, “but there is something you must do posthaste, or Draven will track her down.” She glanced at the bed.

Crimsonia nodded. “I know,” she wheezed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe Sandra is dead. Sandra…dead. After almost three hundred years…dead! And it’s all my fault. Amaranth, it’s my fault!”

Amaranth shook her head, staring at her with sadness in her eyes.

“It’s not your fault, Sonia. Everything you did…you did to protect them. You did everything you could, given the circumstances.”

Sighing, Crimsonia hobbled over to the bed, watching the forms of Gloria and Tamsyn lying side by side. Blood seeped through Gloria’s scar even though she was heavily bandaged. Of all the ways Lysandra could die, Crimsonia wouldn’t have thought in her wildest dreams that her daughter would be the one to do it, though mistakenly. Crimsonia’s heavy heart contemplated another painful memory, one almost on par with Lysandra’s death. The Beltraine Sisterhood had fallen to the vampires, the symbol of her pride and joy extinguished as if it never existed. Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks as she thought about how much she and her sisters had sacrificed to establish the Sisterhood. Now, all that remained there were the mutilated bodies of the sisters scattered around the grounds like roadkill. Crimsonia didn’t know how many, if any, managed to survive the attack, but from what she estimated, more than half of the girls were chased and slaughtered like animals.

Kneeling, Crimsonia dragged a chest from beneath the bed, opening the lid with a silent incantation. Amaranth hovered over her before bending to help raise the heavy chest onto the bed. Tamsyn stirred further from her, but Gloria was stiff, her breathing shallow and rasping. Crimsonia pulled a small vial from the chest as Amaranth began peeling the bandages from Gloria’s abdomen. With another wave of guilt and grief slamming into her, Crimsonia’s hand trembled, almost spilling the vial containing Draven’s blood. If she’d done this resealing sooner, Lysandra would still be alive. Taking a deep breath, she sprinkled the blood on Gloria’s scar, which reacted immediately, shifting beneath her raw flesh. Beside her, Tamsyn stirred as though the blood affected her as well. Crimsonia laid a hand on the scar, closing her eyes. Then, she began chanting an ancient incantation:

By the blood of thy sire

Compelled by words of mortal fire

Energy resealed to veil this vampire

Fiat occultus potestas et sitis aeterna!

Crimsonia shrieked as her energy sagged. The blood swirled around the scar, which thickened and darkened. Done, the excess sizzled, evaporating into nothingness.

“It is done,” Amaranth muttered.

“It will be the final resealing,” Crimsonia said, releasing Gloria. She glanced up at Amaranth, who nodded, understanding the subtext of the statement.

“Their twin powers must one day merge to fulfill its purpose,” Amaranth muttered. “I admit the BloodVeil manifested in a novel way this time. It is more difficult to challenge two components instead of one.”

Crimsonia nodded. “Like the prophecy says: The birth of a terrible power to crumble worlds.”

…

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

Thank you for taking the time to step into the world of Beltraine! This story has been a long and winding journey for me, and I'm so grateful you decided to join me on it.

The seeds of this novel were first planted back in 2019, and the path from initial concept to finished product was filled with twists, turns, and countless revisions. It's truly humbling to see what began as a spark of an idea blossom into a full-fledged novel.

While writing, I was struck by a series of remarkable coincidences. For example, I chose the name Tamsyn for a character long before the concept of her being a twin even emerged in the story (as you may have discovered!). There were other moments like this--- little synchronicities that felt like nudges in the right direction.

Speaking of direction, some of the inspiration for the 'Mothers' in the story may have subconsciously stemmed from my own experiences. Having attended a Catholic preparatory school, (Sacred Heart Academy) in my youth, it's possible the structure and atmosphere seeped into the creation of the Sisterhood.

If you enjoyed this story, I would be incredibly grateful if you left a review on your chosen platform. Every bit of feedback helps a self-published author like myself grow and reach new readers.

Thank you again for embarking on this journey with me. I can't wait to see what stories await us next!

Sincerely,

Asher Sharol

Continuing The Journey

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Blood Quintet Series

●        Bonds Of Chrome Magic

●        Binds Of Silver Magic

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The Scarlet Incantatrix Series

●        Vampires of Twilight Castle

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Excerpt From Vampires of Twilight Castle

Night-Time Stalk

It was a cold December night in the enchanted city of Nocteraia, calm as the fields of heaven. No wind stirred the trees— upright and as stiff as death lining the countryside. The full moon shrugged off blankets of wispy clouds and peered down at the city beneath. Its reflected light cast a spell of silvery hue upon the city, but it was swallowed up by the dark of Nocteraia's environs. The place was unnaturally dark. Perhaps the blackened hearts of the odd breeds that roamed the streets were so unholy that they had somehow changed the quality of the nightfall.

In the very heart of the city, a silent threat to that calm walked. He blended into the night as if it were his second skin. The camouflage was perfect; his intentions were shrouded in nothing but mystique, a thirst for destruction he longed to unleash upon the world. Blood-thirst. Satin was his name. He walked briskly through one of the many alleyways of Nocteraia, his black shoes clicking like a time bomb on the concrete. He lifted his head skyward as the peculiar feeling of euphoria engulfed him. Satin relished his vampiric gift, however accursed it might be. For him, the pleasures to be derived from its usage far outstripped its disadvantages. He would continue to drain the city of life, his motivation being the witches' aggressive stance against his breed. Unlike the vast majority of his kind, however, he was almost unstoppable, for very few people knew the secret to killing someone like him, a timeless thing of the night with whom death itself danced.

Although his sense of perception was topnotch, Satin stole frequent glances behind him where a ridiculous young woman was stalking him, huddling close to the shadows so as not to be seen. He laughed silently, for the woman had a syringe (no doubt filled with some poison) in her twitching hand. But her heart held no venom, only a naive resolve to see the night through. Perhaps she hoped to kill him with blows fueled by adrenaline, coupled perhaps with some spells hurled with strained conviction. Satin scowled. It was a pity she didn't know she was here by his design. In a matter of minutes he would confront the shallow coven of witches that sent her.

…

Kaia trudged nervously through the rank air of one of Nocteraia's circuitous passageways. She wondered how long she could maintain her ruse before she could pounce. She was closing in now; she could feel the unnatural cold hugging the back of her neck. She gripped the syringe with greater resolve. With determination framing her soft features, her heart raced at the prospect of saving the city from one of the motley of beasts that plagued it for centuries.

She did not dare come here unaided, that would have been suicidal. A glance behind revealed her ally flanking her in the shadows. When she refocused her eyes ahead, she stopped in her tracks. The beast was gone. For a fraction of a second, she thought her vision had failed her, but when she squinted to get a better look, she dismissed it. He was gone. The mission was failed. Amaranth, the leader of her coven 'The Fraternity', would kill her.

Kaia raised her fist as she pronounced the summoning spell, indicating to her ally that he could relinquish his cover. However, as she uttered the first syllable, a shadow passed above her, stalling her incantation. The preternatural darkness that fell around her was so profound that it was like a thing of substance physically affecting her. Her eyes mysteriously stung, and her every breath was shallow and painful.

As if compelled, her head rose, only to meet the cold, steady gaze of her nemesis. His face recalled a white snake, pale beyond comparison with eyes of different color: one green as polished emerald, the other as blue as sapphire. The terror had not yet fully diffused through her bones when he pounced, faster than she had envisioned in the many times she had played this very scenario over and over in her head. She instinctively raised the syringe containing potent potion, but it was too late. The sleek figure knocked her off her feet with its body, in a gesture that scoffed at gravity.

As the newest recruit within the witches' coven at The Fraternity, she quickly learned that not many predators matched the deadly prowess of a fully mature vampire, and as such, she ( a mere fledgling) had zero chances of surviving a head to head battle. Of course, tonight wasn't meant to be face to face.

Kaia hit the ground awkwardly, landing flat on the space between her rump and the base of her spine. Pain beyond pain shot from her landing spot up her back and to her sides. She yelped in anguish as her hand whipped round to soothe her throbbing lower back. Scared, tense, and confused, she looked around to locate her adversary who had apparently deciphered her intentions. She saw nothing but the syringe a few feet from her that she had dropped in the fall. She attempted to rise from her disadvantageous position in fear that her quarry would pounce from the darkness again but was quickly reminded of her injury by a piercing pain. She only managed to make it to her hands and knees. After a few attempts, she stood, readying herself on some insane level to defend herself against the monster. It was hopeless; her trump card was the syringe full of venom, not her undeveloped magic. Then she saw the black robe on the ground a few feet behind her.

It took her a few seconds to register that the robe was not only a robe but her adversary sprawled on the ground, motionless. Kaia knew she had raised her syringe too late and could not have incapacitated him. So why was he on the ground?

For the second time tonight she attempted to summon her ally. But again she was stalled, for a figure flew down from the black sky, landing quietly beside the vampire. Her ally was here. Clearly, he saw what had transpired.

“You alright, Kaia?” Came the measured voice of Vittorio, a second-year recruit and the closest thing to a friend Kaia had managed during the month and a half she had been in the Fraternity. Vittorio's face was as pale as a ghost, his penetrative green eyes observing her.

“I’ll be fine once I get outta here.”

He nodded.“Let’s go.”

Minutes later, they arrived with the body floating in midair by their combined magic. Before them now was the Fraternity’s headquarters: a trio of imposing buildings known as ‘The Edifice’. The Edifice was located smack in the middle of a dense forest on the outskirts of Lucteraia: a small town south of Nocteraia. Here the vampire would be ritually banished; another bloodsucker would be off the streets.

Half an hour later, five members of The Fraternity sat yoga-style before the incapacitated beast. The crude banishing circle always gave Kaia the creeps. The red sigil inscribed within the double-rimmed circumference always emitted energy that made her skin crawl. One would have thought a month of practicing this kind of ritual banishing would make her impervious to its effects. Wrong. In fact, the more she participated in conjuring its insidious energy, the more she realized why it was considered forbidden or ‘taboo magic’ as Amaranth, the leader of the Fraternity, put it. It pulled something from her, something she felt she couldn't replace. Not to mention the fact that that it made her severely depressed once a banishing session was completed. As a mere first year recruit, Kaia failed to understand why she was made to participate in this kind of advanced magic. She held no special skill, commanded no prodigious abilities. So it came as a surprise when Vittorio told her that she had been the first person to be allowed to participate in taboo magic so soon after entering the Fraternity's ranks.

It had been a chaotic last few months. Kaia would have scoffed at the possibility of the existence of a world where power wasn't measured by monetary wealth and physical weapons but by the honing of different aspects of magic. Yet here she was deep within that very world, performing witchery. The start of this journey began when her mother had disappeared without a trace from their Earthly home. Her presence here in the Fraternity was a means of reclaiming her beloved mother from the clutches of evil, whatever that was. Despite the mélange of melancholia and rage threatening at frequent intervals to reduce her efforts of seeing her mother again to absolute failure, she remained resolute. Perhaps it was this resolve that the elders here saw in her that enticed them to entrust her with certain responsibilities. It was a bittersweet scenario: on the one hand, Taboo magic was soul-altering and lethal, while on the other hand, it was that same brand of dark magic that could most aid her in rescuing her mother. She lusted for power and fretted when it refused to come quickly enough.

“Ready my dears,” the leader of the coven announced.“Hands of purgation aloft.” Amaranth raised her hands. The others followed. Kaia noted a huge black book beside Amaranth that she’d never seen before.

“What’s that book?”Kaia whispered to Vittorio, whose ashen face was directed at the entity inside the circle.

“Huh?”

“That book. I’ve never seen it used here before.”

“Oh that,” Vittorio acknowledged without turning his head.

“It’s one of the three forbidden books.”

Kaia gazed at the mammoth black codex, its red-embroidered letters glowing in the semi-darkness.

“Why would a book be forbidden though?”she followed up, curious.

Vittorio shrugged.“Well, I am not sure really. Amaranth keeps them under lock and key inside her room, so I’m guessing it has some pretty powerful stuff in there.”

“Oh. I see,”Kaia stated, eyeing the book lustily. She didn’t recall a time her curiosity was ever tamed. And tonight was not a night to start.

Flanking Amaranth were Marco and Szandora to her left and right respectively. Marco, the burly unrefined wizard with bald head sat silently with his eyes fixed on the body before them. So did Szandora, the goth-looking witch who embodied the image of a true sorceress. She invariably wore black mascara which made her look malefic. She wore black lipstick too, her overall snake-like face never failed to frighten Kaia. Together, the trio of Amaranth, Szandora, and Marco was known around the Fraternity as ‘The Trinity.'

“Have any of you seen this mark?” Vittorio inquired as he started to settle into his position, pointing to the forearm of the vampire where a crude tattoo greeted their eyes. Kaia gasped at the ghastly image of a gigantic snake that seemed to be popping from his hand. The grossness of the imagery was completed by the fact that the snake had its tail in its mouth. Amaranth instinctively rose from her position at the head of the circle to get a better look. She said nothing. Finally, she raised her head from the image. Her hazel eyes conveyed the gravity of the situation.

“Amphisbaena.”

The words barely left her lips before the figure—that was supposed to have been bounded by the infernal energies of the magical circle—did the impossible. The being rose mystically as if the name Amaranth had just uttered had stirred it to life. It took a while for everyone to register what was happening before them. The vampiric form rose with all the authority and effortlessness of a god resurrecting from a self-imposed slumber. When they did gather their wits and started to hurl hexes at the monster, the chanting was in vain. The vampire—or whatever was in their presence—swished his cloak, sending all of them hurtling towards the stone walls. Kaia was saved from the brunt of the force as the being was facing Amaranth when he attacked. The only thing Kaia felt were bands of energy pushing her backward, her heart seeming to be stuck in the back of her throat. The Trinity, however, was literally blasted away though Szandora had the keenness to conjure a cerulean tetrahedron shield to combat the devastating wind pressure.

The interloper bared his teeth in what might have been a twisted laugh,then vanished. Amaranth was the first on her feet, but it was Vittorio who spoke first.

“What the hell was that?” he inquired, his head darting from one Trinity member to the next.

Szandora scoffed. “Emphasis on the ‘hell’. ”

The eyes in the room seemed to ask the same question.

“Something that could have killed us but didn't.” Amaranth walked to the spot where the strange being had stood and nodded. “Yes, definitely Amphisbaena.”

“Amphisbaena?” Kaia repeated.”What's that?”

Amaranth sat back down. She glanced at Szandora, who gave a slight bow.

“Vampires come in various forms, Kaia. First, there are the Loyals—who become vampires after being bitten by one. Then, there are vampires who’ve lived for centuries— those who have drunk so much blood and having promiscuously absorbed so many forms of energy, that they evolve over time into powerful entities called Amphisbaena. These vampires are the epitome of power. It’s almost as though they are a different breed altogether.”

The group remained silent. Of course, it was only Kaia— and possibly Vittorio— who didn't know this information. The other two at the circle: Marco and Szandora, being among The Fraternity's highest ranked members were definitely privy to such knowledge.

“Amphisbaena,” Amaranth continued, “is the final form of a vampire. Such a state is only attained through the consumption of blood for millennia, coupled with an ancient and most diabolical ritual to seal the final transformation.”

Vittorio began, “So how do...”

But he was cut off. Amaranth's cautionary hand halted any further inquiries.

“That's enough! That is all I am prepared to say on the subject.” She alighted and started to leave. “I think we’re done here. The beast has gone. We’ll scheme another interception shortly. Back to your quarters now.” Szandora and Marco followed her through the door.

“What was that just now?”Kaia asked Vittorio.

Vittorio shrugged.“Weren’t you listening?”He stood as he spoke.

“She said it was an Amphisbaena vamp. Get up, Kaia. We better go now before a member of the Trinity returns and think we are loitering.”

Kaia nodded, eyeing the black book.

Vittorio gazed down at her.“Aren’t you coming?”

Tearing her eyes from the book, she stood.”Yeah, right after you. Just let me make sure my back is in order.” In truth, she still felt a throb in her back, but it was nothing to rave over.

Vittorio narrowed his eyes as he analyzed her, then nodded and walked off through the massive oak doors, switching off the lights on his way. Kaia watched him as he disappeared from view down the steps. This was her cue. Kaia dashed to the other side of the circle. She was tempted to switch on the lights but found prudence in acting in darkness. The last remnants of the banishing circle glowed a faint red, but this backdrop against the darkness made the pentagram even more insidious. A hideous outline of a goat’s head lay inscribed within the circumference, its eyes embers of amber. At its base was the book— her target. Grimacing, she slowed somewhat, then pivoted herself slowly, scooping the book up into her hands. She almost dropped it at once; the rough leather was as cold and as greasy as a corpse, and she could see the distinct red lettering embossed on its surface.

“LIBER LACRIMAE I”

She stuffed it under her frill bodice and scuttled through the door.

The Forbidden Book

 Desperate for more answers concerning the strange being that entered their midst, Kaia sat alone in her small room with the Liber Lacrimae grimoire she had stolen from the banishing room. So far in her illicit reading, she had encountered many beings unknown to her until then. Though aware of a typical lycanthrope (or werewolf, the most widely used term) she had not known about the many mutations of the breed. It turned out that as was the case with vampires, lycanthropes also had varying levels of strength. The final form of a lycanthrope caught her eye. No wonder no one spoke of these things aloud; they were too frightening. Yet to a curious mind such as hers, such things, despite their hideousness, were a blasphemy to remain ignorant about. The evolved Lycans were known as “LS”, short for Lupii Sanguinaria— powerful beasts who roamed the earth like demigods, ravishing nations and usurping the strongholds of even vampires.

Apparently, Lupii Sanguinaria had an advantage over bloodsuckers in the balance of power since along with their own terrible powers, they possessed a majority of the abilities normal vampires have. Kaia read that the LS were said to be extinct in modern times due to the Purple Plague that obliterated their kind in times bygone. A note about the Purple Plague at the bottom of the vellum paper caught her eyes.

Purple Plague—deadly curse composed by a powerful witch, Lilith…

Kaia read on, captivated and somewhat frightened by the scope of evil the beings featured in the book were capable of. She wanted to know as much about magic and as quickly as possible in order to try to reclaim her mother from the clutches of whoever had her. Why would anyone in the magical world want her mother of all persons? She was a normal woman with absolutely no ties to magic. Amaranth had explained to her that she knew exactly who took her and had promised to aid in her recapture. Kaia flipped the page and saw another curse:The Hemphalitic Fever-- A horrific affliction transforming the afflicted into a pain-riddled, leprosy-bearing lunatic. Those afflicted will inevitably descend into full-blown insanity within two months of being affected and will continue to degenerate until death.

Cure: Variable—up to the discretion of the caster.

Kaia cringed. She definitely did not want to get hit with this one. She was about to turn the page when she saw a barely recognizable scribble just to the left of the margin.

Finely ground Malemorphous Rock.

She didn’t know the significance of the rock, but something told her it had something to do with the curse.

As she turned the page, her heart skipped a beat. In red was what they had faced tonight. Amphisbaena: The Serpents. Just as she was about to begin reading, the door burst open. Amaranth appeared at the door with a murderous look on her face. Kaia had heard rumors about Amaranth's wrath, but she didn't take them seriously until now. She tried to get up, but an unseen force kept her in place. A fraction of a second, that seemed like a whole hour, elapsed before Amaranth thrust out her hand. The quiet spell hit her squarely in the chest before she could even enunciate the barrier incantation. Kaia flew backward through the air, her hands outstretched. She slammed into her back hard against the concrete-reinforced walls. For the second time that night, maddening pain shot from her lower back and seared upward. Kaia screamed. Amaranth bounded forward now, her scarred face the picture of pure rage.

“So sorry— please don’t— am sorry, Amaranth.” There was a second when it seemed Amaranth would extend mercy and stop her assault, but she raised her hands once more. Kaia put up her hand to cover her face, but it made no sense trying to defend oneself against the likes of Amaranth Dawes, seasoned witch and occultist extraordinaire.

Then it happened —an almighty crash. With her hands over her face, Kaia hadn't seen what had caused the noise. Tentatively, she removed her hands to see Vittorio at the door. Apparently, he had come to her defense by shooting a curse into the wall. The large gaping hole beside Kaia was proof of its sheer power.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Amaranth inquired furiously. Kaia gazed at Vittorio, knowing his answer must be great to avoid punishment. He had not only intruded upon Amaranth’s routine scolding of a witch’s illegal snooping, but he had done so with violence. Rubble from the demolished wall continued to fall beside Kaia, and she wondered if she should move before something fell on her. Vittorio’s pale, handsome face studied her then drifted to the book splayed on the ground.

“It is I who gave her the grimoire, your grace. We were curious about the being that entered our enclosure earlier. Please accept our profuse apologies.” He bowed.

An unnerving silence ensued during which Amaranth simply gazed at him. And when she raised her hands for the third time that night, Kaia thought she would punish him then and there. Instead, she pointed a long, skeletal finger at him.

“Son, don't do that again. There are things in that book that are not meant to be known— dark things, abominations. The fact that I am describing them as such should hammer the point home into your skulls.”She twisted her head to the side like a curious dog. “I would have suspected treachery on your part had your heart made one wrong beat. LEAVE MY PRESENCE!”

Vittorio turned and went at once, and Kaia didn't intend to stick around either; she stood up to go, but the pain ravaged her back, paralyzing her. Falling back to her knees, she cursed her weakness—including the stark terror Amaranth inculcated into her. She would rather be anywhere but here right now, and for a fraction of a second, she contemplated crawling out under the intense gaze of the elder witch. She decided against it. Before she could make a decision, however, she heard something that might have been a laugh, and the quiet footsteps as the witch stalked out of the room.

Remembrance of Things Past

The morning came with no reprieve for Kaia’s depression. She dressed hastily for breakfast. The faded jeans fit tight onto her petite body, hugging her curves. As she looked into the mirror, she noticed with some misgiving that the sleepless night had left her eyelids heavy and puffy. She grabbed the mascara set which she had received as a gift from her best friend, Mara who enviably was now enjoying her life as a normal human being, not holed up in a building in the middle of nowhere learning strange spells and charms. She dabbed some skin colored powder onto her eyes.

Although Kaia practically lusted after the typical life of a young adult in Nocteraia— working in a normal job, having normal friends, a boyfriend, attending parties and the like— she had no regrets about her decision to join The Fraternity. In fact, the decision was practically made for her after her mother’s mysterious disappearance.

It was almost a month ago that her mother, Gaia went (as she always did) on the St Thalia Hospital's night-shift and never returned. The fellow nurses had confirmed that she did, in fact, arrive for work, but no one knew what happened afterward. Her pearl white car was still parked in its usual slot, no sign of foul play. Everyone was stumped since there wasn't a single clue as to Gaia's whereabouts. Kaia had managed to hold it together for the first couple of days, perhaps it was even naivete that made her hold out for so long. The breaking point came two weeks into the disappearance when she finally realized it was a real possibility she wouldn’t see her mother alive again. Kaia didn’t know she owned so much tears, crying nonstop for hours, fearing the worst.

The first month after Gaia disappeared, Kaia received a rather curious visit from Amaranth Dawes herself who explained to her exactly what had happened and how, through the organization called 'The Fraternity', they could attempt the business of rescuing her mother before it was too late.

Amaranth had enlightened her of the fact that Gaia was the descendant of a rather famous —or more appropriate— infamous witch known by the name, Lilith. Kaia had encountered that very name when she had sneaked into Amaranth’s room and read the forbidden book. She was the person who had been responsible for casting a terrible hex upon the Lycanthropes, killing thousands of their kind. Holding that long grudge, the Lycanthropes had declared war upon the witches, their mandate being the extermination of every single remaining descendant of the witch.

They had failed to kill Lilith, given her almost Godlike powers, but the same was not true for the majority of her bloodline who were brutally cut down by the ravenous wolves. The Lycanthropes' bloodlust didn't end with the bloodline of Lilith; their massacre extended to witches in general, innocent people, and even animals. They effectively obliterated those too weak to defend themselves. Even the most powerful breed of the Lycans, LS (Lupii Sanguinaria) participated. Though few, the wolves were practically unstoppable, their wrath transforming Nocteraia into a slaughterhouse of blood, guts, and decapitated corpses.

Of course, Kaia hadn't believed a single word Amaranth had spoken. She had adopted her mother’s stance on almost everything and so she rejected all things even remotely supernatural. Despite this, however, she had observed some theretofore inexplicable phenomena with her own eyes, and the bone-chilling fact was that almost all of the occurrences had been in some way connected to her mother. Once, she had entered her mother’s room late at night to check on her after she had heard an awful hissing coming from her quarters. Kaia remembered screaming her throat out in fright when she saw the horrifying scene of her mother’s small frame floating in midair inches over the bed. It was as if it were an illusion conjured up by some masterful magician in a circus. She had heard her mother chanting weird things in a language she did not understand.

There had been a period following that incident when she had denied what she had seen, passing it off as the phantasms of a sleepwalker or perhaps the typical weirdness of a spooky nightmare. However, she subsequently saw other things that subsequently convinced her of her mother’s paranormal nature. And the abnormalities were not attributable to her mother alone; Kaia herself observed some things about herself that shocked her on a most fundamental level. Whenever she was extremely angry, things would topple over as if someone touched them. Though the telekinesis was weak, it was present nevertheless. Still, she had not been totally convinced of the existence of magic until Amaranth, prompted by her continued stubbornness, unmistakably caused the pigtails on her head to flop up and down without anyone touching them. Kaia had joined The Fraternity without as much as a second thought after that, eager to find her beloved mother…alive.

It was uncertain if her mother remained of this world, and that alone was an unbearable torture. There was a tenseness in her that threatened to break the thin thread between rationality and insanity. She knew she couldn’t hold out for much longer until something broke inside her. The melancholia was wringing the vitality from her, plunging her into a dark place she had never been before in her life.

Drying a solitary tear from her eye, Kaia headed out of her quarters and down the long, spiral staircase. As she descended the last stretch of stairs, she noticed for the first time a dark passage under the flight of steps that led to a rather crude door. She had been here in the Fraternity more than a month, and she hadn’t thought to inquire about what the door led to. The door had no handle, and odd symbols were upon its wooden structure just beneath the large skull with a snake going through its eye.

Kaia shivered, both spooked and baffled about the existence of the door. But the reason she had not seen it before came to her now as she stared upon the ominous door. It was glowing red! She was sure this detail was different the many times she had gone by it. She turned from it quickly,fearful of being spotted since the door was clearly out of bounds. After all, she had caused enough trouble already, any more would spell nothing good. But even as she thought this, she made a mental note to ask Vittorio about it.

Recollections

Back in her quarters on the southern end of The Fraternity's headquarters, The Edifice, Kaia prepared to go to bed. Her back still hurt from the blow she received a couple hours ago. But although she was hurt, she was grateful Vittorio had intervened the time that he did. Had he not assumed the role of savior, things would have been a lot worse. She had committed a serious breach, one that could easily have sent her to The Dungeons. Kaia shivered as the possibility crossed her mind: the Dungeons were spoken of in whispers among the first year recruits, “Literal Hell” was the most common reference to the place of unspeakable darkness. Kaia had precious little details about the nature of the place, but the many whispers that terrified the halls told her the dark, subterranean lair housed the hordes of odd breeds captured by the Fraternity.

Two weeks ago, Vittorio had told her that Mirabelle, the girl she had replaced to be here, did some unspeakable thing that vexed Amaranth’s spirit so much that she suffered the fate of The Dungeons. She was never seen or heard from since. Though Cotton, the Edifice’s grounds-keeper, claimed that in going about his duties around the upper levels of the Dungeon, he heard awful wailing issuing from down below. His story was never corroborated, especially given the fact that the bowels of the Dungeons were strictly forbidden to everyone except The Trinity, a company that included Amaranth herself and her second and third in command Szandora and Marco respectively.

The Dungeons always gave her the creeps. However, The Dungeons were the least of her concerns now: her thoughts shifted to the task she had been assigned, scheduled for tomorrow night. Every night was a different undertaking but with the same general context: capturing and vanquishing the odd breeds that roamed Nocteraia, wreaking havoc by maiming and killing its hapless denizens. But this time, due to the perilous task she had been assigned, she got a weird feeling Amaranth gave her the assignment to punish her for stealing away the Liber Lacrimae. Vittorio, who told her of the task on Amaranth’s behalf, informed her that he had tried pleading with the coven leader to allow him to accompany her, but she vehemently refused, saying she wanted him for some other mission.

That night, Kaia tried to sleep, but thoughts of the deed entrusted to her kept haunting her mind. Why her, the newest member of The Fraternity? Why not Amaranth’s third in command, Marco: a seasoned hunter who was particularly efficient in slaughtering odd breeds? Or better yet, why not Szandora, the second in command? Szandora was the thin goth-looking witch who possessed the strange power of magnetism.

Kaia shook her head trying to avoid recalling the first time she had gone hunting with Szandora. It had been four of them, she, Vittorio, Szandora, and Marco all out in the dead of night for her recruiting session. It was to be a simple mission, but things took a nasty turn when a particularly malevolent Lycanthrope attacked.

In hindsight, given her new information about wolves from the Liber Lacrimae, it might even have been an LS (Lupii Sanguinaria). Kaia had stood rooted to the spot in the battle with the wolf, shell-shocked. She didn’t even see when the beast lunged at her from behind. It had been Marco who put his bulky body in the way, blocking the wolf that was about to charge into her. The wild beast dug through Marco’s hand, leaving a terrible gash. Then, what was to be the spectacle of the night, Szandora, who had been on the outskirts observing the battle, appeared in the midst of the chaos, her skeletal, tattooed hands aloft. Kaia remembered feeling a powerful tingling sensation all over her body, her hairs standing on end. Then she saw the gruesome effect— the lycanthrope froze on the spot before blood spilled from all its orifices in crimson torrents.

Kaia recalled that at one point during all this, she hadn’t been able to see a thing because of the fountain of blood spraying into the air, but she did hear the unearthly scream of the beast as it died, followed by the almighty ‘pop’ when the creature burst open, exposing the stuff of nightmares. Even Vittorio had looked away from the grotesque image. She hadn’t seen anything so violent in her life. She hadn’t known it at the time, but Szandora actually manipulated the beast’s blood through the power of magnetism. Before then, she didn’t even know that blood was magnetic in nature because of the iron it contained.

Kaia ceased her macabre reminiscences in total dread. If back then was anything to go by, then her mission was hopeless. She was a weak and powerless witch— if she could even be called that. And tomorrow there would be no Marco nor Szandora to save her. Even Vittorio, her support system as of late, was barred from aiding her. It would be a dance of death with her and the depraved adversaries she had just read about in Amaranth's Liber Lacrimae grimoire. All alone.

Before The Fated Night

In the midst of the sloping Nocteraia forest, a castle stood conspicuous amid the greenery. It was called Twilight Castle due to the magic woven to prevent the wanderlust from happening upon the sprawling abode. The surrounding luminosity was bewitched to never exceed twilight, completing a cycle from half-light to total darkness. Reclined in his lavish Jacuzzi within Twilight Castle, Satin pondered the message he had just received. He drained a bottle of Merlot and alighted from the warm water. Two concubines approached with a robe and towels. Satin took the robe and covered himself before making his way through the massive gothic house to his room.

He had some work to do tonight: the message from his source was quite clear. Tonight was the night his old adversaries would make a move. Being the powerful entity that he was, it would be ludicrous not to have a source on the inside informing him of their every move. Satin smiled. If only they knew the destruction they would soon face, they probably would be better off killing themselves now. All at once, a mixture of excitement and anxiety gripped him. It was due to the fact that it had been quite some time since he battled worthy opponents, and tonight would be the night all that would change. Although he knew the extent of his strength, he refused to succumb to the sin of complacency having learned the hard way years ago. It was always prudent to acknowledge every opponent as worthy, regardless of the level he perceived their strength to be. Once in his room, Satin let his robe fall, he then ran his pale hands over the scar that spanned the length of his torso. Never again will he ever traverse so close to death.

He walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up a crude-looking ring. The ornate annular object was his insurance, the final fit to the puzzle of his immortality. He ran his finger over the smooth surface, stopping at the bright green emerald gem embedded within it. He slipped it onto his left index finger, relishing the infusion of power overtaking him. As if in sync, an unnatural wind swept across the room. It continued as Satin dressed in an inconspicuous plain white T-shirt and jeans. Though he tried to comb his hair back, it rebelled against him, resuming their spiky turgidity atop his head. Resignedly, he opened the window and flew out into the cold night.

Final Preparation

The main hall of The Edifice was divided into four sections, each serving a different purpose. The section Kaia now entered was called Atrium A, a vast, open cylindrical structure with the top mushrooming into a geodesic dome. This dome was embellished, or in Kaia’s mind, defaced with a rather sinister fresco, called ‘The Witches Sabbath’ that portrayed four women sitting in a circle, while an entity resembling a goat ministered to them. The walls were otherwise smooth and somehow managed to maintain its pristine look despite the fact that the building was more than six hundred years old. Atrium A was where the first and second years all ate and conversed. It was also the area in which general meetings were held. Meetings consisted mainly of the goals and targets of The Fraternity and disciplinary matters.

“Hey there you!” A familiar voice floated to her, disrupting her thoughts. It was Kelly, a sprightly, pretty girl not much younger than her. Kelly had joined The Fraternity just over two weeks ago. She had ambushed Kaia from the side as if she had been lurking there for some time, waiting for her to get off the stairs.

“Hey Kel, had breakfast already?” Kaia asked, surprising herself in how even her voice was.

“Yep! Eggs and pancakes again!” She made up her face as if she smelled some putrid scent. “You’d think if it were totally up to them eggs and pancakes would be the only food in the entire universe,” she continued.

“Yeah, not sure why they always serve that,”Kaia stated.”Anyway, how many of the basic spells have you learned so far? Remember tonight's the practical for newcomers.”Kaia resumed her walk between the massive, circular tables around which first and second years sat eating and chatting. The room wasn't full, but it still contained a sizable number of budding magicians fueling up for the day. Kelly followed.

“It’s not tonight,” Kelly informed. When she refused to elaborate, Kaia fixed her with a questioning stare.

“Postponed, Szandora left a while ago actually. She said there will be some hunting missions tonight.” She stopped, her face wearing a grave expression. Kaia too halted. Kelly continued, her voice dour. “Sounds pretty serious too. That woman never comes to speak to us like that. Scares the bejesus out of me.”

It was clear Kelly was unnerved by Szandora, but whatever her reason was for being daunted by the woman, Kaia was sure it wasn't even remotely close to what she had witnessed that dreadful night when she slew the Lycan beast so barbarously without the bat of an eye. But she agreed; it was quite anomalous for Szandora to make such an announcement. In fact, it was downright weird seeing her talk at all. She would saunter around the grounds as silent as death, donning a smile that might as well have been that of a Jack O Lantern. Kaia reflected a bit, realizing that the majority of the members of The Fraternity was so shady, that she had to ask herself if she was in league with the good guys or the bad guys. At this point she didn’t really care. For now, all she wanted was to get her mother back.

“Interesting,” Kaia responded, feigning surprise since she basically knew in advance that there would indeed be a mass hunting mission, given the undertaking which she had been entrusted. She decided not to tell Kelly that this was probably her last night alive.

“It’s the first time I’m ever hearing of the missions interfering with normal school schedule,” Kaia said truthfully, sitting at her typical table at the very back of the hall. She uncovered her eggs and pancakes and started eating. Kelly sat.

“Exactly what I'm saying. Must be some powerful people they're hunting,” she intoned, helping herself to a cup of butter tea from a large wooden keg. The noise in the room heightened as a wave of Fraternity members entered. A quick glance in the direction of the noise told her Vittorio was among them, his abnormally pale face standing out of the bunch of four second-year recruits. They stuck together like magnets. Kaia wondered where their second year, female counterparts were.

At the front was Hale, a tall handsome young man with short, black hair combed back neatly. He was laughing, showing off some of the whitest teeth Kaia had ever seen. They seemed to gleam every time he opened his mouth. As far as she could tell, he was a good guy. Once, during her first week at The Fraternity, he had assisted her with a couple of incantations she had been having problems with. It had been a troublesome levitating spell that required immense concentration. Kaia remembered Hale suggesting that she think about a colored vertical line going through the object she wanted to levitate, then imagining it rising up on it. Kaia didn’t know why, but it had worked excellently after the very first try. Her feather had risen a good four feet into the air, then fell since she wasn’t able to maintain her concentration for long. Beside Hale was the short, stocky frame of Michael. He grinned as Hale mouthed something to him. Kaia knew nothing about Michael. Beside him was Vittorio, looking like a vampire with his pale face. He walked upright and stately. His overall demeanor and physique were a stark difference to his peers. Vittorio almost always wore a suit and tie as if he were attending a high profile meeting. He now looked directly at her as he sat a couple tables from them.

The other member of the Quartet was a dark-skinned, medium build young man known to her as Gamma, Kaia didn't know if that was his real name or not, but if she could guess, it was not since Vittorio once told her that he had an uncanny ability of burning through things with his penetrative stare like Gamma radiation. Of course, Kaia hadn't known about Gamma radiation at the time since Physics wasn't her strong suit back in High School. She had to be enlightened by Vittorio.

“He’s so cute.” Kelly chirped in wonderment with her hand on her jaw.

“Ahhm, I think Vittorio has enough women on the list attracted to him,” Kaia replied.

“Hey slow down there, Kaia! I wasn’t referring to Vittorio, he’s kinda cute too but a bit too… what’s the word I’m looking for?” She paused awkwardly.

“Sophisticated?” Kaia tried.

“Exactly,” Kelly said, wagging her finger frenetically. “Hale's the one am referring to. Can't you see he's a god?”

“Yeah I guess he's alright,” Kaia said.

Kelly observed her with her black eyes.“It seems you head that list of women crazy about Vittorio though,” she exclaimed.

Kaia blushed.“He’s a great guy.”

“Well, it seems the feeling's mutual. He hasn't taken his eyes off you one bit since he entered,” Kelly observed, looking behind her.

Kaia peered out of the corner of her eye, and sure enough there he was with a glass of butter tea in his hand staring straight at her.

“Anyway, I have some stuff I need to do before tonight,” Kaia stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

Kelly nodded. “Likewise. I have to learn those spells before tomorrow night, and I haven't learned half of them yet!” She alighted from the wooden chair. Kaia tried to do the same, but incredibly intense pain shot up from her lower back. “Owww!”she howled, clutching the spot. Incapacitated, she plopped heavily back into her seat. A cursory glance around informed her she had an audience.

“Woah! Everything alright there, Kaia?” Kelly inquired.

“Yeah all's well, just…didn't sleep well last night. I tell you about these beds, they're so tough, they hurt my back.” It was a lousy lie, but it seemed to work nevertheless. Kelly nodded in acknowledgment. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

The pale, serious face of Vittorio floated up to them. He stared down at her with his deeply penetrative eyes which asked her the question before he spoke it.“You alright?”

“Yeah, I'm fine…I think.”

Kelly interjected.”No, I don't think she's fine at all, she practically just broke her back.” She paused, pressing a finger on her lips then continued. “Is there is a spell for that by the way? The pain, I mean.”

Vittorio smiled.“There are spells for everything, Kelly. The problem sometimes is finding them and what they cost in return for their use.”

He turned back to Kaia.“I need to talk to you, Kaia. It’s of great importance.”

“Well am gonna…you know…go now. See you around Kaia.” With that, Kelly waltzed off into the ever-swelling crowd and up the stairs. Kaia waved at her. Though she wanted to get up and go somewhere for them to talk, she decided to forgo risking the embarrassment of the pain downing her again. Kaia stayed put.

“About what?” she asked, though she had a pretty good idea it involved the gravity of the task she had been assigned.

“Come,” Vittorio said, proffering a hand for her to take, which she did. No pain crippled her as she rose and followed him.

Final Preparation II

Vittorio decided they would go to Kaia's room since it afforded them the most privacy. If they were spotted anywhere in the halls by any member of The Trinity, it would spell bad news, especially Amaranth since she had noted their closeness with eye-narrowing curiosity. Being spotted by Cotton the groundsman would be almost as bad; not only would he hasten to inform Amaranth of the unbecoming behavior of a second year being seeing at night with a first year of the opposite sex, but he would most certainly embellish his tale with a few entertaining fabrications.

Once in the room, Vittorio gave words to the worry on his face. “I'm not going to lie, Kaia, you're in some deep mess. Believe me, if I could go in your stead, I would. But Amaranth practically forced me to make myself available for another operation. I cannot…”

Suddenly, something about Vittorio’s unwavering support for her raised a red flag in her mind. Holding up her hand, she stopped him mid-sentence.

“Stop. I appreciate your concern. Believe me, I really do. But what is your goal? Why are you so concerned? I mean, you don't know me or anything and yet you want to put your life on the line for me. Why?”

Kaia listened to herself speak as if she were out of her body. She was getting emotional, and the predicament was getting to her. Despite this, as soon as she uttered the words, she knew she shouldn't have. Kaia looked at him as he gazed off into space as if deep in thought. He didn't appear hurt by her pronouncements. In fact, he didn't appear anything, his expression was unreadable as always like a blank sheet of paper. He then smiled. She spoke again, sorry that she met his benevolence with a hint of doubting his motives

“You know what, don't answer that. I— I'm just in a bad place right now.”

With that, he reached into his bag, withdrew a black book, and placed it on the bed in front of her.

“What’s this?” She asked, regarding the book.

“It contains a list of forbidden spells I have acquired. They're extremely powerful but nevertheless still straightforward to use. For them to work you just have to say them out loud with faith and conviction. Beside each, I have made a note as to the visualizations that could aid you upon saying them.”

He paused, and Kaia suddenly felt ashamed of her prior outburst, one that Vittorio completely ignored.

He continued, “It's the best I can do for you right now. Well, along with that other thing I already did.” He looked at her with an expression somewhere between pity and genuine concern then rose and walked out of the room.

He didn’t elaborate on that “other thing he did”. Kaia wanted to call out to him to stop and just stay with her until it was time for her to head out, but she stopped herself, thinking it would be selfish to asking him to risk being seen with her after everything he had already done. What was that “other thing” he referred to? Kaia racked her brain and could come up with nothing further he could have done to protect her. Yet she recalled the hint of a smile that crossed his face as he said it. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something huge. She opened the book that laid on the bed before her and saw a host of incantations from pain relievers to complex spells that severely harmed those on which they were set. The spells were not listed alphabetically but by their degree of difficulty:‘One’ being the easiest to perform and ‘six’ the most difficult. The book was segmented into four sections: Elemental Magic, Sympathetic Magic, Invocation/Evocation and General Craft. Kaia couldn't possibly learn anywhere near a satisfactory amount of the vast book before tomorrow.

There were blocking spells, ripping spells, vanishing spells, there was even a rather funny one that involved tickling the opposition to death. Despite her gloom, Kaia had a hard time not laughing out loud when she pictured a mature Lycanthrope laughing its head off in the middle of a battle. How did that even become a forbidden spell? However, a graver question arose in her mind as her eyes flitted over the myriad of diabolical hexes. How did Vittorio get his hands on this? Did he steal it from Amaranth's quarters? He did say there were three forbidden books housed there. Kaia turned to the cover of the book, but there was no title.

She flipped through the book and saw interesting spells here and there, but most of them were of maximum difficulty, so it came as no surprise that her attempts at performing them failed. Deciding to take her chances with some of the spells in the ‘General Craft' section (the majority of those had a difficulty of three or less) she took a deep breath. She had to learn at least a few and perfect them before tonight else she would be practically walking into death. A few minutes into intoning the less complex spells, however, she realized with dread that she could not get a single one to work. Each utterance of the word pairs was met with silence. Her frustration was getting the better of her now. Cold sweat was starting to trickle down her face as the night pressed on ever closer to the moment of truth.

The first spell that caught her eye on the opposite page was a spell to manifest dark bodies known as termed ‘nyctoids’. It was an evocation that could serve both as offense and defense. Kaia gazed, slightly disgusted by the product of the spell that was sketched beside the spell itself. Nyctoids were oily black midgets with eyes and teeth an effulgent white. The spell was easy enough to pronounce: Tenebrae Aeterna. A fine scrawl beside it listed the etymology, literal meaning of the word, pronunciation, visualization aids, and difficulty. It was Latin for Eternal Darkness. TEN-EE-BRAY AAE-TER-NAY. Difficulty:3.5

The book stated: “If one wishes to unlock the power of this ancient spell, the caster must enunciate the spell with power and conviction. Concurrently, the caster should fuel the magic with the emotion of anger and a lust for destruction.”

“Tenebrae Aeterna!”Kaia shouted. Nothing happened save the obstinate silence.

She recited the strange words under her breath until deep into the night as the moment of truth inched ever closer. And after her despair had all but zapped her of energy, the unthinkable happened: a sinking feeling inside her stomach that made her double over, though not from pain but from the odd sensation of losing some aspect of her that she might not regain. In this sense, the feeling was similar to the banishing of monster with the Trinity she had come to hate. Furious that not one of her spells had worked, Kaia slammed the book shut with an almighty thud. But something caught her eye immediately: Two rarefied forms stirring at the other side of the room. It was clear from their lack of substance that they were undeveloped. A wave of nausea swept over her as the forms ran amok inside the room, ripping everything that they could get their stubby hands on.

Lupercalia

Kaia shivered against her coat as she progressed on foot in the frigid night. Armed with only a shaky memory of basic spells taught to her by The Fraternity's training regime and more recently the slew of spells contained within Vittorio's book, she clung to a delusional hope that she would make it through the night. Though it seemed like Amaranth had simply sent her off on this mission to her death, she at least offered a purpose for her outing, a rather odd one at that. Tonight was apparently a special day in the calendar of the Lycanthropes, a feast day called Lupercalia, where the savages would eat the flesh and drink the blood of humans and animals slain days before. From what Kaia could understand from Marco The Jackal, (Third member of The Trinity) the festival Lupercalia was a sick cornucopia of blood and flesh that sank to the lowest levels of depravity. Based on the intelligence that was gathered by the Fraternity, this particular Lupercalia festival was significant since the Lycanthropes would use it to usher in their new ruler. Therein was her task: to spy upon this abominable ritualistic festival and identify the distinguishing features of the new Lycan King. But more importantly, she was to steal the ancient heirloom that would be passed down from old king to new king. And how nasty was the old king of the Lycans who the witches abhorred so much? Evander was his name, a known Lupii Sanguinaria who commanded a ridiculous amount of power. So great was this man-beast's might that the strength of the vibratory effects of his howls was rumored to cause earthquakes.

Kaia had listened with fear and trembling as Marco spoke about the history of the Lycans—of which he himself had been a part some time ago, obliterating anyone who threatened to usurp their reign as the supreme hunters of Nocteraia. Kaia had never understood why the Lycans were considered the rulers of the city, but she figured that it was in some way related to the object she was tasked with stealing tonight. The reason for Marco's desertion of the wolves was a mystery, but Amaranth was convinced enough of his betrayal of his kind to accept him within The Fraternity.

As Kaia trudged ever closer to the locale, cold nipped her so much, she had to huddle deeper into her black furry coat. She looked up and saw the full moon, thinking about the misconceptions people had about werewolves: that they transform into beasts only under the waxing full moon and that they were incapacitated (if not killed) by silver-hewn projectiles. Of course, all of those things were fallacies. None of those things was true for the Lycanthropes she would have to get up close and personal with mere moments from now. Perhaps the misconceptions had been true at some point in the past, but if they were indeed accurate, then the horrid beasts had since evolved to a level of sophistication that allowed them to shed their façade of humanity at will. No longer could one identify a Lycan by staring; one could only know for sure if it transformed before his eyes. And those, mind you, were the normal wolves. The Lupii Sanguinaria species or Blood Wolves had different characteristics altogether. Kaia shivered again, but this time it was not from the cold.

Kaia finally reached the city. Though she could have traversed the network of dark alleys to reach her destination on the other side of the city, she decided that if she were to die tonight, she should experience some happiness prior. The dazzling neon lights and the idyllic nightspots interspersed on Nocteraia’s nocturnal roads were nothing short of magical. She now passed the Dulcetium, a structure that hosted live performances by the instrumentalists from the Triskai. Her mother had routinely carried her there to see the performances, being the avid fan of the great Triskian composers. Reminiscing on these things brought a dense pang of sadness upon her, and as if the despair were a bag of weights, her shoulders drooped and her lungs strained under unrelenting sorrow. Kaia tried to take a deep breath but failed, her attempts coming out as short, painful rasps. She halted, gazing up into the darkening skies. If this were any other context she would have given at this very moment. Now she had no such luxury, for her mother's safety was the flickering light at the end of the tortuous tunnel. Laboring onward, the weird architecture of the Philosophers' Library rose so high that it seemed to kiss the ebony sky.

The city never slept. Eyes of light were opened everywhere despite the name of the place in the ancient tongue of Noctaire: City of Darkness.

Cab drivers flew by her aplenty, honking their horns, soliciting passengers. Further into the suburbs, she passed some liquor-drinking teenagers loitering beside a building from which loud, raunchy music blasted. Apparently, a party was in full swing. Dingy coffee shops lined the streets, mostly occupied by couples. Bars too were open as one would expect— the denizens of Nocteraia, and perhaps the Triskai at large, needed a place to drown their melancholia. Kaia eyed the bars lustily;she too needed to dilute her troubles with a few strong shots. But of course, that wouldn’t be necessary since the place to which she plodded to would most likely drown her problems for her. Permanently. Finally, she ducked into a dark alley— an act that marked the last leg of her odyssey. After crisscrossing through the maze of bricks and cobblestones, she deserted the city altogether and found herself close to Golgotha Hill, the wolves’ lair.

Walking another fifteen minutes way off the beaten track, Kaia heard the faint chanting of the beasts. Or was her mind playing tricks? She trembled nevertheless, slowing. She was a skittish mess as a new wave of panic swept over her like a blanket, though not to keep her warm but to entrap her with cold and fear.

“Am I really going to do this?” she asked herself as the reality came crashing down. Kaia stopped and knelt on the grass, half out of exhaustion and half out of her terror. Did she really understand what it meant to walk into a haven of bloodthirsty wolves? Worse, it was supposed to be their special feast day, hence she assumed they would be particularly decadent. Before she left The Edifice, she hadn’t fully appreciated the gravity of the situation she would be faced with. Now she did, and her body was telling her that with authority. It was also a determination as to which was worse: the unimaginable pain Amaranth Dawes' dark magic could inflict on her or the Lycans’ brutality. Given that she had no support here, she thought the latter was graver. She could turn her back and walk away, but that would also mean turning her back on her mother. Kaia would have no hope of rescuing her without the help of The Fraternity.

Kaia rose and edged up Golgotha Hill. About a half of a mile down the hill and into the flat, dense forestry, smoke was rising from where Kaia assumed the festivities were on in earnest. Kaia strained her eyes to get a sense of what was happening, but trees blocked her vision.

Given the overall forbidding look of the place and its isolation from society, no one dared tread here. Hence, there was a high chance the wolves would not expect someone to come skipping down Golgotha Hill into their lair. Perhaps their belief that no one would intrude was the reason they made little to no effort in trying to conceal their debauchery. But there was another possibility: they simply did not care. And according to Kaia’s reading, they could afford not to.

Satyrion

Halfway down Golgotha Hill,Kaia saw that the cover of the forest began immediately where the hill ended. She decided it was unwise to enter blindly; anyone stationed at the fringe of the forest most likely kept watch at the foot of Golgotha Hill itself. She veered off the track and took a rocky route parallel to the forest. She planned to enter the woods some distance from the beaten track of Golgotha Hill.

Despite the purpose of her mission being to steal a mysterious heirloom, Kaia had precious little information about the object. All she knew was its name: Malemorphous— a rare, enchanted stone. It was made of a mixture of graphite and a rare metal called Iridium. Together with the magical powers it supposedly granted, a Lycan in possession of a Malemorphous indicated high rank. Satisfied she had ventured far enough, Kaia took a deep breath and entered the forest. Immediately, the darkness seemed to collapse around her. Twisting her head this way and that, she exhaled a sigh of relief she still breathed, which probably meant no one was watching her progress. Kaia trekked slowly toward the site.

About three minutes into the dark verdure, a tall, unsightly statue of some kind caught Kaia's eye. It almost entirely blocked her vision of the moon as it loomed overhead above the shrubs and trees. It possessed a chiseled and well-contoured head atop a long, wooden cylindrical support. Its eyes glowed a deep, dirty green, deeply embedded within a wolfish face. Smoke billowed around it, causing the eyes to appear to flicker. Kaia was pretty sure it was an idol being used by the Lycans in their festival. When Kaia refocused on her route, she was somewhat shaken to discover that she could discern forms moving around a bonfire. She was closer than she thought. She decided not to go too much farther from where she was. All she was prepared to do now was watch until the new Lycan King was revealed. She would note his features and report to Amaranth. She decided not to even bother trying to fetch the heirloom; she would be content if she could describe it to Amaranth.

After some time standing in the forest, Kaia realized the guttural chanting of the beasts (apparently in worship to the strange, gargantuan canine-headed idol) was slowly but surely making her disoriented, or was it the smoke? She couldn’t tell. Unsteady on her feet, Kaia knelt on the cold ground for support. As she did, another frightening observation startled her. There beneath the wooden idol strewn about like garbage, were the bone-chilling images of dead and decaying corpses. As though her realization of this had alerted her senses, Kaia retched as their overwhelming effluvium slammed against the insides of her nostrils. The scent had been there all along, but it seemed as if in her concentration upon the task at hand, she had been oblivious to it. Overpowered by the foul smell, she backed deeper into the woods.

The Lycans continued their frenzied jamboree, chanting and dancing in unison around the sinister wolfish statue. It was the severed heads that gripped her, never had Kaia seen a person's head without its body. Now there were dozens of them on display, the eyes of each of them open in a dead stare with dried blood smeared across their foreheads. The vomit rose from her stomach again; she yanked her head away from the morbid scene and retched. Gazing around, Kaia's eyes were now drawn to an ostentatious couple waltzing around the great canine-headed graven image. The man was tall and dressed relatively dapper in a black three-piece suit and matching shoes and tie. He danced with a pretty woman with long red hair. In fact, her hair was so long that it was just shy of caressing her buttocks, the outline of which was easily discernible through the flimsy, medieval white dress which she donned.

Something about the strained sophistication of these known savages unnerved her. Kaia now saw that everyone was dressed similarly— the men in black and the women in white. However, what caught her eye about the couple in particular was the fact that they, unlike the rest of them, wore ornate crowns on their heads. Kaia gasped in recognition; along with Amaranth's description of the man and her own observations now, she instantly knew the man's identity. To make sure she was correct, she sought out the couple again who had made their way to the other side of the statue. She strained her eyes against the night to get a good look at the man as they made their way from around the idol. When they emerged once more, she could clearly see beneath his crown that half of his hair was as red as blood and the other half as white as snow. Indeed, she had been correct; he was without a sliver of doubt the known Lupii Sanguinaria, Evander,dancing with his red-headed wife, Heiress Proserpina.

All Kaia had to do now was wait until the mysterious heirloom was handed down to Evander’s successor—whoever he was— and hope that he then puts it somewhere in plain sight. The dancing and chanting stopped suddenly. Evander had risen his hand, and everyone else pulled wooden stumps to sit on. He waited for a few seconds until there was complete silence. Kaia hoped they had finally gotten to the inauguration ceremony. As the silence stretched, Kaia got uncomfortable. She had the sense that if she shifted too suddenly, the beasts would be onto her in a second. Only the Lord knows what would have happened next. Worse, her heart was banging inside her chest.

“My people,” Evander began.“We have gathered here on this special night—the night of the wolves of Golgotha Hill, the night of Lupercalia. We congregate here not to simply have fun for our own vain sake but for the sake of our hero and our God, the great Gog, who has preserved us from the curses of the witches and from the malevolence of those principalities who try wholeheartedly to stop us.”

Before Evander could continue, an almighty roar erupted from the horde of beasts. He continued in his deep, grating voice.”Also,we have gathered here on Golgotha Hill, on the very ground where our hero, Gog sacrificed himself to protect our kind, to pay homage to the legendary man-god.”He gazed up reverentially at the humongous wooden statue, and rested his long hands upon its cylindrical base.

He resumed,”Gog, my fellow wolves,was the prototypical Lycanthrope of antiquity whose diligent experimentation as a normal man led to him transcending the human condition.”Another rambunctious applause ensued, louder than the last.

Walking from the base of the statue, Evander led his red-headed bride directly in front of the assembly of wolves, then continued once more.

“And last but not least, we have come here in the name of war. The witches and the vampires are slowly making gains on us. They are getting stronger. They have devised ways of getting close to our level of power. I daresay I have become old, my powers are nowhere near what they once were. Believe me, I am not proud to say it, but I am a mere shell of my former self. With that said…”

Evander raised his voice for climactic effect.“She-wolves and gentle beasts, I hereby announce my resignation as Lycan king!”

Kaia sensed this was an indication he was about to announce his successor. She had to admit, everything was going better than expected so far. In just a few more minutes and she could be out of this godawful place and maybe even celebrate surviving the mission at one of the bars she passed before.

There was a collective sigh of disapproval from most of the wolves after Evander’s announcement. The Lycans turned to each other in surprise, expressing their discontent. Evander held up a hand and all went quiet once more.

“My resignation, my dear people, has come at a most opportune time. You see, there is now someone more capable than myself in our midst to carry on our operations.” He paused, running a hand through his dichromatic hair. “This man embodies all the qualities of a King, and if I might be so presumptuous to inform,he has been perfecting a most impressive power for a very long time, a power that even I, the great Evander, could not. You see, my body just cannot withstand that much energy flowing through it. All rise as I pronounce the name of your new Lycan King.

SATYRION!”

The Unveiling

No sooner had he announced the name of his successor than an extraordinarily tall man (easily over six foot five), whom Kaia had not seen participating in the festivities, emerge from the darkness of the other side of the woods. His face was thin, snakelike, and as white as a ghost. He wore no shirt. His entire muscular torso and thick arms were covered with tattoos of strange symbols. As he made his way forward, his long silver hair fluttered in a fleeting breeze. If there ever was an image to depict a Lycan in his human form, this was it. He wore huge galoshes that reached up to his knees.

To Kaia’s surprise, she saw that he was not alone; something else followed him out of the darkness, something big. Kaia literally gasped as she saw the largest wolf she had ever seen bounding behind him on a thick chain that rattled on the ground. Kaia wondered how the shirtless savage could possibly control such a mammoth animal if it ever wanted to be liberated from his grasp. The furry, black creature was quite literally as tall as a horse. Satyrion waved at the raucous crowd. His face had a sternness to it that she found uncommon, even among wolves. When Satyrion got close enough, Evander greeted him with a long embrace. Evander spoke once more.

“Oh, and how rude am I? Alongside Satyrion is his wolf, Styx. There is a most enthralling tale of how Satyrion acquired this impressive beast, but that is for another time. The six-foot lupus will serve not only as protector of our walls, but it will be the subject of a future experiment that I shall discuss later.” He pointed to the mass of carrion strewn across the ground. “Happy eating.”

Kaia's beating heart reached a deafening crescendo as the revelations came streaming in. Evander did not reveal the heirloom. Maybe it was a good thing, she thought; she could truthfully report that she had no opportunity to confiscate the object since it wasn’t handed down. Kaia was about to leave, but something told her to wait just a minute longer to see if she could glean some more information. In any case, she was already privy to the identity of the new Lycan King and so would not be going back to The Edifice a total failure. However, knowing Amaranth’s haughty disposition, Kaia knew she would punish her in some way, even if it wasn’t directly. Evander was speaking again, she realized.

“Wait up folks, one final matter before the festivities begin.”He smiled a dirty, twisted smile that chilled Kaia to her stomach. “The unveiling of the power handed down to us by our ancestors that I referenced earlier—”

With his statement hanging in the air, he bowed his head and pushed his hands on either side of his body so that the gesture resembled an accentuated bow. In an observation Kaia must have all but imagined, the whole place seemed to get a shade darker, then something moved above her, frightening her into a standing position. Whipping her head upward, she saw one of the large emerald eyes of the forbidding idol pop itself loose from the socket before floating magically downward, halting just in front of Evander, who seemed to have summoned it by telekinesis. Kaia kept forgetting that Lycans had some ability to perform magic. When the emerald eye was close enough, Evander grasped it with his left hand. A bright light-green effused from between his fingers as he held the gem.

“Though I, along with your new Lycan King, Satyrion have progressed farther than any of you have within the realm of darkness, acquiring the ultimate state and being more than able to hold our own against any opposition, this is the stone that will become the crux of our power. With it, neither bloodsucker—whether Loyal or Amphisbaena— nor any witch can defeat the least among us. We shall no longer fear the possibility of the majority of our kind being wiped out by an onslaught of witches or vampires.”

The night experienced the rowdiest cacophony yet.

Kaia listened to Evander's pronouncement. She recalled the names of those classes of vampires called Loyals and Amphisbaena from the night the vampire escaped the magical banishing circle. She remembered how Amaranth herself had declared in a shaky voice that he might have been an Amphisbaena. If what Evander said was true, then the wolves really were almost like dark demigods incapable of being defeated or conquered. Finally, she understood why Amaranth wanted the relic so much.

Evander handed the stone to Satyrion whose thin lips twisted into a feral smile. The large black wolf lifted its monstrous head into the air, and for a second Kaia thought it would howl, but it didn't. The frightful creature simply resumed glaring at the proceedings with its intense crimson eyes. Satyrion whispered something to Evander, who now came forward again to address the crowd.

“My wolves, while you eat, allow me to inform you that a most fortunate thing has happened. You see, your new King Satyrion has already proven his worth. This new development will reveal the power of our breed in a most telling way. Satyrion’s wolf, Styx just got a whiff of a most unfortunate witch intruding on our most secret meeting, crouching right outside our lair!”

There was a pregnant pause as the Lycanthropes registered their shock of someone so brazenly encroaching upon their stronghold. Then, there was a collective swine-like bellow. Kaia's blood ran cold,her heart twirling like a tornado encased in flesh. She tried to stand, but fear paralyzed her. She didn't even have time to fear what happened next. Satyrion raced off in blinding speed straight at her. She managed to unlatch her feet from the mire of panic and started a mad dash back to the drunken city. Hands, feet, and heart pumping, her hysteric flight transformed the forest into a daze of whizzing forms and lights. Sprinting a haphazard path through the death-trap that was Golgotha forest, she knew she couldn't maintain her speed.

“Please please please!” Kaia pleaded with any gods able to deliver her from the jaws of the savages pursuing her. Were those footsteps behind her? Were those branches being torn from the trees in pursuit?

“Shit shit shit.”

Kaia didn't look back; she continued weaving in and out of the trees. Her breathing was becoming short and raspy. Something clipped her right instep, and she fell face first upon the cold ground. She prevented the brunt of the fall by sprawling her hands in front of her. Still, her head had caught the ground with a thud, momentarily knocking the wits from her. I'm dead, she thought as pain seared through her injured forehead. Kaia managed to get up before dashing again for the road and out into the open. But it was not to be as she fell again, and this time she didn't get up. Satyrion's sallow, snake-like face appeared inches above hers, his long, chiseled teeth leering. A scream gurgled up from her. Not a second later, those same teeth found their way deep into her right hand, drawing both blood and a piercing scream from her due to the excruciating pain it brought. He had half-transformed into a wolf. Before she knew it, she was being dragged back to the wolf pack.