“Marion.” She smiled back at her, and sat across from her on the sofa. “Saffron.”

The faerie smirked at her. That was more of a response than anyone else got out of her. She was beginning to think the shapeshifter liked her.

“So.” The magik smiled brightly, but Caia detected the strain in that expression. “What news from the Dark Coven?”

Caia obediently handed over her written report. “You asked me to look specifically for any mention of the New York Króls. I found out that Nikolai has asked the attack be abandoned. Too risky in light of the instability of the Midnights.”

Nikolai Petrovsky was the new Regent of the Midnight Coven and had been appointed by their Council since Ethan had gone ‘missing’. The fact that Gaia would not imbue Nikolai with trace magik when the Council put him forward as the new Head led the Midnights to believe that Ethan was still alive somewhere. For now the Council had voted in Nikolai’s rule as Regent. Of course they were blithely unaware of Caia’s existence. Caia sighed deeply, and looked between Marion and Lucien, unsure of their reaction to her next piece of news. “In fact... Nikolai has asked that all attacks against us be abandoned until there is definitive news of Ethan’s whereabouts.”

Lucien quirked an eyebrow as he glanced at Marion, like Caia, interested more in her reaction than anything else. Marion for her part had stiffened in surprise. Even Saffron had looked up from her nails in interest. After a few minutes of silence Marion cleared her throat.

“Well... that’s unexpected.”

Well yeah.

“But what does it mean?” Caia asked impatiently.

The witch shrugged. “You should know better than anyone what it means.”

“Well I don’t. Nikolai is strong, and his emotions are not as easy to read through the trace as it is with the others.”

She nodded. “The Petrovskys are an influential family, have been for many generations now.”

Caia knew this. She’d felt the respect he garnered from other Midnights and the reasons why. His decision to stop attacks against the Daylight Coven confused Caia, not only because she couldn’t feel the reason from him - only what he told the others - but because lately her connection to the Midnights was raising some questions. She was feeling emotions from some of them that suggested the war as it stood was not exactly what she thought it was… or had been led to think it was.

She snapped out of her own musings to find Marion frowning at her. “Caia, it doesn’t mean anything significant. Nikolai is obviously just rallying the troops until he feels the Coven is secure enough to return to their tried and tested style of warfare.” She curled her lip distastefully. “Neanderthals that they are.”

Lucien smirked and turned to Caia. He seemed to read her confusion and smiled reassuringly. “Marion’s right. The Dark Coven is just a little shook up right now. They’re taking precautions, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

If that was true, then why didn’t she feel so sure?

Caia nodded, reluctantly, because what she was about to impart, was just going to further their belief that Midnights were not to be trusted to play ‘the game’ with a cool head. She took a deep breath. “Well, despite Nikolai’s orders he has a rebel in his midst. A guy called Pierre du Bois?”

A wrinkle of concentration appeared between Marion’s eyebrows. “Du Bois? Du Bois? I know that name, but it’s not one belonging to the old families. What is he up to?”

“This warlock has gone behind Nikolai’s back and raised a small group of dissenters against Nikolai’s decision. It seems he has a problem with one of the city packs from here. The MacLachlans?”

Lucien grunted in surprise. “The MacLachlans live... what… 300 miles north of here but... they’re not a huge pack.” His eyes swung to Marion. “What are the Midnights doing going after a relatively small pack?”

“The MacLachlans are an old Scottish pack,” Saffron spoke up, moving gracefully closer to them all. “They sprung up around the end of the 13th century in Renfrewshire, Scotland, and have gifted the Daylight Coven with great Rogue Hunters throughout the centuries. I’ve worked with...” she shrugged elegantly and perched down beside Marion, studying her mistress as if she would find the answer in her face, “Hmm... what? Eight, nine generations of Rogue Hunters from that pack.”

Marion nodded, turning back to Caia and Lucien. “Saffron’s right. They may be small but to older members of either coven they are a well-known warrior pack.”

Well that explained that.

“Pierre is arrogant and young.” Caia sighed, standing up to stretch her legs. She hadn’t been on a run in weeks and it was telling on her body. “That’s why you don’t recognize him as an old warlock. I thought because of his ability to arouse such devotion that you may have heard of him, but I’m thinking he’s just very charismatic. His trace is malevolent; his prejudice against the Daylights extraordinary considering how young he is; and... I think he might be quite powerful. Some of the others seem afraid of him. From what you’ve told me, and from my understanding of Pierre’s character, wiping out a respected and feared pack of lykans would cement his own reputation. Although I can’t feel it in his designs, he might use a victory like taking down the MacLachlans as a reason to take to the Council and ask them to make him Regent instead.”

“When is this attack going to take place?” Lucien narrowed his eyes, folding his arms across his chest defensively so that the muscles in his biceps rippled. His body language had become so familiar to Caia. Lucien was preparing for war. The butterflies that had been dormant in her stomach for the majority of the conversation suddenly fluttered into a riot. She had known this news was going to be the beginning of something. Something big. Something irreversible.

“Four weeks.”

Marion pursed her lips. “I’ll be back in five minutes. I have to speak to Marita. Come, Saffron.”

And the witch was gone, along with the faerie, and not for the first time, Caia envied their flawless use of the communication spell that allowed them to travel to an intended destination instantly.

I knew it.

This is big.

“You OK?”

Her gaze swung back to Lucien, whose eyes had softened with concern.

“I’m fine. Just preparing myself.”

“For what?”

She snorted. “The apocalypse.”

Lucien grinned. “Well, let’s just make sure it’s them and not us that end up in the underworld, huh.”

“Wow, talk about pressure.”

“I’m kidding.”

“I’m not.”

He sighed heavily and strode towards her. Every nerve ending came to life the closer he got, and then sizzled uncontrollably when he cupped her chin in his large hand, his eyes shining with faith and strength. “You can only do what you’re doing, Caia. Yes, you’re important to this war, but are you going to end it?” He shook his head, stroking her cheek soothingly. “One person can’t stop a war, especially when you’re not the one running the show.”

She nodded gratefully, trying desperately not to melt into his embrace. Goddess, these last few months had been hard pretending not to want any more from their relationship. Or friendship as it were, she thought grumpily. She sighed as his hand dropped away and he pulled back from her.

“What do you think Marion’s saying to Marita?” he asked gruffly, almost as if he had been just as affected by their momentary intimacy.

“Well-”

“I was merely relating the situation as it stands.” The magik suddenly appeared before them, minus Saffron this time.

Caia smiled at her. Like she had with the pack, Caia had come to know Marion well over the last few months, and despite her business-like approach to everything, she had a penchant for mischief that was funny, depending on if you were her target or not.

“Well?” Caia asked expectantly.

Marion’s smile faltered, and she drew her small shoulders back as if bracing for battle. “Marita would like you to play a part in the defense of Pack MacLachlan.”

A small growl emitted from Lucien. “Isn’t it a bit soon?”

“I want to.” Caia placed a placating hand on his arm, her eyes hardened with determination. “I knew this was coming.”

Marion sighed. “I’m afraid Marita is quite adamant about it. Anyway.” She turned to Lucien with a sarcastic smirk. “Not to worry. She would like to meet you as well, Lucien.”

Caia frowned. “Wait. Are we going to the Center?”

Marion nodded. “As soon as possible.”

“And how are we getting there? I thought it was in Europe?”

The magik chuckled as if she had said the funniest thing in the world. “Really, Caia, you should know better than that by now.” At their continued silence she seemed to sense that neither Caia nor Lucien had the patience for ambiguity or inappropriate amusement. “OK. We want you, you and Lucien only, to travel to the MacLachlans. Not for them exactly. You see, there is a gymnasium on Bryant Street called Magic Fitness-”

Caia snickered. “You’re kidding?”

Marion ignored her. “Go in as inconspicuously as you can.” She threw a pointed look at a rather large Lucien. “To the left of the front entrance is a doorway that takes you down a corridor. On this corridor is a studio room, studio number 3. Go in, and stand in front of the first pane of ceiling-to-floor mirror on the back wall. Caia, if you place your hand on the first pane the mirror will recognize you as a magik. Take Lucien’s hand and walk into the pane.”

“What?”

She smiled almost arrogantly. “It’s a portal. To the Center.”

“And when do we leave?” Lucien asked quietly.

“I’ll give you a week to arrange a suitable situation for the pack.”

He nodded, and looked ready to ask another question when Marion cleared her throat, appearing suddenly uncomfortable. “There is something else.”