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  “Syd.” Shenka, dear Shenka. Unwilling to just shut the hell up.

  “You said I only had tools in my life in place of people I cared about,” I said, staring into Tallah’s eyes but speaking to her sister. “Turns out you traded one master for another.” I jerked the leader to her feet with one hand on her arm, removing the crushing weight of my energy from her chest and throat, but trapping her with all the magic at my disposal. Her sorcery whimpered and fled beneath her in response to my white magic.

  Monster after all? Check.

  Tallah tried to find her defiance again, but I’d crushed it out of her. She used to be so beautiful to me, so strong and powerful, in control. The woman who clutched at her chest, who bit her lip and shot me a petulant and impotent glare seemed, instead, a waste of space and magic.

  “It’s true,” she said, chin rising. Where she found the courage to admit it I’ll never know, though I had to at least give her thin props for not trying to deny it.

  If you say so, my demon growled.

  Shenka’s weeping resumed, though quiet and resigned as her sister spoke to her coven. More of them had gathered, the werewolves she’d adopted, her former second, gaping and astonished, witches who watched with horror as their leader owned up.

  Tallah’s voice entreated them as she went on. “The Brotherhood is different now.” I couldn’t help the snort of utter disbelief that escaped me at her blindness. Was this what Erica told herself, too, before allowing Belaisle and his people to murder one third of all North American witches? “Jean Marc is a good leader. He has a vision for their future that goes beyond Liander Belaisle and his evil ways.”

  Just keep telling yourself those lies, sweetie, my demon sent.

  How could she be so misguided? Shaylee mentally wrung her hands, waffling between anger and sadness. How?

  Foolishness, my vampire sent, quiet, disappointed. It wasn’t until Tallah met my eyes I realized she’d heard all three of them speak, that they’d allowed it. And doubt lived in her. Even she didn’t believe it herself.

  Oh, Tallah.

  “What have you done?” Shenka’s grief turned to rage so quickly I was slow in stopping her. My shields, softened by surprise, fell enough the younger sister reached the older. Shenka carried Tallah the rest of the way to the ground, her right hand slapping across her leader’s face. “After everything you said, after everything you’ve done. How could you betray us like this?”

  That was the worst of it, wasn’t it? The fact Tallah’s judgment of Erica and the Council led here, to the exact same mistakes made all over again.

  “It’s not the same thing,” Tallah whispered to her sister, looking dazed and lost as Shenka’s hand hovered, ready to strike again. I’d never seen the younger Hensley so angry, or even seen her raise her hand to anyone, anything. “He’s helping make us stronger.” Tallah’s sorcery showed up, cowed and reaching for her sister, but Shenka slapped it away with her own, though the need to hit her leader seemed to have left her.

  I pulled back, my own anger dying, just weary at the sight of the two sisters hating each other and wondering where we’d all gone so very wrong.

  “You don’t understand, Shenka.” Tallah grasped at her while my old second stood, pulling away with abject disgust on her face. “Something huge is coming.” Her gaze flickered to me, back to her sister. That was an understatement. “I’ve seen the piece of Creator Jean Marc holds. It’s shown me what’s coming and we need to be ready.”

  All the information I needed, thanks. I grasped Tallah firmly again, drew her to her feet with magic while her sister turned her back. “Awesome,” I said, fake cheer matching the tight grin on Piers’s face. “Let’s go see it together, shall we?”

  I handed her off to Varity who clasped the Hensley leader’s wrists in blue fire.

  “While you’re outside the law,” the old Enforcer said with a hint of amusement, “I have a Council leader to answer to.”

  “When I’m done with her,” I said. “Tallah. Where is he?”

  She shuddered, looked away. My jaw hurt a lot. Too much clenching in just a short period of time. I’d send her the bill for my dentist.

  “Allow me.” Piers stepped up before I could protest or interfere and pressed his fingertips to her forehead. She screamed immediately, but her pain didn’t stop me from following him into her mind and taking what we needed.

  Yes, I was uncomfortable with what we were doing. This kind of rape was exactly that and I had my limits, didn’t I? Or did I? Damn it.

  Just damn it.

  The first image made me want to throw up. The way she thought of him, his body against hers… lovers. She was sleeping with Jean Marc Dumont. I almost left her mind then and there, to throw up everything I’d ever eaten or wipe my brain on a piece of sandpaper or just find a way to erase the disgusting images from my poor, abused memory. But Piers was still going and I followed the bull on the leash deeper into dark territory.

  I know this place, he sent to me, the sight of fire and stone walls and some kind of chapel making him pause. Bollocks, why didn’t I think of it?

  Where? I retreated from her mind, Piers with me, finding the Hensley leader sagging in Varity’s grasp, blood running from her nose. The pressure of our search had knocked her out.

  Zoe’s old home, Piers sent, grim and angry. The Sanctuary.

  ***

  Chapter Thirteen

  “That’s enough.” The diminutive werewoman’s voice drew me around, Nina Dillon’s face dark and grim. The former member of Cicero Caine’s werepack bowed her head to me, head shaved showing faint scars in the dark stubble, tattooed arms straight at her sides, piercings catching the light through the glass doors. “We had no idea, you must believe that. But we can’t stand by and let you kill our leader.”

  That had better not be a challenge, my demon snarled.

  Whatever. I shrugged and turned away even as Nina spun on Shenka. “You must step up,” she said while the younger Hensley wiped at the last of the tears on her face. “We need a new leader and you’re of the bloodline.”

  Shenka gaped at her but my vampire sighed.

  It’s time, Syd, she sent. We both know what has to happen here.

  We could let Shenka take over, I sent, heart hurting at last. This was a disaster, really. The end of a formerly powerful family. I knew what she was thinking, what my other personas were thinking. But we were down so many covens after the Brotherhood attacks. Could we afford to disband one?

  We can’t trust her not to try to avenge her sister. I’m sorry. For my vampire to say it, she had to be right. I knew she was, understood before I even left Harvard what the end result of this visit to California would mean.

  The end of the Hensley family once and for all.

  Mom must have known, too. And when I connected with her, she didn’t seem surprised to hear from me.

  Just be gentle, she sent. This isn’t the Dumont coven you’re disbanding. I didn’t bother mentioning I had nothing to do with the loss of that particular witchline. Charlotte’s curse on Andre and his own cruel decision to deny Jean Marc the family magic led to their end. Still, I’d been witness to it, so I knew what Mom meant. The Hensley’s have been, until now, a faithful and proactive family. She sighed in my head, so tired. I knew the feeling. I don’t have the right to interfere. But once the witches are free of the Hensley magic, they are welcome to join other covens in this territory.

  Good enough for me.

  Even as Shenka hovered, undecided, staring at her sister, I stepped in and grasped the Hensley family magic in my power and pulled it free from Tallah by the root. It struggled in my grasp, though not that hard. It must have understood how far its leader had fallen. And though I was still tempted to hand it off, could see the fear in Shenka’s eyes, the resignation falling over her face, I simply couldn’t risk it. Not now.

  Instead, I shattered the family power into enough pieces it split equally among all the registered members of the old coven, driving th
e shards into the individual witches and werewolves. They gasped as a group, their voices carrying from the distance where those of the family listened and watched in absentia. With a push of energy, I severed their link to one another and burned the connections permanently as I spoke to each and every one of them.

  “Hear me,” I said. “The Hensley coven is no more.” Shenka’s lower lip trembled though anger woke in her eyes. “Never again will you be able to link to each other or form family magic in that name.” I’d never done this before, knew there was precedent but felt the pressure of the magnitude of what I was creating as I went on. “The North American Witches Council has made it clear to me you will be welcome, as individuals, to join covens in that territory. But from henceforth, no former Hensley witch will be able or permitted to combine with another.”

  And that was that. Far easier, I think, than such a task should have been. I turned my back on Shenka, knowing she would hate me from now on, where once she just held me in contempt. Fine, let her. She’d made her bed, chosen her family. And it wasn’t mine.

  She was dead to me from now on.

  I spun and glared at Tallah who had regained consciousness in time to realize what I’d done. She screamed out loud, a blood curdling sound echoing through the silent house, seeking the family power that had once been hers, meeting only silence.

  “Jean Marc!”

  Any sympathy I might have felt died at that cry. And Shenka thought I was a monster. Her own sister had sold her out to the Brotherhood. If she was going to hate anyone, Tallah should have been her first choice.

  “How dare you?” Shenka’s voice shuddered, stilled.

  Varity answered for me. “Be grateful,” the old Enforcer said, “that Miriam and the Council don’t sweep in here and burn the lot of you at the stake. You’re off easy, girlie. Now, get lost.”

  I could hear Shenka crying again, didn’t care. Hardened my heart to it as I nodded to Piers.

  “You have the location?” Of course he did. I just needed something official to say, a distraction.

  “Right here.” He tapped his forehead, smart enough not to vocalize the sympathy on his face. Must have helped he thrummed with excitement. Could hardly blame him. This little side trip had little to do with his ultimate goal.

  Frankly, I was tired of being waylaid. Time to put an end to Jean Marc and the Brotherhood. Permanently.

  And yet, I couldn’t help but flinch as we left in the black tunnel of Piers’s power when Shenka’s magic, weak and charred at the edges, slammed into my back.

  I’ll be seeing you, Syd, she sent.

  My demon snarled in return, cutting her off. Looking forward to it.

  Shenka retreated as the tunnel closed behind us.

  ***

  Chapter Fourteen

  The stone corridor on the other side of Piers’s tunnel felt mundane and comfortable, almost like the Stronghold, except this place was darker, without windows and I could tell without scanning we were deep underground.

  Beneath Los Angeles, Piers sent, tight and focused. This way.

  So he’d been here before, enough he knew where to go? Excellent. Saved us from hunting through what was feeling like a bit of a maze to me already.

  It felt odd, just the two of us. And yet, we’d been here many times before, hadn’t we? My heart lightened just a bit at the memory of the pair of us storming the werewolf palace in Ukraine so long ago. How young I’d been, how full of myself. I was able to see that now, to understand just how much of a mess I’d managed to make barreling my way through the world in search of my werefriend. Charlotte’s rescue came at the destruction of the Black Souls—and nearly the werepalace—and was my first encounter with Eva Southway and the rest of the Steam Union.

  While I knew there was little time for reminiscence, somehow walking down this stone corridor with flame flickering from small cul-de-sacs, torches that burned but released no smoke lighting the way far better than ordinary fire, drew me down memory lane. Maybe it was reconnecting with Piers, or the fact I needed something to anchor to as we entered the unknown yet again. Whatever the reason, in that moment I was grateful with a surge of emotion so powerful it shook me that Piers was at my side.

  He jerked to a halt, turned to meet my eyes, his own grays wide and full of regret. “Syd,” he choked. Hesitated.

  I just nodded, swallowed my guilt and grief at our conflict. “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. More than you’ll ever understand.”

  Piers hugged me then, hard and swift, and I crushed him to me with the same fervor he used. So silly, really, to stand there in enemy territory embracing my friend when we should have been focused on the task at hand. Any moment we could be set upon by bad guys. But this felt important, more so than anything in the Universe right now.

  Piers finally let me go, wiping at his cheeks with one hand, a faint smile on his wide mouth. Gone was the pull that aged him, smoothed out were the lines on his brow. He still had the deep, dark circles under his eyes, was far too lean for my liking, but the transformation was complete. My friend had come back to me.

  Awesome.

  The lightness I felt at our reconciliation made me giddy. Grinning like an idiot, I grasped his hand in mine and swung our arms like we were kids.

  “Well, Steam Union,” I said. “Shall we go kick some Brotherhood ass?”

  “After you.” He swept a bow toward me but kept his grip on my hand.

  And that was how, moments later, beaming smiles that should have been scowls, we strode with glee through the wide, wooden doors and into the chapel in Sanctuary and came face to face with Jean Marc Dumont.

  Correction. Jean Marc Dumont and about fifty Brotherhood sorcerers.

  I laughed out loud. Nothing could shatter my mood. And seeing his frown, the way he twitched nervously at the end of the aisle between the rows of benches, his short, dark hair heavy over his lowered brow, just made me happier.

  “Hey,” I waved with my free hand.

  Jean Marc gaped at me, at Piers, before shaking his head and gathering his power. A wall of black formed between us and him, between me and my goal as I spotted, just past his right shoulder, the arm of Creator resting on the altar of the chapel.

  “Perfect,” I said, striding forward, while shattering and dispersing the collective shield of the gathered Brotherhood. “I’ve been looking for that.”

  I hurt them, oh, my, yes. Even as I created some significant property damage in the ancient looking chapel. Wooden benches shattered with sharp explosions blocked from harming me with shielding, old, worn stone cracking and blowing apart, striking sparks where the shards landed. A shame to cause such havoc in this revered place where once Zoe’s people had clearly worshipped. But then again, the focus of their worship had been a dying maji, Gaia, her magic slowly siphoned over time by the disgusting Liander Belaisle. So I found it hard to really give a crap if I pulled the place down or not.

  I heard their cries of agony, knew Piers flexed his own magic muscles when his white power joined with mine, swirling into the blackness of the Brotherhood’s energy. It fractured over and over as they tried to muster defense and, as the last of them collapsed, drained and in deep seated hurt, I laughed again, this time only feet from where Jean Marc glared, body shaking with rage.

  “So predictable,” I said, coming to a firm halt before him with Piers strong and tall at my side. “Had you shared, you would have beaten us or at least escaped.” I flickered my fingers at him, white sorcery stirring against his. “But I knew you better than that, Jean Marc. No way would you ever give up the power you’d stolen.” He flinched, glanced at Piers with a flare of fear, then back to me with his dull, accusing eyes. “I’m so looking forward to this.”

  “Syd.” The sound of his voice made me stop, turned me slightly around. I caught sight of Demetrius in the periphery, the now hundred or so sorcerers who had us surrounded, more filing in by the moment. There was enough grief in his voice I knew my Demetrius still lived inside him. But h
is power belonged to the Brotherhood.

  Jean Marc’s smirk told me he had no idea he’d lost. This little show of power? How pathetic.

  “You must think Syd incapable of harming those she cares about to get what she wants.” Piers’s tone came out light, carefree as he tossed his long, blond hair over his shoulder. “And maybe that’s the case. But don’t ever underestimate me, Jean Marc.” In a flash, my friend’s expression flattened, darkened. And the screaming began.

  I let Piers handle the Brotherhood, like I had a choice in the matter. I had the angry Dumont before me to deal with. Not to mention the fact the Steam Union leader had about a lifetime of hurt to pay back in kind. And though Jean Marc hadn’t shared his newfound white sorcery, though those of his kind were easy to deal with thanks to it, he had the power I did.

  But I didn’t care how the battle turned out, not really. Not when there was something more important than the death of Jean Marc to think about. Gabriel. I sent the message as tightly as possible. Get Max. And come. I have the arm.

  My son’s affirmation was all the word I needed. He’d handle his side of it, with the help of the drach leader. Leaving me, at last, to finally end the Dumont family’s evil once and for all.

  Jean Marc’s power leached through the stones at my feet, trying to trap me, but I’d been here before. Funny how old memories jogged during times like this. His face could have been Ameline’s, his mocking grin her tight, dark smile of success. Except when the white sorcery he controlled rose to grasp me in its grip, it met mine, full on.

  “Old news, I’m afraid,” I said as I gestured, a javelin of gleaming white leaping for his chest. He blocked it with a curse, slamming me with a fist of his own. “That’s your problem, Jean Marc,” I said, dancing aside with agility I didn’t realize I had, slicing forward at calf level with a thin blade of magic. It took him at the calf, cutting a wedge out of his shielding and sending him to one knee. Roaring his fury, he battered at me with two hammers of white power that did nothing against my shields. “No finesse.”