Their disrespect towards the Cassandrian had made Caia extremely uncomfortable and she gritted her teeth, waiting for him to decide their insults weren’t worth it and just… poof! Leave them with no words of wisdom or plan.

But he hadn’t done any of that. Instead he had pinned Saffron with an implacable look and said in a voice that sent shivers racing down Caia’s spine, “You’re a child of the gods and you don’t believe in fate? If you don’t believe in fate then what have we been doing for the last seven hundred years, Saffron?”

She grumbled under her breath and tossed her hair. “I believe in fate,” she’d said finally and then twitched a little before throwing herself down into an armchair. “Sorry, I’m just very anxious and very tired.”

The Prophet had nodded, instantly dismissing her childish outburst. And then he had turned his attention back to Caia. “Well, my dear, I already know what you wish to ask. You wish to ask me, if you were to become the Head of the Daylight Coven, as Head of both Covens, could we ask the gods to take the trace away.”

Caia had gaped at him. “Did Nikolai tell you?”

“No,” the Prophet and Nikolai replied in unison.

The Prophet had tapped his fingers to his head, smiling kindly as he told her, “Visions, my dear. The gods see all and they communicate through me.”

Excitement had buzzed through them all in that moment, all three of them leaning in towards the old man together. “So?” she had asked. “Will they? Will they take it away?”

Disappointingly the Prophet had merely shrugged. “They’re still deliberating.”

“What do you mean they’re still deliberating? What’s there to deliberate about?”

At that, he had let out a gust of laughter, leaving them all bemused, which was pretty much how the entire meeting with him had gone so far. “My dear girl, we are the gods’ only source of entertainment. They’ll drag this out a little.”

“And by a little, you mean?”

“A few days, a few weeks-”

“Not months,” Caia had gasped. “Please don’t say months.”

“I don’t know. But as soon as I do, I will return with the answer.”

And then he was gone.

“Whoa.” Reuben shook his head. “That guy has had some serious work done. Last time I saw him he was wheezing and banging around with a stick.”

Nikolai nodded. “He really let himself go during Devlyn’s reign. My Regency did a world of wonders for him.”

Caia had just stared at them like they were crazy. Sometimes they were so inappropriately blasé.

So she had been waiting for a couple of weeks now, slowly going mad as she wandered from room to room. She had spent her time going for runs on the beach as a human during the day and as a wolf at night. Other than Reuben’s ‘helpful’ training regime every day, where he tried to get her to focus the unknown energy that made her so special – and they were getting there slowly but surely – he and Nikolai weren’t much company. When Nikolai wasn’t complaining about furniture and accessories he was losing to Caia’s training (she was successfully turning items to ash by choice by now), he and Reuben could literally sit still for hours, staring at nothing and speaking to no one. It was creepy. As for Saffron, the faerie kept coming and going as she pleased, and Caia had never envied anyone more for their abilities than during those weeks cooped up in the beach house with only a vampyre and a magik for company. With no one to really talk to she found herself dwelling on the pack a lot. At night it was hard not to cry herself to sleep thinking about their loss. For her the biggest hurt was the loss of Dimitri. It wasn’t just that he had looked out for her or cared for her; it was more the thought of how much his loss was hurting the people closest to her. Jaeden to be exact. Her friend had already suffered through so much; Caia ached for her. And she ached, wondering if she would ever have the pack back, admitting only to herself how lonely she was without them; lonely without Lucien to fall asleep with at night.

On top of that there was her trace. It had begun tingling all over the place, telling her the Midnights were reorganizing themselves. Two magiks were out in front for leadership, Jack Straton an Australian and a Russian woman called Orina Beketov. Caia had been praying for Straton to make the grade since he wanted to find Nikolai first (a task she knew was impossible and would keep them occupied forever) before taking on the Daylights. Beketov wanted to begin where they had left off, starting with a major attack against the New York Krôls, one of America’s largest vampyre covens. The worst day for Caia came when the trace told her Orina had won the votes. She was the new Regent of the Midnight Coven and the woman was as vicious as they came. Her plans for the attack were all set in motion, ready to take off in one month’s time. Of course Caia had wanted to go straight to the Center to let them know so they could prepare themselves and warn the Krôls. But Nikolai and Reuben wouldn’t let her, and by wouldn’t let her she meant Nikolai had put a spell around her that stopped her from using her communication spell. And she couldn’t find a way around it. Unfortunately, she still had so much to learn.

It had been a week since she had learned of the Midnight’s plan for attack. For once they were all together, Saffron, Nikolai, Reuben and her sitting around the kitchen actually participating in conversation.

“No, it’s definitely a different guy that’s the voice of Kermit the Frog. It has been for years,” Reuben insisted as he sipped from a mug of warm blood.

Nikolai frowned. “No. We get Sesame Street in Russia too. You can’t fool me… Kermit has sounded the same for decades.”

Caia tried to hide her snort in her toast.

Reuben groaned, “Yeah, because they found a guy who sounds exactly like him.”

The Russian looked pensive for a moment. “So… how long are we talking about?”

“I dunno… Jim Henson died in 1990.”

Nikolai shook his head looking disturbed. “No, that’s no right. I see Muppet Christmas Carol; that was definitely the original Kermit.”

“Oh.” Caia grinned, remembering watching that movie during the lonely Christmas holidays she had spent with Irini. Obviously they didn’t believe in Christmas and all that stuff but most supernaturals celebrated it to fit in with the humans. “I love that movie.”

Saffron leaned back in her chair. “Were you even an egg when that movie came out?”

“It was 1992.” Reuben nodded. “Caia was just about to hatch.”

“No.” Nikolai insisted. “Then that can’t be right. You said Henson did in 1990, da?”

“Yeah and Steve Whitmire took over for him. He’s the voice of Kermit the Frog in the Muppet Christmas Carol.”

This seemed to disturb Nikolai and Caia shared an amused look with Saffron. He shook his head again. “I could have sworn Kermit has always been Kermit. What I want to know is how he sounds so much like the other man?”

Caia grunted into her juice this time. “What I want to know is how Reuben knows so much about this stuff?”

The vampyre scowled at her. “Photographic memory.”

“And Jim Henson’s Productions was one of the institutions you felt necessary to study up on?” Saffron asked with a dead pan face.

Caia choked on a piece of toast.

“Isn’t anyone going to rescue Caia from the toast?” A familiar voice intruded. Caia was suddenly whacked on the back (hard) by Nikolai and the toast dislodged itself. She looked up to see the Prophet standing over the table.

“Better?” he asked softly.

She winced at the sting Nikolai’s hand had left but thanked him nonetheless before turning back on the Prophet. She gazed up at him imploringly. “Please tell me you have news.”

He grinned back at her. “Finally, I have news.”

“Well?” Saffron snapped impatiently.

The Prophet’s grin grew wider. “Looks like the apocalypse is coming children. The gods will take away the trace if Caia succeeds in becoming the Head of both covens.”

Relief swept through her like a huge tidal wave, and for the first time in weeks she felt as alive as a surfer crashing under it.

“Ahhhh haa haaaa!” Caia jumped up happily and threw her arms impulsively around the old guy. He hugged her back tight, laughing at her excitement. After a moment he drew back from her, his expression suddenly completely serious.

“Now all you have to do is convince the Daylights of your plan and start your witch hunt for Marita.”

She was sobered by the thought. In order to do this, to free them all from the trace, she was still going to have to kill someone. So, OK, it was the evil bitch that had murdered members of her pack, tortured innocent children and inevitably caused the death of her mentor, Marion. Hmm, when she thought about it like that, maybe taking her out wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

“The hard part is explaining all this to the Council.” Saffron sighed.

Reuben shook his head. “Not necessarily. Vanne will believe us.”

“Maybe.” Nikolai nodded. “But if you don’t mind, for now I’ll stay here. I don’t want to be imprisoned just for being of Midnight blood.”

“Fair enough.” Reuben patted him on the shoulder. He looked up at the Prophet. “Thank you. Again.”

The Prophet smiled. “It’s always a pleasure, Kirios.”

And then he was gone.

Caia stared at the spot he had been standing in for a moment before spinning around to face the weird trio that had become her only trustworthy companions of late (which wasn’t saying much). “OK. So… the Center it is then.”

Reuben nodded in agreement. He didn’t smile but there was a new light in his dark eyes. “The Center it is.”

19 – Blood Oath

The atmosphere at the Center was different than before. There had always been this tension, this sense of everyone being wound extremely tight, but also this sense of security, of feeling powerful and protected all at the same time. While there was no longer that stressful tension, it had unfortunately been replaced by a heightened sense of expectation, and the worst of it was, it was kind of like that butterfly in your belly feeling you had when you weren’t quite sure of a situation. Moreover, Caia discerned a new uneasiness among the Center’s inhabitants; a paranoid awareness of one’s own surroundings, as if awaiting imminent attack.