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But she had been kept safe. Safe, but not wholly protected from it all, Fey knew. Afterall, they couldn’t protect her from the fallout of that night. No. Her parents, her title, her very identity, were ripped away from her on the Blood Moon.

Ripped away by the very Witches who stood before her today.

Amalia did not look at any of them as she entered. Still dressed in the same frilly dresses her mother had always styled her in, Amalia looked down at the ground the entire walk to her chair and took her seat without raising her eyes to anyone.

Linh put a comforting hand on hers when she sat.

Several minutes passed as the council awaited their final member. Enough time for an oppressive awkwardness to settle over the room. Fey shifted from foot to foot, and even Alice began to fidget. The High Priestesses glanced at one another uncertainly.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” deSanguine snapped, finally. “If the Demons still haven’t deigned to elect a leader, then I see no reason why we should be forced to wait. Perhaps we should just get started?—”

A shadow fell across the room.

No, Fey thought, glancing around. Not a shadow. It was as if the very light itself was being pulled away, being smothered by something else. Something more powerful.

Run.

The command came from her. Some ancient instinct, something deep and primal inside her.

Run.

Fey looked around at the others, trying to see if they felt it as well. Kellos was only looking around in confusion, taking in the change in the lighting around them with slow, deliberate blinks. A predator unused to threats. The High Priestesses seemed unfazed, and had begun to chatter amongst themselves, whispering about what to do in the event a council member did not show. Arguing about who had sent assurances that the Demons had chosen a representative.

But at Fey’s side, Joy shivered.

“There’s something here,” she whispered. “Something strong.”

“Karla told me there were Demons in the eighth octant who were like nothing we’d ever seen before,” Alice said in a low voice. “Things more powerful than we could ever dream of…”

Amalia’s eyes rose from the table before her, and she glanced quickly at Fey. She could feel it too, Fey realized. Amalia’s eyes were wide. Scared.

RUN. That instinct screamed.

“Introducing the representative of the Demon Faction, from the eighth octant, Kallista of the Undying.”

The woman who entered was the most beautiful creature Fey had ever seen. Her thin stiletto heels clicked rhythmically as she walked to her seat, and the black tailored dress she wore clung to every curve of her body when she moved. She wore her straight, white-blonde hair down, where it cascaded over her shoulders. She wore no crown, but she held herself with the regal air of a Queen.

Her chair moved on its own, without a single identifiable flick of power from her, and Kallista sat, her ice blue eyes traveling over each of them in turn.

RUN, that voice inside Fey’s head screamed, as the Demon turned that cold stare on her and held her gaze. Held her gaze and smiled, revealing a row of perfect, white teeth.

In the Eternal City, Demons are as common as cockroaches and just as powerless. They are a nuisance, if anything. Fey had fought more Demons than she could count. But this? This creature in front of her now was nothing like anything she’d ever encountered before. If this was the sort of Demon who occupied the eighth octant, if the horror stories about creatures out there who were stronger than Witches in every way possible, were actually true?

Then they were all completely fucked.

“I apologize for my lateness,” Kallista said, and even her voice sent shivers down Fey’s spine. “It is difficult for me to travel in the way I am accustomed at this time of day.”

Shadows appeared and danced over her fingers, spinning around her long black matte nails, and coalescing to form a pen. Completely solid. She held it delicately in her fingers, as though prepared to take notes.

“Shall we begin?” she asked.

At her side, deSanguine chuckled. “Kallista, my dear,” he said, looking her up and down. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here.” He smiled, showing sharp fangs. “I had heard you were dead.”

She turned those cold eyes on him and smiled back. “Hello, Cassiel,” she said. “I do hate to disappoint. But I’m certainly not surprised to see you here, begging at the Witch’s table for scraps, as always. Some things never change, do they?”

The Vampire king bared his fangs at her and snarled. Behind him, Kellos hissed, lips curled back to reveal his own sharp teeth, unnerved by the anger in the room.

“That’s enough,” Sana snapped. She stood at Amalia’s side, straight backed and proud, and only the slight shake in her hands as she clasped them before her gave away the nervousness she was feeling. “If we are going to be working together then we gain nothing by treating one another with disrespect. I ask that the members of this council present themselves with the decorum these positions require.”