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“And what was that?” Mircea asked, why Kit didn’t know.

He had the air of someone walking a tightrope above a pit of ravenous wolves, yet he kept doing it. If he thought he was distracting the witch, giving Kit a chance to save himself, he was delusional; her power had not abated one whit. He was risking himself for nothing—

Or perhaps not for nothing, Kit realized, noticing that the little dhampir wasn’t on the ground anymore.

She wasn’t anywhere that he could see, even in his peripheral vision which was all he had, for he couldn’t turn his head. She must have crept away while Mircea talked to the witch. But why would he risk himself for her?

And what was he planning instead?

“A staff,” Morgan said. “One that Gillian carries with her at all times. I need it and I need her to wield it, now that my ally is missing. And I will have what I want or I will burn this forest to the ground along with everyone in it!”

“I don’t believe you,” Mircea said.

“What?”

“You aren’t as ruthless as you appear. You left my men alive when you didn’t have to. At first, I took that to be self-preservation; you didn’t want to change the timeline and risk wiping yourself out of existence. But you were already dead, so no changes would have affected you. Therefore, you must have had another reason—”

“And you assumed that to be benevolence?” She looked at him in disbelief. “I didn’t want a number of dead master vampires catching the Senate’s attention, and putting even more annoyances like you on my trail! Nothing more!

“The war burned away whatever humanity I once had, vampire. You would do well not to trust to it. Give me what I want if you want to live. Or whatever passes for it with your foul kind!”

Mircea didn’t look upset by this, as Kit would have expected. He almost looked . . . distracted. As if he was waiting for something.

“It is over, Morgan,” he said. “You must see that. Your demon is dead, and a simple staff is never going to leash that—”

“It isn’t over! And there is nothing simple about it! That staff controls the rings. It is ancient and powerful and wasn’t even supposed to be ours. The fey made it in case we ever tried to use the rings against them, but a witch stole it centuries ago, and it was thought to be lost.

“But she has it! She wears it like a necklace, like an ornament, like nothing! And she is a Great Mother, meaning she can wield it. The storm may ignore me, but it will obey her—it will have no choice!”

“But I have a choice,” someone said, and Kit found that his eyes could turn, after all. To see Gillian, staff in hand, standing at the edge of the clearing.

There was soot on her gown and in a smear of dirt across her face, but her hair looked like pure flame in the firelight. She had never appeared so beautiful, or so vulnerable. She wasn’t even trying to hide.

“And so you do,” Morgan hissed, her face full of triumph and madness. “Give me what I want, and you can save not one lover tonight, but two. I will release this one, and will help you find the other. You can save your husband, have whatever you want—”

“Sounds familiar,” someone murmured, and Kit looked down to see the little dhampir on the ground beneath him.

She was wearing a witch’s cloak, although why and where she’d got it from, he didn’t know. Until he noticed—Morgan must have done something to recall her people, for dozens of witches were suddenly ringing the glade, wands out and ready. Their dark cloaks helped them to blend in with the night, especially with the firelight rippling over them.

Presumably, one was missing hers, although what the dhampir thought she could do with it he had no idea.

“What I want,” Gillian said, walking forward.

“Yes!” Morgan cried. “Help me; we don’t have to fight, sister—”

“But I am not your sister.”

“You could be. We worked together once; we could again—”

“I am Mother.” The staff came down, and although it had been a slight motion, with no force behind it, the ground shook and a storm of burning leaves rained down onto the ring of witches.

Some of them ducked and shielded, although there was no real danger; others stood firm, but clenched their wands tighter. This was shaping up to be a fight and they knew it as well as Kit did. He just didn’t know what to do about it.

“Mother, then,” Morgan said, not skipping a beat. “If you wish to lead, once this is done, we can discuss it—”

“I don’t wish to lead, Morgan. I don’t wish any of this. You asked me what I wanted? Peace. Security for me and mine. Hope—how long has it been since we felt that?”

“And you may have it!” Morgan said, glancing quickly at the sky, where the storm was reaching its apex. “Help me now and you will have whatever you want—”