their laws. Despite protections given to nonhumans, many of the witches were killed. The Light line was eradicated entirely, and the Arun and Vida lines, both of which were exclusively hunters, were cut down to a bare handful of survivors.
When the original Midnight had burned to the ground in 1804, there had been celebrations throughout the world. Unfortunately, though destroying its base of operations had weakened the empire sufficiently for other groups to regain control, the hunters at the time had not been able to eliminate the vampires themselves. Whispers of Midnight’s return had become increasingly common lately.
The original Midnight had been out west, beyond the area claimed at that time by the newborn United States, in the no-man’s-land where white men had not yet established dominion. Could the new one really have its heart here, arrogantly close not only to human civilization but to the headquarters of so many of Midnight’s most serious enemies? Most of Jay’s extended family, including almost all the vampire-hunting witches he knew, lived in New England. The Bruja guilds—a trio of mercenary groups that reputedly had originally been founded specifically to oppose Midnight—had their guild halls in Massachusetts and New York. Jay couldn’t help but feel that such placement was meant to be a deliberate slap in the face.
If Midnight was here, Jay needed to know. If he was right, this would give hunters a chance to bring the empire to its knees before it could get back on its feet. He just needed information, and then he could contact his allies and begin to plan the hunt of a lifetime.
He changed clothes quickly in the backseat of his car and then went hiking behind Kendra’s home, which bordered the same unnaturally quiet forest he had explored behind Xeke’s apartment. Jay might not have been able to sense the magic directly, but the animals could.
Could the shapeshifter at SingleEarth have been damaged by this magic? She had an ominous forest in her mind, choking her mentally and keeping her a prisoner in her own brain. Could the menacing force Jay had sensed from her be Midnight?
He held his shields a little tighter. It would make it harder for him to sense magic, but he hadn’t been able to do that yet anyway. He needed to make sure he was as protected as he could be.
He could feel the forest’s heart. Most woods, especially older ones, had some sense of their center, but this was a young forest, easily impressionable; if it had a heart, it was probably one that had been thrust upon it magically, not one that had grown there organically.
Jay headed toward that pulse, keeping an eye—literally and magically—on the ebb and flow of the trees, underbrush, and snow. Magic’s presence changed how natural things grew. The magic around this place might have been intended to hide something, so those who stumbled across it couldn’t find their way back, but that power could also serve as a beacon.
And there it was—that high wrought-iron fence with the metal ravens at the top. Beyond, he could see stables and gardens. Following the fence brought him around to the front of the property, where a narrow road made a path like an arrow straight to the front door of a sprawling structure that seemed to be the spawn of a manor house and a medieval castle.
He sensed the guards at the front in time to avoid their notice, and stayed far enough away that he knew he wouldn’t be seen from the road.
If Jay followed the road back, out of the forest, he would be able to determine where it intersected with a main road. He would know exactly where he was. He knew many hunters—some witches, some not—who would be interested in such information.
He kept parallel to the road from a safe distance away, trekking through the thick, snowy underbrush and checking back occasionally to make sure he was on course.
That was the theory, anyway, and it should have worked.
He had walked for about an hour, with the road always on his left, but suddenly he was facing the black gates of Midnight once again.
Impossible—except in the presence of a powerful spell, capable of disorienting him and rearranging his memories.
Time to pull out the big guns.
Jay Marinitch wasn’t an average witch. In polite circles, he was considered a prodigy. Those less concerned with being polite referred to him as the idiot savant of his line. He had never met a power he couldn’t match,