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Finally, the trees around her thinned out. She drove onto a vast prairie land. And as she spotted the badland-type landscape beyond it, she knew she was close to the town.
A few days’ drive from here, Aeon was a beautiful place with all its lush land. But as Wynter looked at all the cliffs, crooks, hills, and multi-colored tall, rock spires in the distance up ahead, she found herself more in awe of this place than she’d ever been of her old home. There was a surreal, haunting, primal beauty to all the stark, untamed, rugged landscape here.
She’d half-expected to come up against some kind of shield before getting this far, or to at least be stopped at an outpost and forced to state her purpose. But there were no magickal wards, no forcefields, no border control of any sort.
As she continued to follow the dirt road that cut through the prairie and led to the base of the rocky terrain, she kept a careful lookout for signs of life. But there were no guards stationed anywhere, and no one seemed to be patrolling the area.
And then she got it.
A smile curved her mouth. They didn’t stop potential enemies from entering the town, because they believed in letting their prey come to them. It was a trap, really. Any enemies would arrogantly stroll into the heart of the Ancients’ territory … and then they’d be taken out.
Cocky, but smart.
Reaching the end of the prairie, she drove through crannies, under arches, and then shot through a short tunnel. Exiting it, she felt her lips hitch up. Oh, they’d arrived.
“Looks like a cross between a military compound and a coastal town,” said Delilah, leaning forward slightly.
Houses of various shapes, sizes, and colors bordered a pretty plaza. Beyond them were warehouses, pastureland, and utility structures. Trees, shrubs, lakes, and steep mountains lay on the outskirts, almost framing the town.
There was no shortage of people hanging around, even at this late hour. A few meandered along the plaza’s cobbled paths. Others stood outside houses or bars or other establishments. One particular group was gathered around a bonfire, laughing and drinking.
Since no particular place shouted,You’ll find an Ancient here, she pulled up at the curb and asked one resident where she should be looking. Even as he eyed her warily, he easily gave her directions to “the Ancients’ base,” which was apparently some kind of stately building.
Wynter thanked him and drove on. “I half-expected him to be rude or not answer. I mean, everyone we spoke to about this place was clear that the people here aren’t all that friendly toward outsiders.” Maybe he hadn’t been an ass because he’d once been in their position.
“Ooh, I see a herbalist store,” said Delilah. “I wonder if they’re hiring.”
Wynter slid her a frown. “Uh, not sure that’d be the best place of work for you.”
Delilah’s back snapped straight. “I ama masterwith herbs.”
“Undeniable,” said Wynter. “But you like many of your concoctions to have horrific side effects.”
“Only if I don’t like the personality or intention of the customer who buys them.”
Delilah had once made a living from selling forbidden concoctions on the black market. But they always had ‘side effects.’ So, for instance, a guy looking for a date-rape potion would suddenly find himself suffering from a case of penile necrosis even if he hadn’t himself ingested the concoction. In short, the magick backfired.
“I like to be a vessel for karma,” Delilah added, lifting one shoulder in an unapologetic shrug.
“But your old customers didn’t, and so came the backlash. I suspect there’ll be peoplehereyou won’t like. I don’t want to have to kill someone because they threatened you.”
“Aw, you’d do that for me? You’re such a good Priestess. I justloveour coven.”
Wynter’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I amnota Priestess.”
“Every coven has to have one,” said Delilah, her eyes dancing.
Which was why Wynter had firmly decided that … “This isnota coven.” But Delilah persisted with this shit just to irritate her. “All I’m saying is that we’ll struggle to keep a low profile if you’re mutating the bodies of people you dislike.”
As she pulled up outside tall iron gates that surrounded a dark, gothic, three-story Victorian manor, Wynter let out a low whistle. The building was as impressive as it was imposing. Slate multi-faceted roof. Towers and turrets. Decorative trimming. Wrought-iron balconies. Wide wrap-around porch. Stained glass in the door and arched windows.
“Some base,” said Xavier, shifting forward in his seat.
Yanking up her metaphorical bootstraps, Wynter reached out of the open car window and pressed the intercom button on the security post.
After a few moments, there was a crackle of static. “Can I help you?” a rough voice asked.
“I’d like to talk to an Ancient, if possible,” she said, not bothering with chit-chat.
