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“He headed out to meet with Lorian and the entire Nightwing Security. Kol’s visit to Petrus revealed something dangerous is definitely lurking in our midst.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to Lucius about.” I tossed the pillow in frustration.
“You mean, you and Kol didn’t discuss it last night?” Her wicked grin was totally unbearable.
“I’ll punch you again, Jess, if you keep that up.”
“Fine.” She glanced out the glass wall into another blustery gray day. “Petrus said blood-drinking was used by witches.”
I followed her gaze. The thick cloud cover pressing down promised more snow. “He told me about some witches living up north when we visited. But they’re supposedly nature-loving and the like.”
“That may be so now, but according to Petrus, there were once dragon witches who used sacrificial blood, meaning blood taken from an unwilling human, to cast different spells. They used the life blood to enhance and sometimes twist the inherent gifts of their dragon.”
“He mentioned something like that, but he never said they practiced blood-drinking. Of course, I didn’t think to ask because that was before we deduced the victims were being harvested for blood.”
Jessen’s expression pinched with a pensive thought. “Kol said that there was even a witch in his own ancestry. She used the blood of innocents to twist their gift of dreamwalking. Empowered by blood, she could enter the mind of almost anyone and change their thoughts, their memories. She changed them to benefit her own power. She also used it to plague her enemies with chronic nightmares, driving them mad.”
I stood up, mouth agape. Crossing to the window, I watched a white-winged Morgon land on a nearby rooftop, graceful and lovely. “Okay. But you’re talking about ancient history. The dragons are all dead. What you’re implying is that there are Morgon witches using these kidnapped girls for their blood in the here and now. It must be this coven of the Syren Sisterhood following the old rituals.”
Jess nodded, her expression grave. “So you know about them.”
“Petrus already explained that they exist, but live far away from both human and Morgonkind, living sort of like cloistered priestesses up in the Wastelands of Aria. They never leave, and allegedly only use their craft for good, using animal blood for their rituals.”
“Until now,” added Jessen.
“Until now. But that’s a big if the Syren Sisterhood is involved. If they are truly a private sisterhood, living outside of society, what would be their benefit to aid a brutal band of raping, murdering Morgon men? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
We both stewed in silence. I contemplated the idea of blood being harvested for witchcraft. The idea of a coven living far to the northeast in the frozen wastelands connected to the Butchers defied any sort of logic.
“Did Kol mention his thoughts on this new revelation? What am I saying? Of course, he didn’t. The man’s mind is a steel trap. You won’t get anything unless he wants you to.”
“No.” She smiled. “But I did hear him tell Lucius he’s organized a party to go to the Sisterhood’s stronghold to see what can be discovered.”
“And the witches were always female?” I asked, pacing near the window.
“That I don’t know. Kol was in a hurry to meet with the Guard in Drakos, one of his prime objectives being to send some men on this mission to the coven in Aria. Lucius briefed me quickly, then headed out the door to meet with his security team.”
“Aunt Moira!”
I spun to find Julian barreling across the living room. He lifted himself with fluttering wings into my arms. My emotions in turmoil, it only took one tight hug from this kid to lift my heart back to where it belonged.
“Whoa!” I laughed. “Hey there, big guy.”
“I like having you live here. I see you so much more.”
Bright blue eyes sparkled. Jessen stood up, arching her back, making her mound more pronounced. “Come on, Julian. Let’s get you some lunch.”
“I’ll take him, Jess. Why don’t you get some rest.”
She considered for about two seconds. “Well, if you don’t mind, I would love that. A little nap would do me good.”
“Go ahead. Julian and I will hold down the fort.”
“Yeah, we’ve got it, Mom.”
I set him down and took him by the hand. “Let’s go see what Ruth has in the kitchen.”
We found Ruth in full swing, popping chicken pies into the oven for dinner. I started for the refrigerator, but she shooed us to the dining room table where she already had a sandwich and chips with cold milk waiting for her youngest charge.
