XXXI: Introductions

The Coven House had been in the Darjeeling family for more than 20 generations, starting off as a tiny shack and developing into the monstrosity that it was now. Maye, the only child of her parents, was childless at 26, and so shared the house instead with the Coven Diviner, Morgan Mirkhill, who, at age 112, was the oldest member of the Coven. Morgan was blind, and often not entirely sober, though what substances she used to ‘enhance’ herself was beyond anyone. The Coven was not gathered on this particular evening, instead Maye was sitting quietly in front of the television watching the latest episode of True Blood, only somewhat disgusted by the fact that she was watching it alone. Morgan was, oddly, not in the house at all, but rather had called Aeron Smithson, the second eldest Coven member to come and pick her up several hours ago. Perhaps she had had a sense of what was to come, perhaps not, it was never easy to tell with Morgan. Much like reading tea-leaves, she left much to the interpretation of others and sought rarely to explain herself.

Maye answered the door only on the second chime of the bell, muttering darkly that she was about to miss yet another cliff-hanger moment of her secret passion.

“Can I help you?” she asked the tall imposing woman on her doorstep.

“Maye Darjeeling, you are overstepping your bounds,” the woman told her, her voice strangely accented.

“Overstepping my – ?”

“Yes...” the woman said boredly, looking past her into the house, “with the Rift and the Coven. Do you know how rare a good Dreamer is?”

“Wha – ”

“Do you know why?”

“Who the hell are you?” Maye demanded sharply, she did not like the feeling of this.

“You may call me Medea.”

XXX: Awareness

Alyxa sat quiet in her living room, her legs tucked beneath her, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She stared out into the street. It was night and the street lights were burning with their soft glow, illuminating the rain-soaked street. Everything she looked at seemed grey still, as though the Dreamed threat was spreading from her mind to the world around her. Amy was staring at her, she knew, she also knew that Bast and Morpheus were conversing in that silent manner of theirs. She hoped they talked about what it meant to ‘stop the Coven’. What did it mean? Four ‘agents’? Her thoughts ran together in single streams that branched off before she could make sense of any of it. Morpheus had drunk from her again that morning, but gently, igniting her pleasure points before drawing back again. It was the only flash of colour that she had seen since he had urged her to sleep. Bast had been sitting on the window sill, her tail flicking in irritation every now and then. Suddenly she looked up and hissed.

“The Witch is here,” she snarled.

Morpheus suddenly came into the room.

“You are sure?” 

“Am I a cat?” Bast snapped.

“She will empty their veins and set fire to their flesh while they still breathe.”

“Can people really do that?” Amy asked, looking up from her drawing.

“Not in front of the child,” Bast muttered, and instantly the conversation returned to the state of silence.

Alyxa caught Morpheus’ hand just as he passed her. She did not look up.

“Who is ‘the Witch’?”

Morpheus’ green eyes glanced at Bast.

“She is here, nothing else matters,” the Cat-Goddess stated, “are you coming, Morpheus?”

“We will need the car,” Morpheus murmured, “Alyxa will you – ”

“I’ll drive you,” Alyxa whispered. 

XXIX: Elegance

The storm clouds parted quite elegantly to let the small private jet through, closing with thunderous lightening as soon as the wheels steamed against the tarmac of the landing strip. She tucked the cigarette filter back into its case and returned it to her handbag with an elegant gloved hand. She didn’t really know why she was still in the Hepburn phase, but she enjoyed it and so it had stuck, albeit in reds and blacks.

“Mistress, the car is waiting as you asked,” the pilot said, sticking his head out of the cockpit.

“Excellent.”

She made her way down the steps and into the car; the door was closed behind her by the chauffeur. The car purred forward and she sat back, fiddling with the necklace around her throat. For a second it glowed and the glow caught in her eyes.

-Sir?-

-Medea, you know what you’re doing?-

-I have done this before, sir.-

-Yes, several times, and as I recall there tended to be limbs strewn about the place, usually of small children. Artistic, certainly, but lacking...subtlety.-

-Are you complaining?- Medea snapped silently.

-No, but this time...listen, darlin’, we don’t need them dead.-

-We’ve been over this before, sir.-

-Yes, and you still somehow managed to get three pairs of feet up into the rafters, and the house didn’t even have rafters.-

Medea rolled her eyes and tugged her filter case and cigarettes back out of her bag, expertly lighting one up with one hand.

-I will avoid that. In fact, I won’t shed blood, would that make you happy, sir?- she asked him.

-I’d appreciate it, Medea.-

The connection faded as swiftly as it had come. She tapped the end of the filter against the glass.

“Swing by the store, I require rope.”

“As you wish, Mistress.”