“So,” he whispered, “just to confirm, we’re surrounded by extremely old, extremely competent blood-drinkers.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Great,” he replied. “Love that for us.”
My ex ribbited loudly, unimpressed by the revelation, and hopped forward as if inspecting his new audience.
Several more of the women noticed him immediately.
“Oh,” one said, peering down. “That’s unfortunate.”
Another tilted her head. “That spell’s messy.”
“Personal,” a third added. “Always personal.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Of course you’d all clock that immediately.”
Stella smirked. “We appreciate a good curse. Even when we disapprove of the target.”
Footsteps echoed from the far corridor then, steady and unmistakably purposeful. The murmur of conversation shifted as heads turned, a subtle straightening rippling through the gathered vampires like a tide responding to the moon.
Lady Limora appeared first.
She moved with effortless authority, robe flowing, eyes bright with satisfaction as she took in the scene. Opal flanked her on one side, sharp-eyed and already assessing sightlines, while Vivienne drifted on the other, her expression serene in the way that usually preceded chaos. Mara was nowhere to be seen.
“Well,” Lady Limora said, clapping her hands once. “Everyone made it.”
Maeve, that was me, found her voice again.
“Would you like to explain,” I asked carefully, “why my Academy looks like a reunion for the undead elite?”
Lady Limora smiled at me as if I’d just asked the right question.
“Because the Priestess isn’t lounging at a spa,” she said simply. “And neither should we.”
That sent a chill through the hall, subtle but unmistakable.
Opal folded her arms. “She’s quietly moving pieces.”
“And when quiet pieces move,” Vivienne added, “it’s never for something small.”
“So, you summoned… backup.” I crossed my arms, grounding myself.
I rather liked the idea.
Lady Limora inclined her head. “Tried and true backup.”
Stella snorted. “You could’ve warned me. I would’ve worn something with more zest.”
“You look fine,” Lady Limora said. “Besides, these women don’t care about appearances. They care about outcomes.”
She gestured broadly to the hall. “These are women with spines and fangs of steel. Survivors. Strategists. The kind of gals who don’t panic when the world tilts.”
One of the vampires raised her teacup in agreement, where she got it from, I couldn’t say.
“You think trouble’s coming,” I said.
Lady Limora met my gaze squarely. “I know it is.”
