The Center was the main training ground for Daylight soldiers, and because a magik’s power didn’t reach its full potential until their eighteenth birthday, a magik had to be eighteen to join the Center. The same was true for any supernatural being—it was like joining the army. A supernatural had to be a legal adult to make that choice.
From what Marion had told Caia, it not only involved physical training and strategizing but provided classes on how to use magik and elements. The majority of magiks taught their children all they needed to know, but the most powerful magiks tended to be those who were taught at the Center. It sounded like an interesting place, and Caia would go if only to get it over with so she could return to the pack.
“Marion.” She sat across from her on the sofa. “Saffron.”
The faerie smirked, which was more of a response than anyone else got out of her. She was beginning to think the shapeshifter liked her.
“So.” The magik smiled brightly, but Caia detected the strain in her expression. “What news from the Dark Coven?”
Caia obediently handed over her written report. “You asked me to look specifically for any mention of the New York Króls. I learned that Nikolai has asked to abandon the attack. Too risky in light of the instability of the Midnights.”
Nikolai Petrovsky was the new Regent of the Midnight Coven and had been appointed by their Council since Ethan had gone “missing.” The fact that Gaia would not imbue Nikolai with trace magik when the Council put him forward as the new Head led the Midnights to believe that Ethan was still alive somewhere. For now, the Council voted in Nikolai’s rule as regent. Of course, they were blithely unaware of Caia’s existence.
Caia looked between Marion and Lucien, unsure of their reaction to her next piece of news. “In fact … Nikolai has asked that all attacks against us be abandoned until there is definitive news of Ethan’s whereabouts.”
Lucien quirked an eyebrow as he glanced at Marion, interested more in her reaction than anything else. Marion, for her part, had stiffened in surprise. Even Saffron looked up from her nails in interest. After a few minutes of silence, Marion cleared her throat.
“Well … that’s unexpected.”
Yeah.
“But what does it mean?” Caia asked.
The witch shrugged. “You should know better than anyone what it means.”
“I don’t. Nikolai is strong, and his emotions are not as easy to read through the trace as it is with the others.”
She nodded. “The Petrovskys are an influential family, have been for many generations.”
Caia knew this; she’d felt the respect he garnered from other Midnights and the reasons why. His decision to stop attacks against the Daylight Coven confused Caia, not only because she couldn’t feel the reason from him—only what he told the others—but because lately, her connection to the Midnights had raised questions. She was feeling emotions from some of them that suggested the war was not exactly what she thought it was—or had been led to think it was.
She snapped out of her musings to find Marion frowning at her. “Caia, it doesn’t mean anything significant. Nikolai is obviously rallying the troops until he feels the coven is secure enough to return to their tried-and-true style of warfare.” She curled her lip distastefully. “Neanderthals that they are.”
Lucien turned to Caia. He seemed to read her confusion and smiled reassuringly. “Marion’s right. The Dark Coven is just a little shook up right now. They’re taking precautions, but it doesn’t mean anything.”
If that was true, then why didn’t she feel so sure?
Caia nodded reluctantly because what she was about to impart was going to further their belief that Midnights were not to be trusted to play the game with a cool head. She took a deep breath. “Despite Nikolai’s orders, he has a rebel in his midst. A guy called Pierre du Bois?”
A wrinkle of concentration appeared between Marion’s eyebrows. “Du Bois? Du Bois? I know that name, but it’s not one belonging to the old families. What is he up to?”
“This warlock has gone behind Nikolai’s back and raised a small group of dissenters against Nikolai’s decision. It seems he has a problem with one of the city packs from here. The MacLachlans?”
Lucien grunted in surprise. “The MacLachlans live, what, three hundred miles north of here? But … they’re not a huge pack.” His eyes swung to Marion. “What are the Midnights doing going after a relatively small pack?”
“The MacLachlans are an old Scottish pack,” Saffron spoke up, moving gracefully closer to them. “They sprung up around the end of the thirteenth century in Renfrewshire, Scotland, and have gifted the Daylight Coven with great Rogue Hunters throughout the centuries. I’ve worked with …” She perched beside Marion, studying her mistress as if she would find the answer in her face. “Hmm … eight, nine generations of Rogue Hunters from that pack.”