“Goddess? Is there something you’d like us to do? A dance you’d like us to learn?” an attractive young woman asked, curtsying gracefully.

“You were one of the waltzers, were you not?” Neferet said.

“Yes, Goddess. My name is Taylor.”

Neferet sighed in disgust. “Oh, no matter. I’ll let you keep that name.”

“Th-thank you, Goddess,” Taylor said hesitantly.

“And yes, Taylor, there is something monumental I want the twelve of you to do before sunrise, which is only a little more than an hour away. In celebration of such an extraordinary event, I shall break my own decree and speak her name. Lynette”—Neferet spoke the name carefully; to her it tasted of betrayal—“noted that each of you is especially kind.”

Taylor’s smile was hesitant but genuine. “That was nice of her.” The woman glanced around the penthouse. “Where is Lynette?”

Reminding herself that she might need all twelve of them, Neferet did not strike Taylor down. Instead, with enormous patience she said, “Taylor, I said that I shall break my decree and speak her name. I did not say anyone else could.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Goddess,” Taylor said quickly, bobbing another curtsy.

“That is quite all right, and quite understandable. I should have made myself clearer. Think nothing of it, Taylor. So, as I was saying, Lynette made note of each of you. I wanted to be sure you understood that you are here because of her.” A shiver of fear began to move through the group. Neferet felt it with them and smiled. “Why don’t you sit in the living room? I prefer you to be comfortable. Kylee, would you pour champagne for my supplicants, please. Judson, go to that clever little writing desk that is in my bedchamber and bring me one of those lovely Tulsa postcards and a pen.”

While her servants did her bidding, Neferet opened the glass door that led to the balcony. Wind whipped inside, carrying the scent of rain with it. Neferet opened her arms, reveling in the power in the atmosphere that foretold a storm. As if she’d drawn it through her desire, thunder rolled in the distance and lightning followed it, gleeful and bright, across the sky. “This is a truly magnificent night! A predawn storm is my absolute favorite. I do adore Oklahoma in the springtime.”

“Goddess, your postcard and pen.”

“Thank you, Judson.” Neferet took the card, and in her flowing script she wrote four words on it. When she was finished, she looked up, smiling at the frightened group. “Now, who shall be first?” Neferet tapped her chin, as if considering. “Taylor! It will be you!”

“What can I do for you, Goddess?” Taylor asked nervously, though she added her honest, kindhearted smile to the question.

“Come here, my dear. First I want to give you this.”

Taylor trembled as she approached Neferet. “Let’s see, yes, I think the front pocket of those slacks will do. They are made of such a fine-quality material with nice deep pockets. Lynette was right, I am going to ban the wearing of jeans. Let us hope she was just as right about this little group.” She smiled at Taylor and handed her the postcard. “Put this in your pocket, please.”

Taylor glanced at the card, put it in her pocket, and asked, “What does ‘one every five minutes’ mean?”

“Well, Taylor, if my calculations are correct, it means one of you is going to die every five minutes. Judson and Tony, bring Taylor along.”

Neferet strode onto the balcony, glad the wind carried away Taylor’s pathetic screams. “There”—she pointed to the front of the balcony—“throw her from there. Swing her several times so that you give her a good toss. If I understand the intent behind the wretched spell that binds me here, kindhearted Taylor should pass through the barrier untouched so that she can fall, shrieking, to the pavement below.”

With no emotion, the two men swung the hysterical girl once, twice, thrice, and then heaved her up and over the balcony. Curious, Neferet watched her windmill her arms and legs until she landed almost exactly where Neferet had imagined.

“Next time aim a little more to the right,” she commanded the men. Then she returned to the penthouse door and the screaming, panicked people within. “The loudest of you will go next!” Like snuffing a candle, they muffled their own screams. “Kylee, set the kitchen timer for five minutes,” she said, then she shut the door to the penthouse, took the Glock that Judson had found in pharmaceutical representative’s room, and sat at the wrought-iron bistro table she’d chosen earlier for its height and stability.

“Come to me, children,” Neferet commanded.

The tendrils obeyed her immediately, swarming to her and circling around her bare feet. She studied them carefully, finally bending to pick up an especially fat one. Neferet placed it on the top of the little table before her.

“This will be over swiftly,” she told the waiting tendril. “I will honor your sacrifice with my own blood.” Though it trembled, the creature did not struggle or try to escape. Neferet smiled. “You are brave and strong—exactly what my spell needs. And so it begins!” She pierced the black, rubbery flesh near the tendril’s open mouth, and then, in one swift motion, Neferet ripped a thin thread of skin from her child.

Precious flesh filled with magick power

Obey my command; fulfill my will

Kalona’s end I prophesy within this hour

The masquerading immortal I shall kill!

Neferet lifted the Glock and wrapped the bloody thread of skin around its muzzle, covering the weapon in Darkness. Then she pursed her full lips and blew on it. As her breath touched the tendril, it rippled and then disappeared, having been fully absorbed.

“If I am right, and I am rarely wrong, that should do very, very well.” Absently, Neferet slit the inside of her forearm and offered the scarlet slash to the wounded tendril, who eagerly began to feed and heal itself.

Then Neferet sipped her wine and waited.

Kalona

“Do her eyes always bleed like that when she has a vision?” Marx asked him.

Before he could respond, his son answered for him. “Yes. The visions cause her a lot of pain. Stevie Rae and Zoey worry about her, especially because the intensity of them seems to be getting worse.”

Kalona and Marx hadn’t left Nyx’s Temple, but they had moved to one of the candlelit meditation alcoves, along with Rephaim, making way for Stevie Rae and Damien, whom Zoey had called to bring wet washcloths, fresh clothing and, after much discussion, a bottle of red wine. Aphrodite had gotten sick when Darius had tried to move her, so Darius had announced it was in the Goddess’s Temple his Priestess would remain until she was recovered.

Truth be told, Kalona had been glad for the excuse to stay within Nyx’s Temple. After so long being absent, he couldn’t seem to get enough of the Goddess’s presence, even if it was only through the blessed energy that, as surely as vanilla and lavender, permeated the air.

“Father, the vision troubles me.” The worry in Rephaim’s voice brought Kalona’s attention from the ethereal to the tangible.

He smiled at his son, enjoying the warm feeling it gave him to accept the boy’s affection. “It is no more than symbolism. You know how much Aphrodite dislikes symbolism. That is why she prefers a literal interpretation.”

“But she saw you fall and die.”

“And she said it was a real death, not a symbol,” Marx added.

Kalona shrugged. “Yet here I am, two feet solidly on the ground, very much alive.”

“But not completely immortal.” Rephaim spoke the words so softly that Marx said, “What was that, Rephaim? Your father isn’t what?”

“My son worries too much.” Kalona cut Rephaim off, giving him a look that stopped whatever else he might have said. “The truth is, Aphrodite has seen Zoey’s death twice, as well as her grandmother’s death. There stands Zoey. And you know Sylvia Redbird is alive and well.” Kalona put his hand on his son’s shoulder, pleased by his concern but also wanting to alleviate it. “It is less than an hour until dawn. Should you not be—”