Suffice it to say that I was less than happy with the turn of events. Cherina wouldn’t listen to me. The Man Upstairs determined that the Celestials should not join the battle. So, we had to deal with the mess on our own.
We had two witches who sold out their brethren—along with all the other supernaturals in existence—for artificial gains. One thought she’d finally get longevity while the other was after who knew what. Knowing Maeve Highmore the way that I did, I could only assume that the witch-hunters promised her power, and she jumped on the opportunity like an addict in need of his or her drug of choice.
Making matters worse, however, were the missing kids and whatever the hunters supposedly did to them. Children should have been taboo, but youth didn’t escape the witch craze centuries ago. Why should they fare better in modern times?
I’d admit to anyone that I was one selfish bitch. Up until I let Claudius Najex out of the attic, I only did what was best for me. Frankly, doing shit for others hadn’t gotten me too far in life. It took the Plague and the Falls Creek Massacre to mellow my heart. After those tragedies, I decided that hurting children was off-limits.
But those self-serving humans had crossed the line. It was bad enough that the hunters had turned into kidnappers. They’d allowed Maeve or Rose or maybe even the Merciers to enhance them—making it possible for a normal human to possess the body of a supernatural. Unheard of and plain fucking dangerous.
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