7. The War Council

Introductions over, and Leo tucked away in bed upstairs in the room he was sharing with his parents, the family meeting, or War Council as they'd taken to calling it, started off with a tense, slightly awkward silence.

Angel sat beside him on a loveseat near the head of the circle of chairs and couches, having moved most of the furniture to accommodate their numbers. Everyone was paired off, sitting in chairs pulled close together or snuggled together as space allowed. Milly sat in an armchair on Angel's side of the loveseat, the only one without a significant other present, though Milly gave no indication that she cared or noticed.

The newlyweds sat nearest the door of the library that opened to the foyer, which was partially closed, open enough for a growing dragon to come and go as he pleased, though Eroch was currently snoring on a collection of pillows, cushions, and blankets on the empty hearth of one of the room's fireplaces. The poor beastie hardly twitched when Angel and Simeon moved him to the hearth from the couch he was using, too exhausted from his growth spurt.

Simeon looked to the door and Ashwin slipped into the library without a sound, gracefully cutting through the furniture to reach his mate, sitting beside Ignacio on the couch and taking one of his hands, threading their fingers together. No one said anything, and the only sound was of muted heartbeats from mortal mates and their breathing, and the light snores of the dragon across the room.

"Leo settled in?" Ignacio asked his mate quietly.

Ashwin gave his mate a soft smile. "Out like a light. He's still exhausted from the last few days. I'll hear him if he wakes, but I want to check on him in about an hour just in case."

Ignacio pressed a kiss to his mate's forehead and then looked to Angel expectantly.

Angel tensed, the motion imperceptible to the others, but Simeon and Angel were pressed together shoulder to thigh, and he felt the gradual relaxation as Angel forced himself to calm down.

"Celyn," Angel addressed the young fae, who sat up a bit straighter in his seat beside Remi, the two holding hands like everyone else in the room. Remi's gaze sharpened and fixed on Angel, cautious and tense, clearly protective of the young man at his side. Simeon sensed they weren't mates yet, but would be soon if they kept on as they were. Remi was only going to grow more protective of Celyn as the days went on.

"Yes?" Celyn asked, a bit nervous.

"From what I gather, you got pulled into this only a few days ago. Do you want to be here? We can get you in a safer place if you don't want to be involved in this conflict. Master Batiste has offered you an apartment in the Tower until it's safe for you to go home. Getting you out of Boston might be too dangerous—we don't want the Council attempting to grab you if you go home." Angel paused, then went ahead, as if worried how Celyn might react. "The Council is not above kidnapping and holding people hostage in an attempt to coerce others."

It went unsaid what the Council might do to anyone they took hostage. Nothing good.

Celyn and Remi locked gazes and had what Simeon could only describe as a silent argument. After a long moment of staring, Remi frowned. Celyn's full mouth twitched into a satisfied grin. He turned back to Angel. "The Council tried to kill me and Remi. I hate everything they stand for and I refuse to go home with Remi in danger. I'm not sure what help I can be, but I want to stay with Remi. I understand it's dangerous. I'd like to stay, please."

"Anything you hear and learn must be kept secret. You cannot share with your friends or family. Our lives depend on your discretion. You can tell your loved ones how you are and where, but nothing else."

Celyn paled a bit, eyes wide, but he clung to Remi's hand and held on tight. "I won't breathe a word of what's going on to anyone. I swear."

Simeon heard the truth in Celyn's heartbeat, and gave Angel a short nod when his mate subtly glanced his way. Angel gave Celyn a soft smile. "I believe you. Thank you. We'll get into the details of what abilities you may have and what you're willing to do later." Angel addressed everyone present, making eye contact with his family and friends. "I don't know if conflict with the High Council can be avoided. I don't want another war. I don't want anyone to die. The best outcome would be the Council cutting their losses and going back to Europe. I doubt that's their plan, but I'm speaking it into the universe just in case."

The High Council of Sorcery always had the goal of being one of, if not the most, powerful governmental authorities in the world. Operating on a philosophical belief in practitioner supremacy, the High Council through the centuries subjugated, eradicated, or coerced multiple clans, packs, fae peoples, and various supernatural communities with the goal to strip them of resources, power, and land. All under the guise of moral authority, philanthropy, and thinly-veiled dogmatic beliefs.

"Fascists never want compromise or peace—it severs their power-base from the mechanisms that give their movement its momentum. This violent bullshit is how they maintain power. Having an enemy, a target, to other or that needs to be defeated helps keep them in money and power. The High Council fuckwits need the Salvatore Clan to die." Celyn snapped his mouth shut when he noticed the rapt attention of everyone present. He blushed. "Sorry. I'm an art major, but I'm minoring in modern European history. Fascism is a recurring evil in human history. And practitioners are human, no matter how they pretend otherwise."

Remi lifted their joined hands to his mouth and kissed the back of Celyn's knuckles. "Kedvesem, you are a delight. My lovely anti-fascist." Celyn blushed and ducked his head, his curls covering his eyes.

Remi let Celyn hide behind his hair and spoke to Angel. "The High Council has been overt in their machinations in Europe for the last several months. Rumors abound of practitioner families decimated by enforcers under false charges, or those with rarer gifts disappearing without a trace. The blood clans in Europe and Asia that are independent of the Council are experiencing pressure to capitulate to Council authority. There's been little success there, especially after the losses of Montreal and Boston. The world witnessed a single necromancer defeat the highest magical authority in the world, and that is inspiring others to defy the Council's desires and orders."

"Families are being attacked by the Council?" Angel asked, leaning forward a bit. Milly settled her gimlet gaze on the young man with intense interest. "I haven't heard anything about that."

Celyn perked up and all but wiggled in his chair. "Rumors have been flying around my university about practitioner families getting attacked since last winter. The university I go to in Budapest has a lot of students from practitioner clans, many of them children of High Council employees or council members. It was hard not to hear rumors of trumped-up charges and the enforcers arresting people. News of anything the Council ordered and had plans for, the student body heard about, and lots of it never reached the news media."

"The Council is seated in Budapest. They've long kept their children schooled at home or in nearby, Council-controlled schools in the city to maintain their power," Milly said quietly. "Practitioners as a whole are as gossipy as vampires." She narrowed her eyes, Celyn gulping audibly as she fixed him with a sharp stare. "What families are the Council after?"

"I never heard specifics like names and stuff, but the clans being attacked were said to have never worked for the Council, refused to work for the Council, or had members that were exceptionally gifted. Those were always the ones that stood out the most in the rumors." Celyn nibbled on his lower lip. "Last one I heard before we escaped Budapest was about a family in Spain that got attacked because the son was a necromancer and the Council wanted the kid. I think they got away, though."

He couldn't help it—he jerked in his seat a bit and whipped his head around, staring at Ignacio and Ashwin in shock.

"What? What did I say?" Celyn asked, worried.

"Sorry," Angel told Celyn, "I didn't mean to startle you. You said nothing wrong." He took in Ignacio's tense jaw, the big man all but vibrating with strong emotions. Ashwin was statue-still and his eyes glowed a bit before the light receded and he made an effort to hold himself more like a human.

Ashwin leaned into his mate. "Iggy, my love, it's alright. Leo is safe. We're safe now. I'm fine, you're fine." Ash reached up and pulled Ignacio down to meet him, foreheads pressed together. "All is well, my love."

Being mated to Simeon gave Angel heightened senses and some more varied advantages compared to a mortal practitioner or mundane human. Nothing extreme—he could smell blood from a distance, his recovery time from injuries was shortened, and his hearing was, on occasion, exceptional. He had limited control over his improved senses so he had to really focus sometimes.

Ignacio's heart was racing. Hard thumps in his chest that spoke to Angel of a fear response, much like he used to have when surrounded by a large number of vampires soon after the Massacre. Some horror haunted Ignacio, something that required his mate to talk him back from the edge.

Angel sat back in his seat and pressed into Simeon. The room was silent, but in a soft, patient way. Most of the people in the room had something in their past that still affected them, no matter how long ago it might have been. Some horrors left scars that never truly healed.

The sound of heartbeats receded and Angel met the stormy eyes of his ancestor. Once again composed, Ignacio nevertheless held tightly to Ashwin, the vampire curled under his arm and almost in his lap, pressed as tightly as they could manage without getting indecent in mixed company.

"The family attacked in Spain." Angel said carefully, pausing a moment. It was less a question and more of a statement—Angel had no doubts. The answer was obvious from Ignacio and Ashwin's reaction. Angel was glad the boy was asleep upstairs and not present for the upcoming conversation. "It was you. The three of you."

Ignacio dipped his chin in a short nod, jaw tense enough to crack teeth. He didn't need to speak, and Ashwin rubbed a hand up and down his chest in a soothing motion.

"Yes, that was us." Ashwin answered for them. "We got away, but not without losses. We came here for sanctuary."

"Why here? After a hundred fucking years! We had no idea you were alive, that you existed! At the most, we knew Ashwin might be alive—Constans met him decades ago—but you! Our grandfather's great-grandfather!" Isaac burst out, interrupting Angel before he could ask a far kinder version of the same questions. "How did you know you'd be safe here, when our entire family is dead?" That last part was shouted. Eroch stirred on the hearth but did not wake, and everything seemed to freeze, Isaac's words echoing in the library.

Isaac made to leap off the couch he shared with Constantine, who caught him in his arms and held him back. Anger simmered in the air around the fire mage, red and orange sparks speaking to the depths of Isaac's grief and anger.

"We've always been safe here," Ignacio declared in a deep, heavy voice laden with confrontation, and only Ashwin's hand on his chest kept him from leaning forward to square off with Isaac. Constantine kept a solid grip on his mate as Isaac glared at Ignacio fiercely, and Angel did not want a fight to break out between Isaac and Ignacio.

He was saving the fight for himself.

"Isaac, enough." Angel didn't shout but he might as well have from the furious expression his brother gave him. Constantine wrapped a thick arm around Isaac and held him tightly to his side, lips to Isaac's ear, speaking low words of calm. Isaac was shaking from his outburst, hands clenched into fists, knuckles white.

"We'll deal with this issue once we've got up to speed on what's happening with the High Council and what we need to do about it. Regardless of what issues we have with Ignacio, the three of them came here for safety and we certainly aren't letting the High Council get their fucking hands on Leandro. So this fight is shelved, for now, is that understood?"

Angel glowered at Ignacio, receiving an intimidating scowl in return, but he held his ancestor's gaze until Ignacio gave him a short, brusque nod. Angel turned then to Isaac, and saw his affinity was no longer sparking to life around his head and shoulders, his emotions calming enough to reassert control over his magic. "Isaac?"

"Fine." Teeth gritted, Isaac growled his response. "We'll have words about it later."

"Good," Angel said, and took a deep breath of his own, working toward leveling his own emotions. He wanted nothing more than to scream it out with Ignacio, but they had a looming enemy outside their gates and a child to protect.

"Remi, Constans," Angel said, finding himself using the more personal version of Batiste's name, much to the amusement of the City Master, given the twitch of his lips in the ghost of a smile. "Tell me about the artifact you've got that's bothering my wards."

Constans nodded to Remi, who spoke as if their little emotional outburst hadn't just happened.

"My sire is Lady Philippa, and she tasked me with delivering a medallion and information to our cousin," Remi said, amusement lacing his lightly accented words. Eastern European—Angel had no ear for it, but likely Hungarian. The accent meant Remi had spent many years in the region of Budapest, long enough to acquire an accent that developed long after the fall of Rome. It was charming and reminded him of old-fashioned black and white films about Dracula. Remi certainly looked the part, too—very pale, red lips, fangs on display, eyes that flashed red when they caught the light. The black leather was different—he dressed like a biker from the Lost Boys, sans the metal spikes everywhere. "The High Council pursued me with lethal intent—I believe for the medallion and a thumb drive I was carrying as well. I know nothing about the thumb drive's contents, but the medallion is particular to our bloodlines."

"What is the medallion?" Angel asked, looking between Remi and Constans.

"The key to my sire's lair," Constantine answered. "He gave it to his children to safeguard until it was time for him to wake. The thumb drive is merely what information the High Council has gathered about my sire. I need to know what they do."

Angel felt the energy in the room change. Breaths were held, eyes wide, and even Isaac was at last distracted from his anger enough to ask his mate a question. "Rageshi? You mean Rageshi, right? The extremely old, crazy as fuck sire that somehow managed to Turn you when you were dying after being made into a blood magic sacrifice?"

"Yes, that Rageshi," Constans replied with another amused twitch to his lips, not quite a smile. "He slumbers still, worn down by eternity's passing. He has no mate nor close companion, and I feared he might seek destruction in search of peace instead of a long night's respite. The long years and the…unique situation he endured after his own Turning left him unstable. Yet for all his…peculiarities, Rageshi is phenomenally powerful, and if the High Council learned of his resting place, had the medallion, and managed to rouse him, they would gain an unstoppable advantage."

"Surely he wouldn't be on their side," Rory spoke up for the first time. "Not against his own bloodline. I've never met him, but from what I did hear about him, he never struck me as the type to be in league with such a regime."

Constans reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a silk-wrapped object, the energies around it a dark crimson and purple. He held it in his palm and gently pushed back the silk, holding it carefully to show the room the medallion.

A dragon head in profile forged in black iron within a circle, and beneath the dragon head was what appeared to be waves. It was old, very old, steeped in a magic so ancient that Angel had never seen its like before. Older even than the lich he surrendered to Nicademus, and until now, that magical creature had been the oldest structured spellwork Angel had ever witnessed.

"If the High Council had this medallion in their keeping, they would have Rageshi within their control. Lady Philippa has been the custodian of the medallion since I brought my bloodclan to the New World. We deemed it safer for her to hold it as she was closer to his lair, and we worried about the medallion being lost in the colonies if I were to be killed." Constans spoke quietly, his tone level, as if conveying the day's weather to a disinterested audience instead of revealing truths that left them staggered.

"That is blood magic," Angel leaned forward, inner vision coming to the fore without conscious bidding as he took the chance to examine the medallion. "But it has some structure, features that remind me of runes, and what could be sets of spells. It's older than the blood staff, older than the lich I fought. This is ancient. I've never seen structured magic last this long without decaying. Especially old-school blood magic, even in my limited experience."

"Forged by Rageshi's own sire the night Rageshi Turned, and the spells were set with Rageshi's own blood. It was meant to bring control to chaos, and worked, after a fashion. Rageshi's own nature fought against the primordial death magics that fashioned the sentient undead, and the medallion was made to balance the conflict."

"What conflict?"

Constans moved the medallion, fingers following the harsh edges of the metal. "When he was mortal, Rageshi was a mage. Born in a time before defined affinities and organized practice, before schools and western disciplines. Long before blood magic became about theft and madness."

"Practitioners can't be Turned into vampires," Daniel said, almost scandalized in disbelief. Not accusatory—it was a concept that flew in the face of centuries of accepted history and lore. There were cautionary tales of practitioners and vampires dying horrible deaths in the attempts to Turn a practitioner, and there were never tales of success. It was a concept that was reserved for movies and television, and even then it was treated lightly.

"Modern-day practitioners cannot, and certainly not by the more recent generations of vampires. Magic in this modern era is heavily structured, and even in death enough of it remains in the body to prevent a mortal practitioner from Turning. Any vampire attempting it would likely die from magic poisoning, unless they had the power and knowledge that Rageshi's sire held."

"Who was his sire?" Daniel asked, eyes wide, clearly fascinated. As was Angel, but he hoped he was hiding it better.

Constans smiled ruefully, and shook his head. "I have no name, only a title. Rageshi never shared much, only calling his own sire The Old One. He was gifted with abilities and powers not seen in vampires sired in subsequent generations. The Old One was described to be… different. Modern scientific knowledge leads me to believe The Old One was not entirely homo sapiens sapiens, from the few descriptions I got from Rageshi. He was one of the very first vampires."

Angel made himself take a deep breath before speaking. "Your grandsire is one of the First Vampires. My brother is mated to a third-generation vampire."

Constans gave a single-shoulder shrug and Isaac blinked back at Angel, as if just realizing the truth about his own mate in that moment. It wasn't a bad thing—merely put into perspective the power and strength inherent in Constans and his immediate vampire family.

"If it's true, then yes, I am two generations removed from a First Vampire. I have never traded on that knowledge, nor let it be widely known. Hard to prove, for one, and it draws all the wrong kind of attention from a wide range of unsavory people and organizations seeking to curry favor for their own ends. I get enough of that from humans and vampires as it is, I don't need more of it. But yes, The Old One's blood is responsible for our particular gifts." Constans wrapped the medallion back up in the silk and tucked it in the pocket of his jacket. "I have The Way Between. Lady Philippa has telekinesis, and Remi…"

"…can teleport," Remi finished for Constans. "Our whole family has some kind of unique power, well developed, and it is in addition to the typical gifts vampires possess, like Charm and compulsion, speed, strength, and immortality. All from Rageshi and his own sire. Not many bloodlines are as gifted as ours."

"Your sister can use kinetic magic?" Angel asked, suddenly registering what Constans said. "Was she a mage before Turning, too?"

Constans shook his head once. "No. Hers is true telekinesis, as it's seen in human movies. A psychic gift she inherited after the change. She was a wholly mundane human prior to Turning, without even close kinship to a practitioner. Her gift is quite strong. She is able to lift herself in flight, and level an entire building with a thought."

Telekinesis, like the superheroes-in-movies kind of a power, was largely seen as a myth. Only certain elder fae species had true telekinesis, and humans of fae descent had it occasionally, but never much beyond moving small items and with limited range, and it usually came paired with some other minor mental gifts, like empathy, clairvoyance, and telepathy. A vampire with telekinesis was practically unheard of, in the realm of daywalkers and vampires immune to staking through the heart—the provenance of bedtime stories.

"That's some bloodline," Angel finally managed to say, a bit flummoxed. He gathered his thoughts. "The medallion can control Rageshi," Angel stated.

"Whoever holds it, he gives his word to obey in exchange for the holder of the medallion using it to keep him stable." Constans had a faraway look in his eyes, as if remembering. "My father Bituitus, the Avernii king, held the medallion and Rageshi's loyalty as a result. My father had the unfortunate foresight to get it bound to his bloodline—the medallion went to my brother for a time after our father's death. That spell eventually failed when my father's human bloodline died out several decades after I was Turned. When Bituitus died, Rageshi managed to take back the medallion, and he disappeared. The binding spell was useless without the medallion actually in hand—it merely kept another mortal from outside our family from using it. That spell binding the medallion and Rageshi's obedience to our bloodline broke when the last of my paternal, mortal kin passed. Then he was free to find peace."

"Now that you have it, what are you going to do?" Angel asked. "I don't like the idea of using an artifact to control another person, and waking Rageshi merely to bind him to someone else seems cruel." He bit back his more insistent thoughts—he was not a vampire, he was not the sired vampire of an ancient being, and he didn't know Rageshi. Constans was the best one to make the judgment call on what to do regarding his own sire.

"He left instructions—conditions that had to be met to wake him. I gave my word to my sire, and I won't break it. Maybe the magic in the medallion can be altered somehow, and give him his freedom in truth, without compromising the balance it provides. He is dangerous, and he would be the first to admit the dangers if he becomes unbalanced." Constans met Angel's gaze without flinching. "All of that may be moot if the Council has any idea of where he's entombed. I wouldn't put it past them to try and wake him without the medallion. He's been asleep for over two thousand years. He will not be controllable if awakened without the medallion. It will be a bloodbath."

"One that won't end with the deaths of the Council mages who awakened him—he'll hunt down anything with a heartbeat after not drinking blood for that long." Simeon added with an apologetic expression for his Master. "If the Council wakes him, countless people could die before he could be stopped."

"The Council tried to kill me and take the medallion and the thumb drive." Remi spoke, drawing everyone's attention. "Within hours of me taking possession of the medallion, they tracked it down, presumably through the blood magic used in its making. Stable blood magic is exceedingly rare—and it's the only artifact I've come across in the last thousand years that has stable blood magic. Whether they knew what it was exactly, or merely that Philippa was sending a blood magic artifact via courier to Master Batiste remains unknown. A crime of opportunity, or a mission to awaken Rageshi. One is more palatable than the other. Is there a way to discern which it is? Should we take the time or effort to find out?"

"Good points," Angel said. "I think we need to err on the side of the worst case scenario, to be safe."

"I have contacts I can reach out to to see what the Council actually knows," Constans offered. "I can verify it against the information on the thumb drive that Remi brought with him."

"My contacts in Europe may have some idea as well," Milly said. "I'll see what they've heard, if anything. There's several older Fontaine cousins in Eastern Europe with connections to the Council."

"If you'd both do that," Angel said in agreement. "Constans, do you know where he's…sleeping? What's the terminology here?"

"Rageshi sleeps," Constans answered. "His lair is where he sleeps. And I know the location. I've checked in on it whenever I can. The advent of the Internet made that process much easier; I can check satellite maps without going there in person and drawing attention to the location."

"What's there now?" Isaac asked, relaxed and curious, the anger gone from his voice.

"Nothing much. It resides in a state forest reserve in southern Armenia, in a stretch of land that's been protected in some fashion for the last 1,700 years. The lair is well hidden. I've paid well for the area to resist timber and mining operations, all through complicated shell companies and trusts. He's been there since before it was a reserve and the area has remained undisturbed since he sealed the lair shut behind him."

"Any hints that the High Council knows where he is?" Daniel asked. "Like, specifically? They might say screw the medallion and go straight to waking him up. Or maybe…" Daniel trailed off, vaguely horrified before he continued "…what if they kill him instead of waking him up? No medallion, no hope to control him, they might try to take him out of play and kill him before Master Batiste has a chance to wake him up himself."

Angel knew Constans hadn't considered that as a possibility by the alarmed lift to his golden brows. Constans pulled out his phone, and stood from the couch. "A moment, please. I need to get up-to-date satellite images of the region."

Constans wove his way through the couches and chairs and headed for the door, and Isaac got up and quickly followed his mate. Both men slipped from the library, leaving the door cracked slightly open behind them.

"Alright, let's table that for a minute," Angel sighed, hoping the Council wasn't making a move for Rageshi any time soon. It would split their own power-base if Constans, and Isaac by extension, had to head to Armenia to beat the Council to his sire. "Let's talk honeymoon."

Daniel squeaked out a protest. "We're in the middle of some serious shit…"

Angel interrupted him. "You and Rory literally got married yesterday. You're going on a honeymoon."

"Congratulations," Celyn piped up, smiling. "I feel bad for showing up and bringing along more drama. Any idea where you wanna go?"

Daniel opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and finally he slumped back in his seat and Rory wrapped an arm around his new husband's shoulders, hugging Daniel to him. "Beloved, we need not go anywhere if you'll not enjoy yourself, but we can take the time for ourselves and still keep abreast of matters here at home."

"I want a honeymoon," Daniel said, forlorn and beautifully pitiful, breaking Angel's heart. "But if we go too far, we can't get back in time if something bad happens, and if we stay too close the Council might come after us."

Cian had mentioned something to Simeon about how the sidhe mound could be used to send the newlyweds on their honeymoon, but Remi and Celyn weren't aware of the mound's existence and Angel wasn't comfortable asking them to leave so they could discuss it.

Rory took a long look at Celyn and Remi, the younger fae blushing a bit under the strong regard. "Cefnder bach, allwch chi gadw cyfrinach?"

To Angel's ear it sounded like a dialect of Welsh, but he had no deep familiarity with the language and sat there as enchanted as everyone else as Rory spoke to Celyn. His words were like music, and it made Angel aware of how harsh English could be to the ear.

Celyn blinked at Rory in what Angel assumed had to be surprise and joy—likely that anyone knew his language and could speak it, and then nodded vehemently. "Byddaf yn cadw eich cyfrinachau, hynaf."

Cian appeared from nowhere behind Remi and Celyn, standing behind them and less than a foot away. He set a hand on Remi's shoulder, keeping the suddenly hissing vampire in his seat.

"Easy, striga. I'm no threat to your lovely little mate," Cian teased, arm flexing the slightest bit as he kept Remi seated.

Only Celyn was unbothered by the High Court Sidhe magically appearing behind him. He twisted in his seat enough to put a knee on the cushion, hands on the back of the chair, smiling up at Cian.

"I saw you skulking around the library and wondered if you'd say hello," Celyn declared primly yet with a hint of laughter in his tone, even as his companion struggled not to leap up and attack the former serial killer standing in their shadow. "Are you the secret your brother asked me to keep? I'm Celyn Walsh, hello."

Cian let go of Remi, who was now calming, though his eyes were an impressive crimson and his fangs had dropped, and Angel could hear a faint growl rumbling from his chest even across the several feet between them.

Angel did not want a bloodbath and glared at Cian for his dramatics, but he, of course, ignored him.

Cian stood over Celyn, who untwisted himself and got out of his chair, holding a hand out to Cian without hesitation. That was enough to make Angel's brows head for his hairline—most supernatural beings did not shake hands. It was too personal and intimate, and allowed for a peek behind individual shields and auras.

Cian clasped Celyn's forearm in a solid grip, both fae eyeing each other, taking the measure of the other. Celyn appeared unbothered by Cian. Angel was impressed by how Remi had no clue Cian was in the room, which meant the glamour obscured scent and sound as well as sight.

Yet Celyn saw Cian—his aura. The younger fae saw magic.

"Gentle night and welcome, little cousin," Cian said with a gentle smile. "I am half of that secret. The other half is less dramatic."

The floor in the library was dark hardwood, but the hearth was a mix of granite and marble, and extended out from the fireplace a few feet, a preventative measure to protect the hardwood from flying embers and sparks. Eroch lay there curled up in blankets and pillows, and he continued to snore lightly even as the mantle above him warped and the stone turned to liquid, flowing into the shape of a stone arch.

The sleeping dragon lay undisturbed as the archway settled into shape, and the shadow within brightened enough to show a few torches burning merrily within the sidhe temple.

Ignacio and Ashwin turned in their seats and stared over the back of the couch they sat on, both startled at the sudden display of power. No mortal magic could change matter in the manner Cian managed—whether it was the sidhe mound doing the transfiguration itself to obey Cian, or it was Cian exercising his aspectral abilities, Angel had no way of knowing. Though in the end it hardly mattered—Cian had a near impossible and mythic ability to traverse the known world, without boundary or wall or border stopping him.

Celyn's laughter was akin to bells, perfectly in tune and pleasant to the ears, and Angel smiled upon hearing it. Celyn was delighted, and Cian let him go as the younger fae bounced across the library and oohed and aahed around the arch. He neatly avoided the dragon at his feet, though he did appear just as delighted by the slumbering beastie as he did the magically appearing archway to a secret traveling temple.

"An underhill! I thought they were nothing but legends. How marvelous! The columns are gorgeous! The artwork is stunning! May I see?" Celyn whirled to Cian, hands clasped in front of his chest. "May I see them?"

Cian bowed Celyn toward the arch and in a blink, Celyn had leapt over the sleeping dragon and was in the temple, his exclamations of appreciation and joy echoing back out to the library.

With a soft growl, Remi stood, all but vibrating in protective anger. Cian waved a hand at the vampire in casual disregard. "The beautiful boy is perfectly safe, striga. Follow him if you can't believe me."

Remi was gone in a blur as he too also leapt over Eroch, who slept on, peacefully oblivious to the drama. Through the archway the pair was visible, the young fae scampering about in glee, and the tall, dark, and handsome vampire shadowing his steps.

"Is the meeting over?" Daniel asked, a bit eagerly.

"No," Angel said quickly before anyone else decided to follow the pair into the temple. He glared at Cian in frustration but didn't say anything about his dramatics. "Intermission while Constans sorts out his issue and our guests get some playtime. I need some tea."