“Between Max, Jackson’s human assistant; myself; and Angelina, Marissa’s human sister, you’ve got three interpreters going at all times. I can see if the First Faction has any humans they know of that can help as well. Anyone they trust.”

“Good. We all know our tasks? Then let’s get to it,” Jackson said.

—

Kamen came away from the meeting feeling good about the choices he had made. Was it suicidal? Yes. Was it suicidal to not go? Yes. At least this way they had a chance, however remote it might be. Doing nothing guaranteed failure. At least he was doing something. He went to his rooms, frowning as he crossed the threshold. He had spent far too much time in these rooms since he had arrived at the compound nearly a year ago. He was tired of them. He was glad to be leaving, even if it did mean risking his life in the process. He had died before and would die again. He was not afraid of death. If he died his soul would simply go into the Ether for a hundred years, then he would be reborn again. But he was afraid of dying and leaving a mess behind, of having thousands of deaths on his conscience. And he made no mistake about it, there were going to be thousands if not hundreds of thousands of lives sacrificed to this god.

Maybe even more. Maybe even the majority of the human race.

There was something else at stake as well. Presently, the Nightwalker species were secreted from the human race. Very few humans knew about the Demons or Bodywalkers or that there were actual Vampires. To be honest, he had found the Vampires, Lycanthropes, and Demons’ existence to be hard to believe and he was a Nightwalker. But once the humans found out these races indeed did exist…well it wasn’t hard to imagine what would happen. When a human being was afraid of something, it lashed out and destroyed it without trying to understand it. If he were a human learning Vampires were real—what with all the frightening fiction having been written about them—he might want to eliminate the threat they posed too.

Well…maybe he wouldn’t. He had found the idea of Vampires being real a bit daunting at first, but that had been his ignorance of the situation kicking up dust. It hadn’t been easy learning to trust these new Nightwalkers. Nightwalkers they couldn’t feel or touch or read. There were no faces to show their expressions as they spoke, there was no body language to hint at whether or not they were lying. This was, in a nutshell, blind trust.

But his other senses told him these races were worthy of his trust. Especially when the Demon King Noah had come clean about there being Vampire criminals killing Nightwalkers as a method of harvesting their power for themselves. That little bit of imperfection in their ranks made them a little more real. A little less saintly.

What he found intriguing was that none of the First Faction of Nightwalkers could wield magic without turning “corrupt.” Magic blackened their souls and poisoned their minds—just as it did with humans who tried to wield it. He would have thought Nightwalkers of any breed strong enough to manage the power of magic. Apparently he was wrong. As it stood, the only races on their side of the factions that wielded magic were the Bodywalkers and the Djynn. Night Angels had a more inborn set of abilities that differed from one Angel to the next. The Wraith abilities all seemed to be uniformly innate, not magical, and the Phoenixes and Mysticals…well, they hardly knew anything about either of those species so he couldn’t speak to it.

But none of this mattered at the present time. He had more important things to focus his attention on. He wondered at himself for insisting he go alone. Surely one other person wouldn’t seem an intimidating presence to a Nightwalker breed. But he wouldn’t risk anyone else. It was bad enough lives had already been lost and twisted because of him. He would avoid adding more deaths to his conscience wherever possible.

And clearly, by letting him go on this death mission alone, they felt it was his just reward for having brought this down on their heads in the first place.

Kamen packed a change of clothes in a backpack, along with some other essentials: his journal of spells, a few herbs and other components of more complex spell casting, and something to read and study up on in case he found himself with time on his hands. The journal of spells was not entirely necessary. Everything he needed to know was firmly entrenched in his memory. But the book he was reading might offer up some new spells and he liked to have a common place for them all to be as he familiarized himself with something new.

Kamen shrugged the pack onto one shoulder and turned to leave the room. There was a mirror to his left and, as he passed, he caught sight of his reflection. He stopped and studied himself with a critical eye. If he was the lord of an alien culture, what would he make of this man before him?

Kamen could only hope they would have no way of knowing the truth.

Chapter 3

Finding the Wraiths’ nearest stronghold was easier than it should have been. He would have thought that they would at least have some kind of safeguards in place to prevent their enemies from finding them.

But they did not. To his fortune. He would have preferred to find where the head of the Wraiths’ political structure was, if indeed they had one, and go directly there, but he had no way of doing that, so he would have to satisfy himself with whatever was closest.

Kamen could “streak”—a rapid-fire form of travel—from place to place using his magic. So combining the locator spell and the streak spell he was able to bring himself nearly to the Wraiths’ doorstep. It was night, of course, since daylight would paralyze him. But night also meant that whatever was inside of the house he stood before had the advantage. And all it would take was a single touch and he would be dead. But he had a shield spell, one that formed a bubble around him that things would bounce off of if they came into contact with it. It expended a great deal of energy and focus, but as long as he kept calm it should work. He cast the spell as he looked around. The house was remotely located, in the middle of what appeared to be farmland. There were fields in every direction. He took a moment to magically discover he was in the middle of Iowa. Corn country. Corn as far as the eye could see.

As for the house, it was a quaint little farmhouse. Generations old, but it was well cared for. There was pretty landscaping around the front yard. Someone had taken their time gardening.

And no sooner had he thought that than a woman came around the side of the house, wearing gardening gloves and carrying a tray of seedlings.