“My granddaughters,” Birdie announced. “Morgana and Odette.”

Odette, the young woman seated at the table, rose to her feet, mouth falling open in astonishment. Her unblinking gaze seemed to see right through him. “Another Nephilim! By the Goddess, look at you! Your wings are like the wings of night. I can almost see stars in them.”

Barak laughed. “My brother, Nahum, warned me about you. You have the Sight.”

“Of a sort. And a sister witch.” She moved around the table to hug Estelle. “You’re not a hugger, I can tell, but you need one right now. And you!” She took Lucien in. “Metals course your veins and pattern your skin.” It was like a storm swept over her clear features. “Such a violation. But you have mastered it. You are strong and will get stronger still. All will be well.”

“Good grief, Odette,” Morgana said, ushering them into seats at the table. “Let them get settled first before you blast them with your insights.”

“I can’t help it!” She smiled an apology. “Sorry. It’s out before I know it sometimes.”

“You can see the metals?” Lucien asked, face creased with confusion. “How?”

“See is the wrong word. It’s a sense I have, really.”

Barak could tell Lucien was itching to ask more questions, but they sat at the table as Morgana carried over a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits, and then set out the cups.

“So,” Birdie said when they all had drinks, “you have a manifesto that you wish to prise secrets from.”

Estelle nodded as she extracted it from her bag and put it on the table. “Yes, this is it. I have tried a few finding spells on it to work out where it could have originated from, or the person who wrote it, but I think I’m blocked somehow. Potentially by Belial himself, or perhaps by the power his agents wield. I know you saved Olivia, so you’re familiar with him.” She pointed to one of the cut edges. “That was my doing, where I took a portion for spells. I’m scared of doing that too much in case I damage it.”

“Far too familiar, unfortunately,” Birdie agreed, thumbing through the pages. “But I doubt you could damage these significantly.” She closed her eyes briefly as her fingers ran over the paper. “Yes, I can feel angelic magic. Odette will feel more. But not yet, Odette,” she said turning to her. “You will feel it more strongly, so I suggest we wait until we’re in the protective circle.”

“You’re an empath,” Barak said to Odette, certain he was right.

She nodded. “That, too. It’s a strange mix of powers that I have.”

“Do you think the spells that Alex has suggested will work?” Lucien asked as he sipped his tea.

Morgana answered as she too flicked through the manifesto now that Birdie had finished. “Perhaps, but using a protective circle is wise. If we lift the magic on the manifesto, there might be consequences.” She smiled at Estelle. “It was wise to seek assistance. The circle is already prepared. We have added a few little extras to it,” she eyed Odette and Birdie, amused, “after what happened last time.”

“This will be nowhere near as dramatic,” Birdie said.

Morgana laughed. “I’ll reserve my judgement.”

For a few minutes, while they drank tea, the witches questioned the group on their search. Barak felt relaxed around them, sure of their support and friendship. They were open and honest, and he understood why Olivia liked them. They had looked after her well, and Harlan trusted them, too. It was good, considering what they were up against. When Birdie was satisfied that they had all the background they needed, she led the way along passages and up flights of stairs, until they came to a curious tower room. The floor and ceiling were marked with a pentacle and edged with sigils and runes, as were the window frames and doorways. When Birdie closed the door, Barak noted the sigil on that, too. The only furniture in there were a couple of chairs, a small round table, a long table used as an altar, and a bookcase filled with old texts pushed against the wall.

“Wow!” Estelle said, clearly impressed. “A full protective circle. Permanent!”

“Our ancestors deemed it wise,” Birdie said, gaze sweeping around it. “A seventeenth-century addition. All the glass was broken during our expulsion of Belial.” She gestured to the huge, Gothic windows. “Cost a fortune to replace them.”

“You couldn’t use magic?” Lucien asked.

“We were exhausted,” Morgana explained. “Plus, it would have taken too long. As it was, they were boarded up for a month. Besides, they were very old. It gave us a chance to eliminate the draughts properly. As you can imagine, it’s an old place that requires a lot of upkeep, even with our magic.”

“It’s beautiful,” Estelle said, relaxing for the first time since they had entered the house. She had been nervous about visiting, despite Birdie’s assurances on the phone. Barak knew how self-reliant she was, and how she had hated to have to ask for help. “It has such a lovely feel to it. The entire house, I mean.”

“It depends on the visitor.” Birdie’s smile was mischievous. “It likes all of you. Those whom it doesn’t it has no time for, and they feel unsettled. Again, that was reinforced only too well recently. Anyway, let us prepare. Estelle, join us, please. Gentlemen, amuse yourselves.”

With a word of command, the candles flared to life, casting the grey February light into a warm, yellow glow. The circular tower meant that there were no shadowed corners, and Barak paced the room’s perimeter, half watching the witches’ preparations as he looked out of the three windows.

The garden sprawled below in all directions. Unusual topiaries populated the grounds, along with shrubs and trees, winding paths, and flower beds, mostly bare at this time of year. He caught a glimpse of unusual moon gates, too.

“This place is amazing.” Lucien spoke quietly at Barak’s side, taking in everything. “I hope they let us watch.”

“We wouldn’t be here if we couldn’t.”

Lucien pulled the cuffs of his jacket back to look at his tattooed arms. “Can Odette really see the metals? They would be tiny specs. Powders!”

“But they have been alchemically enhanced, and they’ve changed you. That is what she must see. The traces of magic.” He frowned at Lucien’s discomfort. “No one else can see it. Don’t worry.”

“I feel exposed. Naked!”

“It wasn’t intentional, although I feel exposed as well,” he said quietly, unwilling to offend Odette. “She sees what others cannot. It must be unnerving for her, too.”

The table and one chair were now in the centre of the circle, and Odette took her seat, the manifesto on the table. The spells that Alex had sent were in Estelle’s hands.

Birdie carried another grimoire that she placed on the altar. “We also have spells that might work. One is very similar to what your friend sent through. That’s an ancient text,” she noted, head cocking as she looked at the papers in Estelle’s hands.

“We all possess very old grimoires.”

“Impressive. Ours are downstairs in our library. The texts in this bookcase are regular spells we use in here. Those of banishment, as well as protection. None to unveil. Perhaps we should remedy that.” She looked across to Morgana who was placing out a range of ingredients for the spells on the altar. Gemstones, herbs, jars of what looked like oils, and more candles. “Ready?”

“Just the incense.” Morgana lit a bundle of sticks with a word of power, and then proceeded to place them about the room. “For clarity,” she explained to Barak and Lucien as she passed them. “I suggest you wait by the bookcase. Do not interfere, no matter what happens.”

Barak nodded, but called Estelle aside, suddenly terrified for her safety, despite her power. “Are you okay? Really?”

She cupped his cheeks with her hands, her smile warm and reassuring. ‘I’m fine. I’ve checked the circle. It’s well constructed and will protect us, and I know we can trust these witches. I feel it.” She reached up and kissed him. “Stay back, but watch carefully, both of you. We will be focussed on the magic, and you may see something we don’t.”

Reluctantly, Barak did as he was bid, joining Lucien by the bookcase. He stood, arms folded across his chest, leaning against the wall, as the witches made their final preparations. Three of them stood around the circle, the Moonfell witches carrying huge wooden staffs, but Odette remained seated at the table.

“Is Odette staying in the circle?” Barak asked, alarmed.

“Just for now,” Birdie said. Odette’s eyes were already closed, hands in her lap, the manifesto spread on the table. “She’s going to get a feel for it with her senses and then touch. She has personal protection in place, but her response may be strong. It’s hard to know. We won’t perform any spells until she’s with us. Don’t worry.” She considered her next words. “He may detect you—if he’s hidden in the document. You are Nephilim, after all. Do nothing. Say nothing. Understood?”

“Morgana has already warned me. I understand.”

Birdie looked into his eyes as if reading his soul, and then, satisfied, stood between Estelle and Morgana.

Barak took a deep breath after the intense scrutiny, and looked at Lucien. “You heard her. We do nothing.”

“I’m okay with that, but are you?” Lucien asked, eyebrows raised.

Ignoring him, Barak focussed on the witches. Birdie raised the circle of protection, the sigils and runes that ran around the double ring flaring into light.

Odette’s eyes were closed, but she could obviously tell the circle was complete. She leaned forward, not touching the manifesto, but running her hands a few inches over it. For a couple of minutes she did nothing but that, and her breaths deepened. “There are levels of magic here,” she said, her voice low, but sure. “I feel it in the paper and the ink. There is a seal, too. Another level of magic. Angelic, of course. But it’s subtle. It doesn’t surprise me that you couldn’t feel it easily, Estelle.” She inhaled and sighed. “Myrrh. Sandalwood. Something else that evades me right now. I will touch it now.” Barak braced himself following Odette’s announcement. She opened her eyes and started with the first page of the manifesto, her fingers lightly brushing across the surface. “I sense many have had a hand in this—the making of the parchment, and the preparation of the ink. One scribe only. I see a dark, shadowed place, lit only by lamplight. A quill made from an angel’s feather. Given willingly to impart magic.”

Barak frowned. Surely not Belial’s—or any angel’s, for that matter. It could not have survived. Could it? He was desperate to question her, but it must wait.