She touched the mirror. “We remember,” she whispered.
But Seraphina had no intention of simply helping . Dominant Witches
The age of dominance had only just begun. She touched the mirror
“Let them wait,” Seraphina said, not turning. She watched her reflection in the rain-smeared glass. At forty-seven, she looked thirty. Magic was a magnificent cosmetician. “Fear is the only currency they understand.” The age of dominance had only just begun
The men exchanged glances. One of them, younger, bristled. “Now, see here—”
Seraphina knelt before Graves—not in supplication, but like a chess player examining a doomed king. “You came here thinking you had leverage. That we needed your permission, your treaties, your legitimacy . Darling.” She touched his chin with one cool finger. “We are witches. We were burning before you had grammar. We will be dancing on your graves before your grandchildren learn to lie.”
Inside, Seraphina Blackwood, the High Witch of the Eastern Circle, adjusted the obsidian choker at her throat. It pulsed with a low, amber light. Power. Authority. The kind that bent the knee of governors and made senators forget their own names.