Prologue

She had felt it; a premonition like footsteps of the devil crawling up her spine. It left her feeling frozen inside. Her heart slammed against her rib cage. Unable to move, lying stalk still under the heavy bed covers in the darkness, she searched the shadowed corners of her room frantically.

Only darkness.

But here, now, it was with her.

She could sense it.

An evil presence lurking in the shadows, seeping into the room and threatening to suffocate her. From the depths of the darkness, it appeared; haggard, as old as time, evil personified. Her throat had constricted, tears had welled in her bright, terrified eyes as she had finally found her voice and screamed.

He had been lazing at his desk, the report lying unread on his lap; his attention had been focused on the first flakes of winter snow that had begun to fall from the bleak, black sky when he had heard his child's scream. Heart wrenching, terrifying, it catapulted him from his study and sent him across the great hall, up the stairs and down the cavernous hallway into her bedroom.

The second he had snapped his fingers, illuminating the room in a warm glow, the darkness had been banished. However, the light did little to calm his child. Cradled in his arm, clinging to him, she had sobbed over and over:

"It's here. It's in the room. Daddy, please."

Her mother, he knew, would have firmly told her to stop this childish nonsense; there was absolutely no evil presence or spirit in her room, rather she had simply had a nightmare. All children had nightmares and she was to be a good little witch and go back to sleep. He, on the other hand, was incapable of scolding their only daughter, this small, terrified little creature that clung to him so, her usually bright and inquisitive eyes that shone and sparkled with a mischievous delight darkened by genuine fear.

"There's nothing here, my little one," he promised her, kissing the crown of her head as she hiccupped back a sob.

"How can you be so certain?" she asked, still snuggled against him, her tears beginning to stop.

"Magic," he told her, settling her back against her pillows and smoothing her sheets, "as Chief Wizard, I can command any magical entity to appear before me and it has to obey."

She nodded solemnly, satisfied with her father's answers before stifling a yawn as she asked suddenly , "Daddy, is there going to be a war?"

He paused, his green eyes scrutinizing the small child in front of him as though seeing her for the first time. It was on the tip of everyone's tongue, the magical world was rife with rumor and fear but both he and his wife had done everything possible to keep such chatter away from the ears of their young child.

"Now, where would you get an idea like that?" he asked lightly, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Xavier and Zander," she said chewing on her bottom lip, "I head them talking to Gabe about it when they were home from Camelot's for half term. I asked Gabe but he said I was too little to understand. I'm not too little, though. I know what a war is."

"I promise you, darling, there will be no war as long as I am Chief Wizard," her father told her, making a mental note to chastise his sons for being so foolish as to discuss such matters in the presence of their baby sister. His daughter remained unconvinced, her eyes lingering on the shadows in the corner of the room, a defiant pout gracing her cherry lips. "Put all those silly thoughts out of your head. Promise me you won't worry about such grown up things," he added waiting until she reluctantly nodded, ebony curls bouncing up and down as she did so. "Good girl."

"Daddy," another whisper, her voice still trembling slightly, "can you tell me a story please?"

"It's very late, my little one, your mother would be hopping mad if she knew you were awake," he told her, already settling himself on the bed next to her as she giggled at the thought of her mother hopping. Her mother never looked anything less than pristine; her every movement one of elegant grace.

"But Mummy's away. Mummy's always away," his daughter complained before adding loftily, "when I grow up I don't want to be a Witch Queen like Mummy."

"No?" Her father asked brushing a curl out of her eyes, "why not?"

"Because Mummy's always grumpy and always too busy."

"Your mother has a very important job," her father told her, "every clan has to have a Queen, who is responsible for making sure all obey the witches' code and that there is peace and harmony."

"And no bad witches," his daughter shuddered, casting her eyes to the corner of her room once more, "I don't like bad witches."

"There aren't very many bad witches," her father promised her, "and there are certainly none who would dare cross your mother. Trust me sweetheart, there's no evil in the world brave enough to set foot in your mother's house. Now, why don't I tell you the story of Lucy Fairweather? She was my great great aunt thrice removed you know."

With wind howling around the walls outside, his daughter cradled in his arms, he began, dredging up details of the childhood tale told to him by his father, embellishing the story as no doubt his father had done before. By the time he had reached the end, a battle far more bloody and a Lucy who was far more devil-may-care in her heroism than she had been ten years ago when he had told the story to his eldest son, his daughter was once more asleep. Lying her carefully back onto her pillows, his kissed the crown of her head. Dark eyes fluttered open for the briefest of moments as her arms slipped from his neck.

"It looked like Mummy," she murmured, half asleep, "but it wasn't."

"Hush," he whispered, stroking her hair, "go to sleep and be a good little witch."

He knew she was already asleep once more by the time he had tiptoed across her room and gently shut the door behind him, smiling slightly to himself. Of course, it was so obvious he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before; his wife was capable of making herself appear out of thin air, even when she was a hundred miles away, always to check on the children before vanishing once more. He had told her a thousand times before that should any of their three boys ever wake up to find their mother at the foot of their beds when they thought her to be in Iceland or Romania, she would scare the living daylights out of them. His wife had pointed out with a slight shake of her head and the most definite rolling of her eyes that their sons slept like the dead. Nothing would ever wake them. This, he had decided, was probably just as well, for he was sure that their mother still popped into their rooms at their boarding school to check on them.

Their daughter, on the other hand, was a different matter altogether. Their daughter was every inch her mother's child, although both would have denied it furiously. Barely six years old and already was her Governess predicting great things, albeit coupled with a defiance and mischievous streak that his wife swore she had inherited from him. Of course she would have sensed her mother's presence and, true to his predictions, had been scared witless.

Trotting down the stairs, he let his mind drift to thoughts of his wife and felt a sudden pang of loneliness. His daughter had been right about one thing - ever since the talk of war had erupted his wife had barely been home. For the briefest of moments, he considered summoning her in the magic mirror, so as to catch a glimpse of her immense beauty but as soon as the thought was born, he dismissed it. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, a sudden icy gust rippled around him, making him start. Shaking his head and deciding he had as active an imagination his child, he once more entered his study as the clock chimed two.

The Magic Hour, or so his grandfather had always told him.

But it wasn't the sound of the clock, or the continued frosty nip of the night air that left him unsettled, rather the flash of gold out of the corner of his eye.

He turned, startled.

She was standing in her customary position by the fire place, forefinger and pinky resting lightly on the mantle piece. Her waist long hair was tied back in her usual bun, piled high on top of her head, the blond strands gleaming gold in the light of the fire. His face broke into a delighted smile as he strode across the room, taking her into his arms.

"Lorelei," he exclaimed, "when did you arrive home?"

She smiled slowly, her arms entwining around his waist as the pale pink lips that glittered and glistened in the lamp light met his. In that instant, he felt his heart freeze. Her embrace, normally so warm and inviting was chilling to the bone. Her eyes, normally so full of a zest for life were dark and menacing and soulless.

He tried to push her away but he was paralyzed, rooted to the spot. He opened his mouth to protest but found his voice silenced. He tried to summon a spell, any spell, but he was powerless, trapped and unable to move. Icy fingers splayed against his chest as the world around him began to recede, the edges blurring and blackening with every ragged breath, all the while, captivated by those cruel, cold, coffee coloured eyes that bore deep into his soul and left him exposed.

In his final moments, left entirely helpless other than to stare into the eyes of evil, a window to the darkest of beings, he heard his child scream. He heard her begin to cast a spell. He tried to call to her, tell her to run. Run the hell away from here, from him, from this being.

In his final moments, Lord Tanus Meriwether knew he could no longer protect his daughter.

A war was coming.

All was lost.