((This portion of the chapter is best accompanied by Marilyn Manson's cover of 'Cry Little Sister'.))

The central fire pit of the Bradford Hotel lobby was lit. The dancing flames cast flickering gold and red light over everything in the high-ceilinged room. Clusters of half-melted emergency candles randomly placed around the room guttered independently, twinkling muted stars in the otherwise dark room. Incense and the scent of clove cigarettes perfumed the warm air.

Fiona was seated in a large cream-colored wingback chair, not far from the screened fire pit. Her legs were crossed like scissors, black pumps sharpening her toes to wicked points. Her black dress contrasted severely with the pale chair.

Cordelia was seated to the left of the Supreme. Her black and white pantsuit and stiletto heels polished her appearance, but the perceptive eye would catch the shadows of strain beneath her mismatched eyes. To Fiona's right sat Michael, his black outfit mostly hidden by a black velvet topcoat he'd found on one of his many excursions around Los Angeles. The fancy coat was in danger of being wrinkled by the negligent way he sprawled in his chair.

Other coven members were scattered about the sitting area as well, keeping to the shadows. Evangelina was among them, her features hidden by her hooded black cape. The entire room's focus was on the arrival of Pietre, the albino triplets, and the captive they brought in with them. Alec guided Kyle before them with the help of a man-catcher pole attached to the iron collar they had put on the young man. When they were a few feet from the witches, Fiona lifted a hand and they stopped.

"You," Fiona said, the word full of accusation.

She made a sharp motion toward the floor and Kyle dropped into a position of supplication, bowed prostrate beyond his own control. He tried to get up, but his body was locked where it was. Alec unhooked the pole and moved back with it, out of the way of the witch.

"I took you in," the Supreme said imperiously, rising from her chair. She closed in on Kyle with measured, predatory steps. "Protected you. Cleared your head and made you whole. When everyone else had given up on you, I restored you." She ran a hand through his hair almost lovingly, then seized him by it. "And how did you thank me?"

"I'm sorry, Fiona," he said. His voice worked even if his limbs wouldn't.

"You let those little bitches stuff me in a freezer!" Fiona yanked his head up, so he had to look at her. "And then you ran away with them!"

He blubbered another apology and her expression seemed to soften for just an instant. She bent and leaned in till her face was right up close to his. It was impossible for him to avoid eye contact with her so close.

"You don't deserve my gift," she said.

She tilted her head like she was going to kiss him, but she didn't. She inhaled deeply and a thin, wispy vapor emerged from him, resisting the pull. The magic was hers, though, and she was determined to reclaim it. She drained her power from the undead youth then released him, physically and from the magical hold she'd had on him.

Kyle fell to the floor, stunned. He couldn't think right. Words skittered all over the place, just out of reach. He still had memories of his experiences, but they had lost their order and sense. He couldn't even recall the name of the settlement he and Zoe had been living in the past few years. Everything was scrambled up and whirling around in his brain like a shaken snow globe.

He grabbed his head as pressure built up, making him nauseous. He looked up at the Supreme, anguished. He got a cool stare in return. He grunted at her and reached for her foot, but she pulled it back out of his reach.

"Get him out of my sight," she told the triplets.

Alec reached for his collar, but Kyle gave an angry yell and grabbed the man by the arm. He flipped Alec to the floor, nearly breaking the albino's arm. The collar hit Kyle with a jolt of dark energy that stunned him long enough for Tisi to get the man-catcher pole connected to his collar.

The collar was something Pietre had devised, identical to ones he had crafted for Madison and Zoe. The effects of the enchanted devices were immediate, restraining the powers and free will of the witches. Kyle wasn't a witch, so his collar functioned more like a traditional shock collar, with similar advantages and disadvantages.

"Chain him up in the basement with the succubus until we get suitable cages made for them," Fiona instructed irritably. "Make sure they can't touch each other."

—

Later, in one of the second-floor hotel rooms, Pietre paced slowly, one fist clasped behind his back. The barefoot warlock carried a thin black cane with him that made a soft thudding noise on the floor with each step he took. The triplets were lined up, wearing just their underwear, each too cowed to lift their heads.

"To say I am disappointed," Pietre intoned, the words thickened by his German accent. "Would be an understatement."

He had a more scathing follow-up planned but he heard a soft sound behind him and turned to look at Tisi. The oldest triplet's shoulders were slumped, and her face was pinched with the effort not to cry. Her tears broke free when he came over to stand beside her.

"What's this?" he asked in feigned wonder. He shoved his knuckle under her chin and forced her face up, then smudged at the moisture on her cheek with his thumb. "Tears? Is it possible someone here understands how poorly they performed?" He let her go and her head dropped. When she didn't volunteer anything, Pietre leaned into her personal space, his lips almost brushing her ear. "Tisi? Can you tell me what you did wrong?"

The white-haired young woman shut her eyes as a delicious shudder went through her. She was irresistibly drawn to him when the warlock was so close. She couldn't help turning her head, trying to catch his mouth with hers. He pulled back with a hint of a sadistic smile and, when she opened her eyes to that look, Tisi flushed in humiliation.

"We took too long capturing the beast-boy," she mumbled, ducking her head again to hide the fresh tears of shame. "We were seen by others."

"Yes indeed," Pietre agreed. "A disappointment."

He grabbed her shoulder then and turned her around. He brought the cane up and lashed her viciously across her backside three times; the last one was hard enough to draw a thin line of blood through the fabric of her panties. Then he placed a hand between her shoulder blades and gave her a shove. Though the push itself wasn't very forcible, the cantrip that the gesture set off sent her sailing across the room where she was slammed face-first into the corner. The collision knocked her out but Pietre's magic kept her upright despite her limp legs.

Pietre moved down the line to Alec. Like his sisters, the young man wouldn't lift his eyes from the floor. His heart was racing so fast, he felt faint. He knew what was coming.

"Alec," the warlock purred in a condescending way. He went behind the younger man and slipped a hand over his shoulder, right up close to his pale throat. "What did we learn today?"

Alec flinched. There were several possible right answers and he knew he would choose wrong. The question was rigged. "Be more cautious when handling a flesh golem..?"

"That would be a good idea, yes," Pietre agreed in that tone that said Alec was close but still missing the point. "How about not letting him throw you around like a ragdoll?" The blond man brought the cane down hard across Alec's ass, eliciting a yelp.

"It happened so fast," the albino said and would have added more but the cane cracked down again and his words dissolved into a pained cry.

"You've been trained in hand-to-hand," Pietre reminded in that too-calm way that didn't mask his rage from the siblings. "You were surprised, and you were sloppy. You're fortunate you are not dead."

He struck the young man twice more, drawing blood through the young man's underwear, just like he had with Tisi. When he was done, he made another motion that sent Alec flying across the room, into another corner. He managed to stay conscious after impact, though he was left with blood dripping from his nose.

Pietre shifted his attention to the youngest of the triplets. Meg was the most rebellious of the three; they had a tempestuous history together. Many times, the warlock had come close to killing her because of her fiery nature but it was that same untamed heat that he prized in her. Breaking her down was always a source of vicious pleasure for him.

"And what do you have to say for yourself, sweet little Meg?" he goaded, tapping the backs of her thighs with the cane.

"We could have done better," she responded quietly.

Meg stared at the floor without blinking. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of drawing a fear reaction from her, no matter how she felt inside. But he knew her too well: He recognized the stone-face act and it amused him.

"You could have done better," he repeated thoughtfully as he circled her. "Well. You certainly couldn't have done much worse."

She tensed at the unfair assessment, but she knew better than to speak her mind. She also knew she ought to apologize but she couldn't force the words from her lips. The way she saw things, she hadn't done anything wrong and neither had her siblings. So, she just stood there, mutely staring at the floor.

"That's all you have to say?" Pietre prodded. When she continued to stand there, he clucked his tongue in a disapproving fashion. "Why must you always be so difficult? I'm starting to think you like being punished."

He lit into her with the cane then, laying seven fierce blows across her bottom and thighs, harder than he had hit her siblings. Then he waved her into another corner of the room—the only one left clear of furniture. The thin girl gave a pained grunt when she slammed into the wall. The striped welts on her backside oozed blood that stained her well-worn panties and trickled down her thin legs.

With all three of his wayward apprentices efficiently pinned for the next hour, Pietre entered the next hotel room over using the pass-through door that connected the rooms. He shut the door behind himself and turned his attention to the king-sized bed in the center of the room, and the occupant in it.

—

Author's Note:

This chapter has hints of the influence of Stephen King's 'The Stand' and the films 'Lost Boys' and 'The Craft'. I listened to a lot of Marilyn Manson and several Depeche Mode covers while writing the last couple of chapters of this episode. Highly recommended for the next chapter too. It's the last one of this episode. Next episode we'll be celebrating Michael's 20th birthday! He's pretty darned excited about it, even if some people are intent on ruining it for him.

By the way, I've learned that FanFic is eating some of the reviews that are being left. I love reviews! But you may have better luck sharing your thoughts with me through IM. If you don't want a reply, just send an anonymous message. Your feedback can affect how much time I spend on characters so feel free to tell me who you like and don't.