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[center][h1][i]Witching Hour[/i][/h1]
[h3][i]Part III[/i][/h3][/center]

[center][b]Location: Las Vegas, Nevada, The Witches Stronghold
Time: 11:59 p.m., Present Day[/b][/center]
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A sharp chill ran through the Earth, the blood of lost brothers staining hearts with visceral remorse. Tears collected in the eyes of the unknown, threatening to make these dry lands completely barren. The once lively halls of the Witch-Mother’s Stronghold, a deep temple of elegant marble and golden brandishing, was reduced to ash and rot, visibly in mourning of the lives it had lost. There Medea lie in wait for her mistress’s return, plotting and scheming her revenge on the Hounds.

Soon enough, a dark mist overtook the grand halls, coalescing into a feminine mass just above the scrying pool at the room’s center. Hekate’s pale features emerged from the shadows, arms wide in a welcoming embrace to her beautiful daughter. 

[color=mediumpurple][i]”My love,”[/i][/color] Hekate beckoned to Medea, drawing her into her arms, their warmth a momentary reprieve from the cold depths of sorrow. 

[color=cornflowerblue][i]”My Lady,”[/i][/color] Medea leapt into her arms, head nestled against Hekate’s neck. They were truly like mother and child. [color=cornflowerblue][i]”I thought you might not return to this pit of waste. How dare Barron call you away in our time of need, the fool.”[/i][/color]

Hekate smiled, cupping Medea’s head in her left hand, the right wiping away slow tears and running through her auburn hair. 

[color=mediumpurple][i]”Now now, Medea. I have placed myself at Mr. Vanderbilt’s disposal, and given our most recent tragedy, he was right to call upon me. There is much he and I have left to discuss, but worry not. You and I will not soon be parted, there is far too much work to be done.”[/i][/color] 

Leaving Medea’s side, Hekate waltzed over to the farthest corner of the temple room. This was the inner workings of the Five Families of Las Vegas, A central stronghold meant to house their combined secrets, the greatest of which happened to be Hekate, the Witch-Mother. Inside her dwelling, Hekate possessed all manner of witchly artefacts and curios relating to the Five and their long histories. A sprawling library of magical literature, both practical and theoretical, a collection altars dedicated to the Craft and its many forms, a station for alchemical experimentation and ritual conjurations, and a central pool used for divinatory purposes. 

In this corner, however, there lay a large desk filled with papers and random knick-knacks obtained from Hekate and Barron’s informants. At the top of a stack of files, Hekate found a field report detailing the damages caused in the recent Hound attacks on Pixy Stix and the Adessi clan. Next to these were two items of import: a broken iron cross with esoteric engravings, and two dented bullet casings set in silver, each producing a faint glint of something Otherworldly. 

[color=cornflowerblue][i]”A mage from the Wyrdhouse delivered those while you were away.”[/i][/color] Medea joined Hekate, staring down at the upsetting configuration of death, reduced to names on a sheet of paper. [color=cornflowerblue][i]”I told her that you were busy, but she seemed quite adamant that you see these right away.”[/i][/color] 

Hekate held a ghastly expression, mouth agape, hands quivering, a mixture of fear and rage pooling in her core. 

[color=cornflowerblue][i]”My Lady?”[/i][/color] Medea spoke sheepishly, taking note of Hekate’s stance. 

[color=mediumpurple][i]”H-H-How?”[/i][/color] Hekate spoke in a whisper, voice beginning to shake. [color=mediumpurple][i]”I thought they had been destroyed, no, I made sure of it . . . How in the name of Zeus did those impudent, disgusting worms manage to slither their way out of Tartarus to defy me again!”[/i][/color] 

Hekate flew into a rage, tossing her arm over the table, sending everything sprawling onto the floor. When she caught the glint of the cross and the silver bullets, she made a fist, causing the items to spark violently before reducing them to ash. 

[color=cornflowerblue][i]”My Lady, what is it? What’s wrong, who are you talking about?”[/i][/color] Medea confusedly reacted to Hekate’s enraged display of emotion. 

Hekate calmed herself, reigning in her rage and fear. This wasn’t the time for an outburst. Swift action was required lest more lives be taken. She took Medea by the shoulders and led her to the scrying pool, sitting both of them down on its ledge. 

[color=mediumpurple][i]”Very few remember the tales, for few who met their gaze survived,”[/i][/color] Hekate began, her tone low and serious. [color=mediumpurple][i]”They were a plague forgotten by history, one which I helped to eradicate myself. They swept over the land with great efficiency, dwindling our numbers in the Old World by the hundreds. I had thought their order long dead . . .”[/i][/color] 

Medea looked into Hekate’s eyes, recognizing the sheer terror therein, something she had never seen in those eyes before. It mimicked the fear and panic she’d felt from her days in Corinth. . 

[color=cornflowerblue][i]”I have scarcely seen you like this, My Lady. Of whom do you speak?”[/i][/color] 

Hekate’s voice remained low and grim. 

[color=mediumpurple][i]”The most notorious band of witch-hunters to ever curse this Earth . . . [b]The Winter Court[/b].”[/i][/color]