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sadness and loneliness that washed over him whenever he thought too long about Rephaim’s choice. The winged immortal ordered his thoughts, commanded his feelings, and continued giving Nisroc direction. “Tell Rephaim that even though his misguided choice was to leave me, there is still a place awaiting him at my side, but that place would be better served if he remained at the House of Night, even after he wants to depart.”
    “He spiesss!” Nisroc said, and the other Raven Mockers mirrored his excitement with their distinctive croaks.
    “He does, but at the moment he may not know he spies,” Kalona said. Then he added, “You understand, Nisroc? You are to watch him. To remain unseen by all except Rephaim.”
    “Not to kill vampyresss?”
    “Not unless you are threatened—then do as you will, without being taken or killing any High Priestess, ” Kalona said slowly and distinctly. “It is never wise to needlessly provoke a goddess, so Nyx’s High Priestesses are not to be killed.” He frowned at his son, remembering his other child who had almost killed Zoey Redbird not long ago—and who had died for it. “Do you understand my command, Nisroc?”
    “Yesss. Tell him I will. Rephaim to watch. Rephaim to ssspy.”
    “Do so, and return before dawn lightens the sky. Fly high. Fly fast. Fly quietly. Make yourselves like the night wind.”
    “Yesss, Father.”
    Kalona glanced around, nodding at the thickness of the surrounding woodland, and appreciating the fact that his children had found a high, isolated spot in which to nest.
    “Humans, they do not come here?” he asked.
    “Only huntersss, and they no more,” Nisroc said.
    Kalona raised his brows. “You killed humans?”
    “Yesss. Two.” Nisroc moved, agitated and excited. “Against rock we threw them.” He pointed a little way ahead of them and, curious, Kalona strode forward to look down on the steep side of the ridge where the massive power lines that carried electric magick for the modern world stretched before him. The humans had cleared the area surrounding the tall pylons so that the land fell away from him in a wide ribbon that stretched to the horizon. The clearing had left exposed jagged outcroppings of huge chunks of Oklahoma sandstone, clean and lethal and jutting toward the sky.
    “Excellent,” Kalona said, nodding in appreciation. “You made it look like an accident. That was well done.” Then he turned back to the clearing and the Raven Mockers who clustered there with all of their attention focused solely on him. “This place is well chosen. I want all of my sons around me here. Nisroc, go to the Tulsa House of Night. Do my bidding. The rest of you fly to the west. Call to your brothers—call them here to me. Here we will wait. Here we will watch. Here we will make ready.”
    “Make ready? For what, Father?” Nisroc asked, cocking his head.
    Kalona thought about how his body had been entrapped and his soul ripped from him and sent to the Otherworld. He thought about how after he’d returned she’d lashed him, enslaved him, and treated him as if he’d been her property to command
    “We make ready for Neferet’s destruction,” he said.
    Rephaim
    Everyone looked at him with suspicion. Rephaim hated it, but he understood it. He’d been an enemy. He’d killed one of their own. He’d been a monster.
    The truth was he could still be a monster.
    As third hour began and a professor who called herself Penthasilea read from and then spoke about a book written by an ancient vampyre named Ray Bradbury entitled Fahrenheit 451 , and the importance of the freedoms of thought and expression, Rephaim tried to school his new human features into a semblance of attention and interest, but his mind kept slipping away. He wanted to listen to the professor and have nothing more to worry about than what she called “deciphering symbolism,” but the change from boy to raven obsessed him.
    It had been as painful and terrifying as it had been