Firelight beat against the stone walls and rotted ceiling, the dark void of night visible where the roof gave way, and the odor of peat smoke clung greedily to the air. Long since reclaimed by nature, the nave of the old church was a corridor of trampled weeds and fractured statuary—at the center of which three shrouded figures gathered around a shallow pit dug into the floor. Ringed by stones, it cast up a column of bright flames that curled and twisted in unnatural shapes.

“By the pricking of my thumbs,” one of the sisters remarked, her attention still on the fire, “something wicked this way comes.”

“Is that any manner in which to greet an old friend?” The bearded man couldn’t resist a sly grin.

Quick as a snake, the leftmost figure produced a weapon from the folds of her cloak, a long knife with a bone handle. Her head turned minutely in his direction, she stated, “We have other greetings to offer, Azazel. Don’t tempt fate.”

The Corrupter grinned wider, his skin prickling all over in the presence of his children—and what rebellious children they were. “Your blade is no match for mine, Brixia.”

Drawing back the heavy veil that concealed her face, she at last favored him with a direct look. Her skin and hair were so pale they were almost white, but her eyes were dark as the night itself. “You are not the vermin this blade is meant for.”

“We need no weapon to kill you,” the woman in the middle reminded him, lifting her own veil. Dark skin, dark hair, lines tattooed beneath her bottom lip … this was Ket. She cast a handful of herbs into the fire, and they were consumed in a flash of blue sparks.

“If your death was our plan, you wouldn’t have made it this far.” The third witch revealed herself—Sulis, with tan skin, colorless eyes, and a crown of iron-gray braids. From her own cloak she produced a rat, already dead, and tossed its limp body across the circle. Brixia snatched it from the air, sliced open its gut, and wrung its blood into the flames. A ball of greasy black smoke belched out of the pit and rolled toward the ceiling.

“Your death will come, with or without us,” Brixia added, wiping the blood off her hands with an old rag. “Already the sand slips out.”

“Would you like to know your fate?” Ket asked.

“Perhaps he’s seen it himself,” Sulis suggested with a devilish smile.

“I’ve seen many fates.” The Corrupter lifted his sword, running his fingers along the sharpened edge. It was no show piece; not so long ago, it had claimed the head of a king. “Some of them are yours. Death has grown impatient waiting for you three—perhaps it’s time you joined your sisters.”

“Is that what brings you here?” Sulis looked amused.