I’m not too surprised when Ximena Rosales is waiting for us in the lobby of the building. She’s accompanied by a man I assume to be Hope’s uncle, and a petite woman I’ve never seen before, with a pale, bookish face and red hair. My skin prickles from the presence of vampires somewhere above us. Adriana’s grandmother greets me with a somber expression, her hands firm where they grip my elbows.

“Don’t be scared, mijito,” she says, but if there’s any reason I shouldn’t be, she keeps it to herself. Instead, she gestures to the strangers beside her. “This is Marcus Cheng, Hope’s uncle, and this is Lydia Fitzroy. They’re the other witches that have been training with the women you’re about to meet.” She casts a glance in the direction of the elevators. “We’re going up with you. What’s to be discussed … it involves all of us.”

“All of us?” Hope and Adriana exchange a glance.

“Not you two.” Marcus Cheng is stern. “This is still a school day, remember?”

“We drove Auggie all the way out here, and now we have to go all the way home again?” Adriana is annoyed—but I know her well enough to see that, for once, she’s happy about being excluded from witch stuff.

“What you two did was very important,” Ximena begins patiently, “and so is your education. You girls will get a fancy dinner date on me as a reward, but right now you’re leaving. Entiendes?”

Adriana relents, but before she and Hope go, she gives me one last worried look.

Together with the adults, I take the elevator up fourteen floors, sweating profusely. We walk down a windowless hallway that someone forgot to oxygenate, and we knock on a nondescript door. When it opens, we enter a small apartment lit by a single lamp with a golden shade, the windows shielded by velvet drapes. Four high-backed chairs face a small sofa—where three figures are seated, all dressed in black. I don’t know who opened the door for us, because the room is otherwise empty.

“Hello, August Pfeiffer.” The leftmost of the seated trio is the one who speaks first, her skin pale as alabaster, her eyes bottomless. “My name is Brixia.”

“I am Ket,” says the woman in the middle, her chin tattooed with a row of slender, vertical lines.

“And I am Sulis.” The third woman, her colorless eyes glinting, gestures at the empty chairs. “Please sit. There is much to talk about.”