A door opened, and four witches—three women and one man—stepped into the entrance hall. These four individuals were the most powerful witches in the entire city. Each one of them led one of New York’s covens, just as each one of them headed a different department at this university. I’d read all about it in The History and Politics of Witchcraft in New York City, one of the books on Nero’s reading list. I’d skimmed through most of the slim book last night before bed. I hadn’t expected to remember anything when morning came around, but it turned out my retention was better than I’d thought. Maybe I had the gods’ second gift to thank for that. Nero had said Witch’s Cauldron was a mental gift, not a physical one.

“Colonel Windstriker, what an unexpected pleasure—”

Nero waved his hand, cutting off the witch who’d spoken. I recognized her from the pre-mission reading Nero had assigned me along with the books. Her name was Gwyneth Dorn, and she headed the Steam department at the school. Steam Witches were the inventors and engineers of the witching world. They crafted magic into technology, and it was this Magitech that made the world run smoothly. It powered the cities, the trains, and most importantly, the defenses on the walls that separated humanity from the plains of monsters.

Though Gwyneth’s file declared her to be over sixty, she didn’t look a day over thirty. Witches weren’t immortal, but they did live longer than regular humans. How much longer depended entirely upon how strong their magic was. A powerhouse like Gwyneth could easily live up to two hundred years, meaning she was still in the prime of her life. She was certainly flaunting that for everything it was worth. She wore a dark red corset top with a black ballerina skirt. Her black gloves and the small hat positioned at an artfully slanted angle on the side of her head added a ladylike charm to her outfit, and the piece of black mesh net that covered half of her face gave her a mysterious air.

The man standing to Gwyneth’s left was Constantine Wildman, the head of Zoology, the department that studied magical animals and their uses in witchcraft. He was the same age as Gwyneth, but he too showed little evidence of aging. His messy brown hair was almost juvenile, and his outfit of a fitted sweater vest and trekking pants was half professor, half jungle explorer. A gold watch, much like the kind train conductors carried, dangled from his pocket.

Aurora Bennet, the third witch in the group, was in charge of Botany. Her department focused on the study and cultivation of magical plants. She was younger than Gwyneth and Constantine by over thirty years. So was her sister Morgana, who headed the Chemistry department, which specialized in potion-brewing. They were the two sisters who were on the verge of open war.

They looked like twins, though three years separated them. Aurora, the elder of the two, wore a white, lace-trimmed bodice that showed off her cleavage. Her midsection was wrapped inside of a yellow and red corset with dragon patterns sewn into it. The corset ended abruptly at a brown ruffled skirt that was short in the front and long in back. High boots, a leather belt with attached pouches at her hips, and tons of slender silver bracelets topped off her look.

Morgana was dressed more conservatively. She wore striped brown and black tights, black boots, and a body-hugging black top under a brown corset. Her silver hair was dyed with magic, but the spell was slowly wearing off. The tips were already brown. My active mind wondered if she was too busy poisoning people to make time for hair maintenance. Only time—and lots of snooping—would tell.

“Aurora Bennet, Morgana Bennet,” Nero said after an extended silence.

He’d once told me silence made people uncomfortable, that humans had this innate urge to fill the emptiness—and a sure way to disrupt someone’s equilibrium was to not allow them to speak. This worked especially well on people who were used to commanding everyone’s attention, like the four witches who headed New York’s covens. The look Nero was giving them right now was a dare to speak, and at the same time a promise of what would happen to them if they did.

“This conflict between your covens has escalated beyond acceptable limits,” he told them. “The Legion has decided to step in. We will determine who is guilty and who will be punished.” The hard look in his eyes expanded to include Gwyneth and Constantine too. “You have ten minutes to summon the students and staff to the assembly hall for questioning.”

“All of them?” Aurora said, her jaw clenched.

“Every last witch.”

“But that will disrupt our students’ course schedules,” Gwyneth protested with indignation.

“You seem to be under the misconception that I am asking,” Nero replied coldly. “I’m telling you. And you will obey. Go.”

The force in his voice snapped like a bolt of lightning, sending the witches scrambling. As soon as the four department heads were gone, he turned to the gaping mechanic. From the look on the man’s face, he’d never seen those witches jump for anyone.

“Show us to the assembly hall,” Nero commanded him. “And I’m going to need you to procure a few things for me before we begin the hearing.”

I snuck out of the assembly hall before the witch hearing began. While the university’s professors and students were being grilled on anything and everything that had to do with the hostilities between the covens of Aurora and Morgana, I walked the empty grounds in search of a darker threat. The Chemistry labs in Building 2 were my first stop. If the witches were brewing up trouble, that’s where I’d find the evidence.