Myrddin did not require eleven bedrooms. So, he had sold his uncle's rambling estate last year. His needs were simple — somewhere to lay his head, and an extra room for when Gwendolyn visited, or Max was too drunk to drive home. He was a private man who preferred to take his guests out, rather than invite them into his personal space.

His modest two-bedroom apartment in Surry Hills was perfect. The suburb became quite trendy in the late twentieth century, and it now boasted some truly spectacular places to eat. His home was also within striking distance of one of the best nightclubs in Sydney, Bedlam.

Myrddin tensed when he heard the doorbell. He had agreed to meet with Caleb and had not liked it when Caleb insisted that he would send a driver. "It's no trouble at all. Besides, we wouldn't want our guest of honour to run off again, now would we?"

Guest of honour? What were they going to ask of him? Would he be able to get away without his own car? Gritting his teeth, he answered the door. "Con? Hey mate, can't catch up with you right now, I'm waiting for -"

"Come on brother, we don't want to be late. Caleb is waiting."

What the...

Constantine Papadopoulos. Myrddin thought he knew him. He was not one of his close friends personally, but certainly, Con had always been part of the gang. Con gestured impatiently toward the black Jaguar parked outside.

When did he get THAT? He didn't even have his own rust bucket on New Year's Eve!

As he held open the passenger door, Myrddin noticed the tiny tattoo on the crease of Con's left hand, between his thumb and index finger. It was a snake. It was the same as the one on his back — a tiny version. "Et Tu Brute?" Myrddin whispered. Con heard him but merely smiled....

They drove for some time in silence before Myrddin suddenly remembered, Summer. Rosemonde hadn't been able to contact her yesterday, and she had been quite concerned. Hadn't Summer left with Con on New Year's morning? Where was she now?

"What did you do to Summer?" He tried but did not quite succeed, in keeping the accusatory tone from his voice.

"What didn't I do? She was — delicious." Con laughed. He made it sound innocent, just a bit of fun.

Myrddin wasn't sure. He tried to voice the biggest question he had, tactfully. "So, are you two still together then?"

"I think she'll be a part of me for a little while longer."

That's good, isn't it? It means she's all right, doesn't it? But...why doesn't it feel all right? Where is she and why hasn't she responded to Rosemonde's calls and texts?

They had arrived finally at their destination, which appeared to be a paddock with overgrown vegetation. They were in the middle of nowhere. Myrddin could not see anyone else apart from himself and Con, but Con got out of the car and beckoned for him to follow. There among the Gorse and Lantana weeds was a set of stairs leading down to who knows what, completely hidden from the road.

Myrddin could easily overcome Con if he needed to, but he became uneasy as he contemplated what was below. He relaxed somewhat when Con said, "I'll go first, I know where the lamps are."

Con descended the stairs, closely followed by Myrddin. Whatever Myrddin was expecting, it wasn't what he saw when he entered the underground room. It was filled with people who all dropped to one knee upon his entry.

"Hail the High Priest of Azazael." A harsh female voice spoke in the clipped American accent often employed by Europeans who have learned English as a second language. Zoiia. She alone remained standing. All the others knelt before him, including Con.

Caleb emerged from the shadows. "I told you Myrddin. You have been chosen. When our High Priestess Zoiia said she had chosen you as the candidate for High Priest, I had to be sure, so I questioned her about your background. Then she mentioned that you were the nephew of one of our priests. That was the moment I knew. Her choice was indeed inspired. It was all so neat, all pre-arranged. The more you spoke to me the day you came to my office, the more I began to understand and recall. It had been foretold by Azazael himself: 'When the heir of the seventh heir fulfils their purpose, the new dawn will begin.'" Caleb bowed his head in respect and the others intoned:

"So, he has spoken and so we obey. For we are the people of the serpent, our time is now!"

Myrddin took a step back when the eyes of all in the room turned black. His mouth became dry and he felt disoriented. He was terrified. Nevertheless, he needed answers. "I-I still don't understand. Wh-what has any of this to do with me?" he asked.

Caleb, his eyes an eerie solid black, proceeded to enlighten him. "Harold had in fact been our hierophant, the seventh from his family who had belonged to Azazael, albeit secretly. In his case, it was his aunt who had initiated him. He initiated you against your will it's true, but then you came back, willingly. You became his pupil, and so he could and did make you his heir. You gave him permission when you returned to him. He taught you because you asked him to. Upon his death (here Caleb smiled), however, it came about, you became his heir in truth. You completed the right of passage when you chose to bear the sign of our father, Azazael."

It was surreal. He was surrounded by men and women who looked at him adoringly, yet he had never been more afraid in his life.