The last enchantress of the underworld

workshop beneath the city's oldest cemetery. Outside, the rumble of a blacked-out sedan vibrated through the stone floor__ a familiar tremor in the underworld ruled by t

g illusions and manipulating the city's forgotten energies, was a fragile flame she guarded fiercely. The Valentis, with their iron grip on the human and il

of mafia power plays. A raw, discordant note hummed beneath the city's familiar symphony of sirens and

rap of a supplicant seeking a forgotten charm, but the brutal thud of authority. E

g crack, revealing two figures silhouetted against the dim light of the cemetery. Th

e and assessing, scanned her cluttered space, lingering on the half- finished enchantments and the faint shimmer of residu

oid of any pleasantries. "My father has a...problem

moving towards a vial of protective herbs hidde

. "And you will explain it. Because whatever it is, it has already taken one of ours". His big eyes, for the briefest of moments, flickered with something t

e, radiating a faint, unsettling chill. As Dante held it out, the air in the workshop seemed to grow colder, and a familia

cognized with a jolt of icy dread. A symbol that belonged to a power far older, and far more da