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intimidating, but the long fabric would definitely be distracting in a fight. He forced himself to train his eyes on the tip of the Cologne cathedral with an expression of awe on his face to blend in with the masses around him. It would do no good to gain the attention of the guards.
    A few minutes after the side entrance – the witch entrance – had been opened, the first witches and wizards arrived. It was easy to discern them from the humans. The witch families huddled closer together, as if they were seeking protection from what was around them. Their faces were lowered a tad more, their expressions full of deference as they approached the guards of the Brotherhood. Did they have no pride, no honor? How could they grovel in front of the feet of those men? Their enemies, murderers of their kind.
    Darko would have bet his right arm that each of the families had lost loved ones to the bloody swords of the Brotherhood and yet they bowed their heads as they waited for the guards to let them pass. The faces of the guards told Darko all he needed to know. Their expressions spoke of superiority and disgust. If they could, they would burn every family, children and all, right there on the spot.
    Darko stared down at the cup in his hands, at the black liquid, at his white knuckles. If he let his fury take control of himself, he’d be the one to burn.
    When his heartbeat had slowed, he allowed his gaze to return to the side door. The first family was still waiting to be granted access. More witch families had gathered behind them. Darko counted almost sixty witches and wizards. Their breath left their lips in puffs of fog as they spoke among themselves. From his spot it was difficult to get a good look at their faces. Scanning his surroundings, he spotted another tourist group, closer to the side entrance, and joined them. He let his eyes wander over the gathered witches, looking for the witch his Master had showed him. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering why his Master thought the girl was special. She looked ordinary, certainly not like one of the more powerful of his kind. Darko had a different image in mind when he thought of a mage strong enough to raise the dead.
    His gaze froze on a family of three who were waiting at the edge of the crowd. The girl had the same dark, almost black hair, fair skin, and fine-boned figure. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, if they were amber as they’d been on his Master’s screen, but he was sure that it was the girl he was supposed to find. Now he merely needed to figure out if she was a Necromancer. If only he knew how to accomplish that task. She wouldn’t admit to anything to someone she barely knew, maybe not even if they were old friends.
    The church bells started ringing, announcing the full hour and the beginning of service. The sound reverberated in Darko’s bones, sent a chill down his spine. Finally the guards stepped back and allowed the gathered witches to stream into the cathedral. They started pushing, keen to get inside and sit on their reserved spots quickly. The priests of the Brotherhood wouldn’t appreciate it if witches disturbed the service because they were late – even if it was the fault of the guards. Darko moved even closer, sure that the commotion would distract from his presence. The chatter in Italian, Japanese and English faded around him; all that mattered was the girl. Was she the one?
    A small boy was separated from his witch family in the commotion and fell face first to the ground. The girl moved away from her parents to hurry toward him and helped him up. His palms were bloody and he was crying silently. Even the small boy knew better than to attract attention with noisy sobs. The girl knelt down in front of him, took his hands and started talking to him with a smile. His parents came up to them and the mother lifted the boy on her arms and smiled gratefully at the girl. The boy’s palms were smooth, no blood, no cuts.
    Darko tensed.