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living situation was made slightly more bearable by Rand’s insistence that Sinjin, Trent and Odran only interact with us when absolutely necessary, that is, when discussing all things pertinent to the war. Otherwise we merely lived under the same roof while conducting very separate lives.
    While our lives might have been separate, we were united by the impending war. The topic of war preoccupied every discussion in the house. It made me nervous to think about it and I couldn’t help but think about it constantly, especially when war was the single topic on everyone’s tongue. Truth be known, I was sick to death of it.
    The war was to be held in exactly three months, on March 15th, otherwise known as the Ides of March. And the location? The battlefield of Culloden, in Scotland, the scene of the legendary Jacobite defeat by the British throne. Irony certainly wasn’t lost on the creatures of the Underworld.
    Rand, with the help of Odran, Sinjin and Trent had drafted what can only be referred to as an invitation to battle. The language seemed to have been borrowed from some ancient text and sounded as rudimentary as the act of delivering a war summons, itself. Did one employ Fedex for such a purpose? I never found out.
    Regardless, the war summons had been delivered and Rand expected Bella’s response in exactly two weeks’ time. Delaying any longer would just be downright rude.
    It was almost funny to watch Rand, Trent, and Odran when the mail arrived everyday—you’d have thought they were waiting on Publisher’s Clearing House. And as far as the postman was concerned, Rand had to resort to putting a spell on the poor guy so he wasn’t aware of what was happening. Then Odran took a sample of his blood with one of my brooches and Rand used the blood in an incantation which gained the postman entrance through our barricade. We could only hope the postman wasn’t one of Bella’s employees.
    “Push against him harder, Trent!” Rand yelled as Trent, in were form, battled Sinjin in the moonlight.
    It was another night of training for the battle. I sat next to Christa, both of us bundled in a chenille blanket as we swung back and forth on a wooden swing which was attached to the bough of an ancient pine tree. The tree stood at the crest of a small hill which gave us a bird’s eye view as our legions battled one another, bursts of light and clashing of steel weapons interrupting the otherwise still night.
    It was like something out of a sci-fi movie—fairies weaving their magic while the vampires used their incredible speed to thwart their opponents and the werewolves were equally intimidating with their gnashing teeth and heart-stopping cries. It was nearly impossible to see the witches in the warring throng of otherworldly creatures.
    And over all this, Rand played overlord. He looked like a coach as he weaved in and out of the faux battle, calling orders and offering encouragement. He disappeared into the moving sea of soldiers and I returned my attention to the scene directly before me—Trent getting his ass kicked by Sinjin.
    It was a spectacle I couldn’t say I didn’t enjoy.
    “This is not a challenge,” Sinjin said.
    Trent was on the ground, Sinjin’s fangs poised above Trent’s carotid. Even though Trent was in wolf form, which made him incredibly strong in his own right, he couldn’t seem to break free of Sinjin’s iron grip. Trent howled and Sinjin pulled away from him, his fangs retracting as he spotted me and stood up. He took two steps from the defeated werewolf and bowed theatrically.
    “Did you enjoy the show, Ladies?” he asked.
    “It’s getting a little old,” Christa answered. “I mean, it was cool the first time but now it’s like…rerun.”
    “I apologize if you find us less than entertaining,” he said with a smile. Never one to be offended, he seemed more amused than anything else.
    “Apology accepted,” Christa answered as she scouted the warring soldiers for a sign of John,