Corbin Westbrook stared at the grainy CCTV screenshots splayed across the cluttered mess of his desk, brows furrowed in concentration. "Is this the best we were able to get?"

Neville Feldman, Corbin's butler and best friend for the last 150 years nodded. "Unfortunately, everything else is too blurry."

"Of course." Corbin sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. First, there was a Fallen roaming through his territory, and then the masters decreed that Corbin would be hosting the decadal gathering of New England Knowing. These last few weeks had not been pleasant ones.

Most of Corbin's 256 years had been relatively peaceful; he was too young to have participated in the Revolutionary War and had already ascended to the Knowing by the time the War of 1812 rolled around. That was why he had chosen this little northwestern corner of Massachusetts to settle and continue his research. Even well into the twenty-first century, the land was untouched by human progress.

As a Knowing, Corbin was charged with eliminating Fallen if they crossed into his territory. Those who had failed the Test and escaped its sacred grounds were considered highly dangerous—not only to the general (unaware) population but to the Knowings' existence as well.

"Where was this taken again?"

"Two nights ago in a Walmart parking lot in North Adams," Neville reported.

Shit. North Adams was the next town over from Williamstown. "And the woman got away?"

"Yes. She managed to Tase the Fallen before he could cause any serious harm."

"How did she describe him to the police?"

"As a crazed, unkempt homeless man."

Corbin nodded thoughtfully, resting his chin on a fist as he stared at the images. Fallen retained most of their intelligence, but their baser instincts were augmented by the sting of their failure to ascend. Chief of which was a craving for violence and human blood.

"And this is all that our team was able to secure on the Fallen? No other reports to the police?"

Neville shook his head. "He simply vanished after that. We believe he's staying close to the border." He paused and folded his burly arms across his chest. "You'd rather be chasing after him, huh?"

Corbin looked up, a wry smile stretching across his lips. They both knew that Corbin had no experience fighting Fallen. "Anything but plan this damn party." Shifting in his chair, he leaned back and stretched. "Speaking of parties, how are things going? Not that I care."

Neville chuckled. "The caterer arrived yesterday; she and her team have set up shop in the kitchen. The pastry chef and her daughter are due to arrive today."

"Mm-hm," Corbin murmured, pushing the photographs around his desk with one finger. "Where are we putting them? Eastwood cottage?"

"Yes."

There was a knock at the door. Corbin idly spun around in his chair. "Come in."

Matilda, his housekeeper, poked her head around the door. "Excuse me, sir. Security just announced that the pastry chef is at the gate."

Corbin pivoted back towards Neville. "Well, I'll leave you to it."

Neville snorted amusedly and shook his head. Crossing the polished wooden floors of Corbin's study, the butler left to attend to business, closing the door behind him.

Corbin's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the photos. He'd been trained for this eventuality but never expected to be called to eliminate one of them. Most Knowing were kind, gentle people at heart, which were key elements to passing the Test.

The sound of a car door slamming dragged Corbin out of his thoughts. Rising, he walked over to the bay window that overlooked the lake and peered down into the courtyard.

An old battered green Subaru was parked next to the fountain; droplets that sprayed from the muzzles of swimming hippocampi landed on the dirty vehicle, leaving streaks in the layers of dust. Suitcases and cardboard boxes pressed up against the back windows.

Corbin blinked. What sort of person had Neville hired?

Crossing his arms behind his back, Corbin leaned forward slightly as a woman came back around to the driver's side of the Subaru. Well, she certainly appeared to be put together: a pair of blue jeans, calf-high brown boots, a white tank top, and an open pink flannel shirt. Her wavy chestnut hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that bounced as she moved.

As if sensing his presence, the pastry chef turned, looked up, and stared straight at him. She appeared to be around thirty and conventionally attractive, with an oval face, expressive eyes, and full lips. Corbin nodded slightly, acknowledging her presence.

Not that her attractiveness mattered to him. Oh, he'd had dalliances with other Knowing women in the past, but those never lasted because they inevitably found him boring. And for other reasons, he never bothered with human women.

The pastry chef's eyes widened and she suddenly spun around. Corbin's eyes flicked towards the front door; Neville appeared, descending the main stairs. The woman made a "hurry up" motion with one arm and the passenger side door to the derelict car opened. A teenage girl popped out; she had a light brown complexion and wore a pair of white, high-top sneakers, purple athletic shorts, and a white T-shirt with a colorful cartoon character splashed across the front. Her thick black hair was gathered back in a massive bun; a pair of sunglasses were perched on her head.

The girl hustled around the front of the car to stand by her mother. Corbin shifted, studying the pair. They had the same body type, but the girl stood a good two inches taller. There seemed to be general ease between them, which might be due to the small age gap. Interesting, but not Corbin's field of study. He preferred the quiet reflectiveness that came with gardening, observing, and painting nature.

Neville reached mother and daughter and shook their hands.

Well, that was enlightening, Corbin decided. Neville seemed to have everything in good order, so there was no need to observe anymore. Turning away from the window, Corbin went back to his desk. Hopefully, he'd have more information on the Fallen before the party.

There was still time for the masters to cancel it—right?