Lilith Mage Emissary To The Rescue?

Just as Stewart's grip tightened on Mara’s thighs, the scent of brimstone and hot metal suddenly filled the room, a foul, acrid tang that cut through the pleasant aroma of tea and scones.

'I didn't fart,' Verdant Green's voice projected, a note of genuine alarm in its gravelly tone. 'That's not me.'

The air in the centre of the room began to shimmer and warp, a sound like tearing fabric echoing in the suddenly hushed space. A vertical wound in reality ripped open, a swirling vortex of black and violet energy that pulsed with a cold, starving energy.

A figure stepped through the portal as if stepping through a doorway. She was with a striking, high cheeked beauty that was equal parts goth and Portland hipster. A faded red and black tartan shirt, cut off to reveal a strip of pale, toned midriff, was loosely worn over a tight black band t-shirt. Her legs were clad in frayed blue denim shorts that were cut brutally short, showcasing a pair of long, athletic thighs. Her hair, a shock of jet-black with a severe fringe, was styled in an artfully messy bun, and her pale skin was adorned with dark makeup around her eyes.

The newcomer's swept the room, a cool, dismissive gaze that lingered on Stewart for a fraction of a second too long. "The name's Lilith Wraithseer. Level 9" she announced, her voice a low, husky rasp that carried a faint, modern, almost Valley Girl inflection. "I'm an emissary for the West Coast **** Cabal." She hooked her thumbs into the belt loops of her shorts, a casual, arrogant gesture. "And you're going to let Mara Ravenshade go. Now."

She pointed a black-painted fingernail at Stewart, then at the lead witch. "Or I'm gonna turn this charming little tea party into a full-on ectoplasmic bloodbath. We've got scry-eyes on this place. You fuck with her, you fuck with the whole network. We'll burn this whole mall down, salt the earth, and open a goddamn artisanal, ethically sourced charcuterie stand on the ashes." She cracked her knuckles, a series of sharp, unsettling pops. "Don't test me."

Genevieve, still holding her teacup, raised a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow. She took a delicate sip, her expression one of mild, almost bored curiosity. "How very 1950’s.”

“1953 was the last big Life and **** War.” Verdant Green whispered, a little too loudly, for Emi and Brandon’s benefit.

Lilith and Genevieve both glanced at the Familiar irritated by his exposition.

The lead Life Coven witch continued, “and under what right, precisely, do you make these... quaint threats, my dear?" she asked, her tone a gentle, condescending chide. "The West Coast ****-Cabal has no jurisdiction inside here. This is our territory, secured and consecrated for our ritual. The articles of our covenant are quite clear."

Lilith rolled her eyes, a gesture of profound, teenage-level disdain. "Oh, my god, seriously? You're gonna play that game? Fine." She pulled a small, sleek-looking smartphone from her pocket and expertly navigated to a note, her thumb flying across the screen. "The Concordat of Neutral Grounds, ratified 1955, specifically section 4, subsection B, paragraph 2," she recited, her voice a flat, bored monotone, as if reading from a particularly tedious terms and conditions agreement. "Quote: 'No major magical cabal shall impede the duly appointed emissary of another cabal in the retrieval of a compromised asset, provided said asset was not directly sworn into the service of the opposing cabal.' So, unless you can produce a binding contract signed by Mara in her right mind, which I'm guessing you can't, because she's currently being sexually assaulted by your himbo over there, then you're legally obligated to back the fuck off." She pocketed her phone with a defiant smirk.

"So, yeah. There's your right. Now, give her back."