Cassidy Vicious lay in the bed, newborn baby in her arms, and looked at the houseful of witches with a terrifying look in her eyes as she slowly bled to death.
"It was omened to me on my sixteenth birthday that childbirth'd kill me," she says. "And I've had something from each of you, some blessing or portent or working or wyrd, in the years since. Enough for each of you to feel entitled to a terrible price. Enough to demand a firstborn. Well, fuck y'all; there's one of her and one hundred of you, and I'm not giving her over to any of you but the strongest. You want her? Look around at who else does. You want my firstborn? Earn her. Fucking fight."