Michael didn’t have to think about his reply. It was an easy enough question with an easy enough answer. “I have nothing against witches, in general.” That was a true enough statement. Cordelia had made herself and her girls a target by killing his people. If she had just burnt the warlocks, he would have gotten over it. It would have been a loss to him, a blow to his ego, but at the end of the day, the two men had only ever been allies who could be replaced. Miriam was a different story entirely. She had been like a mother to him, and it was her death that drove him into wishing the Supreme and her coven dead.
“You’re not the only witch here. There are tons of them, from what I’ve seen. I have no interest in them. They can do as they please.” As long as they left him alone. Michael was in a live and let live mood. He liked where he was, in Preya with Jim and Fenrir and his snake, Jezebel.
His eyes darted to the lake, its still, cold waters. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, to conjure up the visage of Cordelia extending her hand out to him, offering him a second chance. Had she really believed that he would take it? That he’d allow her to change him? Bitch.