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I’d only get one shot at this. “Two days ago an amateur coven called the Sisters of the Crow disappeared. One of the witches, Jessica Olsen, has a daughter, Julie. Julie is only thirteen. She has no other family. Her mother means the world to her.”
They said nothing. I plowed on.
“I know Morrigan is involved. I know there is a bottomless pit at the Sisters’ gathering place and a smaller one in their head witch Esmeralda’s trailer. I know Esmeralda was power hungry and was performing old druidic rites, but I don’t know why. Now the Fomorians are running around the city, led by Bolgor the Shepherd. They want Julie. She’s just a child, and although her mother was in an amateur coven, she was still a witch, just like you. Please help me understand what’s going on. Help me fit it all together.”
My breath caught in my throat. Either they would deal with me or send me packing. Once the covens said no, they meant it.
The mother-witch pursed her lips. “Morrigan,” she said with slight distaste, as if discussing a neighbor who failed to wash her windows. “She always has a hound with her.”
I frowned. “A dog?”
“No. A man. A scoundrel. A thief and a brigand.”
I almost snapped my fingers. “Tall, dark, carries a bow, disappears into mist, can’t keep his hands to himself?”
The mother nodded to me with a smile. “Yes.”
“I’ve seen him.”
She smiled wider. “I gathered.”
When you want to impress the other party with your intellect, state the obvious. Brilliant. I was simply brilliant.
The maiden’s voice whispered, intimate, almost as if she were breathing in my ear instead of reclining on the couch sixteen feet away. “For the knowledge you want, we would ask a boon of you…”
The crone leaned back. Her hands rose, spread wide. Magic flared about her like dark wings.
The floor quaked. A long gash split the tiles between me and Derek, and a wave of musky scent wafted forth. A sleek pink liquid spilled from the floor and streamed away from me to Derek and the vampire.
Derek ripped off his clothes. His back arched and the skin along his chest split. For the briefest of moments I saw bare bones shifting and flowing like molten wax, and then muscle slivered over it, fur burst, flaring into lupine hackles, and a werewolf stood within the circle. Six and a half feet tall, with clawed hands large enough to enclose my head and jaws that could crack my skull like an egg. Half-man, half-beast, all nightmare. The shapeshifter warrior form.
I didn’t recall drawing Slayer but it was in my hand.