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Chapter 7 - Sweat It Out

Early Morning, November 17th, 2007 - Within a Mile of Holbrook Hall

DuskWing
Colder than a witch's teat or was it a warlock's cock? Was the first thought to come to mind when Sophia stepped out into the frigid New England fall Sunday morning. If it wasn't for her experience living in Northern Washington she would have forgotten to wear leggings that morning. Luckily her mom warned her about the uptick in cool weather and to pack for it when she first arrived. Now, she had no regret in leaving some of her best shoes behind and sent a small prayer for her mother's foresight.

There were also the thick-soled galoshes she wore as she carried her purse with a few items of sage and a small bundle of sweetgrass. Her long black hair was braided with pieces of fabric sent by her mother each of whom her grandfather had purified. A small token fitted then with small gems acting as reserves to store her essence. Even a minor wizard would use reliquaries if they could and so hiding them in her hair made sense. Just as she walked under several large old-growth trees she frowned at the lack of conifers on campus.

Kitty Fox had given her the location and after a lengthy discussion on Captain Planet between her and Haruko she was ready for a long hour or two of silence. I swear to god that stupid demon girl has some kind of creepy crush on Kitsune. The nickname for the fox-eared girl had been dropped on her ceremonially by Haruko. This included mentions of Inari and other gods before a long string of jokes in both Japanese and South Korean.

Just as she was through the copse of trees she noticed a blonde head watching her from against an oak. It was a tall slender slightly androgynous girl she'd seen before in Powers Theory. A quick search of her memory only revealed the fact the girl was Swedish and on the edge of the orbit of the Beret Mafia. A moment later she glanced back at the oak and the girl was gone.

I think her name means Hex or something in Swedish. The very idea stayed with her as she took in the sight of the curved tented structure making up the sweat lodge. Just outside she considered stripping down her birthday suit before sloughing off her outer clothes till as she was wearing a simple one-piece purple bathing suit underneath. As she stepped out of her clothes she opened the flap and set them down folded up near the entrance. A loud stream of steam hissed as the other occupant of the lodge watched her enter.

"Oh," she said as she took in the quiet gaze of one Kayda Franks. She knew who Kayda was from in between a few sources including her mother and her best friend Gráinne. Another Posie, Kayda was for a better word a former jinx of sorts. By all accounts, the girl had survived ordeal after ordeal and come out smelling almost like roses. Her ties to certain other figures on campus were what made Sophia carefully introduce herself, "I'm Sophia Jameson."

She offered her shortened name and avoided reminding herself of her father's recent cold shoulder. I need to play nice around her and just do the sweat. Don't get started on any of my soapbox issues and not annoy the Shamaness. Kayda appeared to regard her before saying a word, and she noticed a similarity to how the girl and her best friend sized people up. I can only wonder what she's undergone.

"Kayda Franks," the other girl offered as she hesitated before loosening up her posture.
"You're Lakota, right?" Sophia inquired.
"Yeah, from my mom's side, Sicangu Lakota Oyate," a sudden hesitation drew Sophia's eyes. The girl paused for just a second as her voice choked up, a brief-expression of loss and pain over her face. "My - my grandmother," again the girl appeared haunted. She's digging up her ghosts...damn...I misjudged her terribly. Sophia offered a hand just as Kayda appeared to compose herself. "My grandmother, Grey Skies, grew up on the Rosebud Reservation."

"Mom and dad are both Lummi Nation, we're a co-Salish people," she said carefully and reached out to offer the bundle of sweetgrass to burn on the hot stones. Kayda received the bundle with a small nod before placing them quickly and gently upon the fire.

"Co-Salish?" she asked.

"Oh we're the longhouse totem people white people like to abuse in Peter Pan," she quipped.

"Right," she asked as a slightly distant look reached her eyes.

"Who are you talking to?" Sophia asked, "My best friend does the same thing when her spirit speaks to her."

"Yeah, my spirit, the White Buffalo," Kayda replied.

"Some girls in Whitman said you could even summon small Buffalo," Sophia smiled.

"I can, his name is Tatanka," she said carefully before the form of a Blue Heeler-sized albino bovid appeared beside her.

"Greetings, Daughter of the Salmon People," replied the small buffalo solemnly.

"Hello, Spirit of the Buffalo," the Lummi girl replied, "My grandfather, Gerald "RavenWing" Jameson heard that Kayda is a great healer."

"Wahikayda is indeed a healer," the Bison intoned, "what ails your friend?"

"She was attacked at her school, and nearly...assaulted. She jumps at every shadow and wakes up screaming," Sophia said remembering their trip to Whateley by train. Long nights where she heard her friend whining about banshees and other terrors out of myth. Sophia wasn't sure though if they were real or not. Her past experiences after her grandfather lit her well did show some strange things to her magical senses.

"Oh my god," Kayda covered her mouth in horror. Oh dammit. I forgot...those allegations in her hometown.

"I am so sorry to bring this to you," she said sheepishly, "But my friend snapped yesterday and nearly ripped an upperclassman apart."

"What happened?" Kayda asked through a half-choked sob.
"Some jock caught her in the boy’s bathroom and almost made her suck him off," Sophia coughed as she felt rage and sorrow pooling in her gut. "The other guys stopped her from getting away and almost had her for....yeah...she then throws one into a locker."

"Such acts are the most horrendous for all peoples," Sophia heard Tatanka say.

"I agree," Sophia said with a growl, "I try my best to help Gráinne, but there is only so much I or my family can do."

"...I might be able to help her, " Kayda spoke up after looking at her lap for a moment. The heat of the steam was remembered as both girls sighed in the heat. "I will need to speak to a few people though, beforehand."

"Makes sense," Sophia said weighing her options. Should I bother to ask or not? The young Shamaness fidgeted with her thumbs for a second as she realized that her timer had gone off. A full hour had passed already? That was strange, she felt a little light-headed as she picked up her clothes and glanced at Kayda. "Thanks for considering it."

"Thanks, for um," again Kayda held her response for a pregnant pause, "for being so polite."

"I get what it means to be suddenly looking at a legacy," Sophia said as she shimmied into her leggings, skirt and blouse. Her hair was a mess from being tossed about, "Mine isn't as big as yours, but if you wanna talk my door is open."

Just After Lunch, November 17th, 2007 - Schuster Hall

Maeve
The Irishwoman eschewed her usual black fatigues as she walked into the Whateley grounds in a black blouse, and tight pencil skirt. Her three-inch heels gave her graceful legs a nice arc as she walked past the entrance of Crystal Hall. Held in one hand was a once full platter. Having eaten her fill, Maeve did a secondary scan of the room using the Sight of Odin. The spell this time numbed her entire right side after usage and revealed nothing.

"To increase a sense you must dull another," was a rule of faerie magic of scrying taught to her years ago. But, the simple loss of essence mattered little to her. Her mouth tasting like rubber was far more annoying.

"Howdy Stranger," quipped a certain fox-eared nuisance behind her.

"Wha ye wan brat?" the woman responded. She dodged out of the way of a green-haired aelf girl before turning to face Catherine Fox directly. Immediately, Maeve noted the young woman's characteristic arched brow, and her arms crossed beneath her breast.

"Oh - a few things really." The girl's right ear flicked as she rubbed her nose and sauntered toward the witch. "I'd say a million dollars and a nice beach in Hawaii. Maybe some rum to take that edge off." She came to rest closer a few feet away from the Irishwoman.

"Rum. Aren't ye a tad young ta feck over yer brain short stack?" Maeve chuckled as her blue eyes seemed a little harder than before. Her eyes ignored the sway in the redhead's hips as she met her eyes. "Ye seem far too comfy wit drink than a girl yer age should be."

"You know how many Exemplars are here? How many cooky alchemists." Cathrine rolled her eyes in kind before adding wryly, "Been to the Caribbean a few times - out in Nassau and even a trip or two to Grand Bahama." She paused a slightly distant look as her lips quivered. "Well, before I came here."

"What ye hidin?" Maeve crossed her arms as she held out her hand and muttered a spell in Irish. She felt a strange pinging in her ring finger before snorting, "Before wha? Ye just holdin' me up or ye lookin' ta hit on me again lil' lass."

"Before losing - both of my parents." The girl said choking up a little, "Before I manifested. Let's just say last year was rough." Kitty seemed to quiet down after she replied leaving Maeve momentarily speechless.

"Sorry ta hear dat," she replied a tad flabbergasted, "Someone kilt me sister. So I know wha' it means ta lose family."

These kids are all full of secrets. She watched as Catherine gave a nod and shrugged, a smile was soon plastered on her face. "Welp, we're still here, aren't we? So - that's something, right, I mean." There was yet another pause. "Think it might be the last two years were rough, but it was rough."

"Yeah, I've seen yer mother's records," Maeve said simply, eyes narrowing just the slightest. "Of carse, I also look inta yer father's unfortunate deat."

Catherine's face flinched a little and her voice ran as she seemed to backpedal, "No, that's alright thanks for the shoulder. Welp I was there and Overlord lost -case closed.-"

"Still 'ere when ye wan ta tahk," Maeve drawled as she watched the girl make a hasty retreat. The Second Lieutenant shook her head as she made her way to the Administrative offices. Walking into the Secretary pool brought her back from a few of her deeper thoughts. She ran through what she'd prepared that morning, a simple spell to bring what she knew was hiding in the girl out. The Emerald Soul - She Who Rages - that was what she told Mrs. Carson.

The problem was that Sinead had never confirmed all her theories, nor was there much about the previous hosts. She had a solid idea of who the spirit was, but placing her in the greater mythology of what the Irish Department of Paranormal Investigation possessed. Maeve considered calling in a few favors at the Directorate, at least one high ranking section head owed her a favor or three.

Not worth calling on my coins just yet. She let her thoughts linger on the cloak and dagger she planned. Once again dancing around the limits set by Mrs. Carson. I'm no match for Lady Astarte, but at least I know how to push the limits. She had personal reasons for being there and even with the previous offer of talking she didn't quite trust the
Headmistress. There was too much stink of Syndicate at the school and as a military mage she saw the organization as one of many factions she disliked interacting with.

"The Headmistress is waiting for you, Second Lieutenant," Miss Hartford spoke up from in front of her screen with the glare of dictation passing across her glasses rapidly.

"Tank ye," Maeve said as she walked in and took a seat to the left of the Headmistress' desk and crossed her legs. Gráinne was curled up in the large chair by Sophia Jameson both girls watched the Irish soldier with faint worry in their eyes. Maeve breathed slowly to center herself and prepare for the next round of questioning.

"Shall we begin from where we left off?" Mrs. Carson suggested with a slightly saccharine laced warning glare to the Irishwoman.

"Aye," Maeve replied begrudgingly.

"Gráinne, describe us what you saw again if you can," Mrs. Carson was careful to not trigger the girl. Maeve's cold blue eyes were focused on as the girl started to speak.

"A woman wearing a black hoodie. Long stringy hair, and an accent like the Lieutenant's," Maeve listened to the girl.

"How did yer spirit react," Maeve cut in receiving an annoyed look from Mrs. Carson who pressed her lips together and mouthed 'watch it' to the Irishwoman.

"She said, that 'ye cannae 'av har', the woman...she knew it was me and not...Sinead." The girl's holding something back. The Irish operative clenched her hands into fists as she considered making her move. She'd brought her purse with her that day, and inside was a small piece of Hawthorn wood and a candle.

"Mrs. Carson," the Irishwoman drawled, "If I may, I can use a spell wit will brin da lass' spirit inta da corporeal realm."

The Headmistress appeared to consider it and spoke, "Such a spell would require considerable investiture. Are sure you wish to do something so extreme?"

"Aye," Maeve nodded, "Bettar ta tahk ta da spirit, dan make da lass speak fer har."

Maeve watched as the Headmistress turned now to speak to the girl, "Gráinne, Miss Maguire believes she can summon your spirit here physically so we can all speak to her. Would that be okay with you?"

"Will it hur' me or Morgan?" she asked and Maeve nodded inwardly. She's hidden behind green eyes for years. Time ta meet She Who Rages.

"Itwill hur' me mar dan yer spirit, lass," Maeve replied before waiting for a reply. Just have to wait. I'm sure the damn Headmistress is gonna murder me after this. She considered just placing the candle on the Headmistress' desk and beginning the spell. Throw all caution to the wind and get what she wanted done. But, not today, not after the last haranguing she got from Carson. Today, I play nice.

Just remember the spell.

"Fine." Carson let out the word through grit teeth and Maeve knew she was sitting on shaky ground. One misstep would result in her ass being tossed out of the campus grounds. But, she had to speak to the spirit. for years she'd heard Sinead mention the mysterious Morgan.

"Ghair ḿ ar Mionn Iarainn agus geallaim go sollúnta ar an fuil mo shinsir! D'ainmnigh mé tu; sí na mire agus iníon darach bianne agus banríon catha agus sleá na bhflatha!" Her voice rose above the rest as she removed a votive candle and lit it with light from her back pocket. As soon as the wick alit with flame the flame itself turned the color of blood. She began to repeat the phrase again just after placing the candle on Mrs. Carson's desk.

"I CALL YOU, MORGAN!" she said aloud in English. A sudden compression of air snapped as every single ear in the room popped from the change in pressure. Maeve closed her eyes just as her ears popped and suddenly there was a towering presence behind her. Every fiber of her being was sapped of energy it felt like as she wobbled. Just as she was about to faint a sun-kissed arm caught her.

"I gotcha," a soothing soprano said. Maeve blinked as the arm released her and she turned to face the literal faerie in the room.

In-person Morgan was seven feet and easily towered over every single person in the room. From her head fell a long blood-red mane of hair carefully plaited to keep it corralled and out of her eyes. The faerie's eyes were perhaps the most vivid green Maeve ever witnessed. Even more, each eye glowed faintly with a silent flicker flame of emerald energy. A long oval faced with high cheekbones watched her as a wry smile fell upon kissable blood-red lips just beneath a hawkish nose. The faerie's body was clothed in a long brigandine coat fitted over padded armor.

The small studded bits of metal impressed into the leather shined a strange ethereal blue-sheen in the light of the candle. Morgan shifted as a pair of studded leather boots announced her movement. Atop the woman's back was a long clocha, a traditional cloak pinned with a silver pin.

"Holy shit, MY TALLEST!" Gráinne smiled.

"FOINE! Ye can use dat one," the faerie warrior roar in reply and discomfort. Fiery green eyes turned to face Maeve as the woman spoke again. "Ye brought me wit grea' cost ta yerself mage. Yiz decision be foolish at best!"

"You are the Emerald Soul?" Maeve asked carefully.

"AYE! Bonded to Song Spirit before Scald-Crow an' wit Blackthorn durin' da Second Great war!" Whenever she spoke she revealed sharp snow-white teeth.

"Blackthorn?" Mrs. Carson inquired as she seemed to remember something.

"Aye, tis me pleasure ta see ye fully once 'gain Elizabet,' ' Morgan gave a small bow.

"I didna ken ye could watch us all," Maeve asked sarcastically.

"Only Moira an' Gráinne 'ave me full awareness," the Faerie retorted, "I gifted me powers in different ways ta da avatars who held my substance."

"Sinead was song and strengt',' ' Maeve stated.

"Aye, ta be in me full powar fer so long drains me," she continued, "or it requires a deep bondin' wit a Draoi blooded child. A propar foundling."

"Makes sense why I sense faerie aether bleedin' fram har," Maeve replied and cold blue eyes moved to watch Gráinne's slightly shocked expression.

"A wha?" the teenager asked.

"Yer not jus' a child wit faerie blood Gráinne, yer fram a royal line, which means I was able ta bond myself full intah yer being,"

"So...I'm faerie royalty?" the girl-child asked. Maeve rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms.

"Da greates' realms o' faerie are da Princes," Maeve stated.

"Da Princes rule fer da oldes' worlds o' magick," Morgan responded crossing her arms and giving a nod.

Mrs. Carson was watching the conversation with her face set in consideration. The tall blonde slowly sat down in her seat and steepled her fingers while placing her elbows on the desk.

"What threat are you bringing to my school, Morgan," Elizabeth Carson asked.

"Much," the Faerie replied grimly, "da monster who hunts Gráinne an' meself is bound ta a power almost as dangerous as Mad Mabd harself."

"The power you speak of, are they one of the Nine Sidhe Queens?" Elizabeth asked carefully.

In response, Morgan's eyes burst with emerald flame and her mouth tightened. "Never compare me or any Prince o' Faerie ta dose misbegotten usurpers! Dey wan' our great tree!

"Ye 'ave a world tree in Faerie?" Maeve inquired carefully, "why no' brin' a cuttin' 'ere an' rebuildin' a place o' essence."

"A cuttin' o' da Blessed Trees would' die in dis world fer it's lack of magick an' fer terrible mortal mages who would grind dear wood fer its magick," she replied.

"so who is hunting you and threatens MY School!" barked Carson to draw the mage's and Faerie's attention. Gráinne paled at hearing the risen voice of the Headmistress leaving Sophia the only one completely unflinching.

"Da Dullahan is a woman, Bess Monaghan, a mercenary sorceress fer hire specializin' in hexes,'' Maeve offered and she gave a shake of her head to Morgan. "She's likely werkin' for an extremist Republican cell, da True Fenians if Gráinne remains on campus. I can assist yer magic users in warding mirror's an' surfaces to prevent har fram werkin past yer original defense."

"And what do you want in exchange for this service?" Carson growled.

"I wan' closure, dis lass has da one solid lead I 'ave ta da woman who kilt me sister," she snarled.

"Miss Maguire, I believe I have already warned you. No matter what I will not let Gráinne or any of her friends be used for bait so you can complete your revenge!" Carson slammed her hand down hard enough on the desk to get the woman's attention. Morgan let out a guffaw at the paling of the raven hair's face and rubbed her eye. "I mus' leave, if ye wish ta speak ta me, Gráinne can relay me response. I can already feel da las' of the essence allowin' me ta manifest. Farewell."

The tall framed woman disappeared as suddenly as she appeared. An emptiness of unknown quiet arrived in its wake and Maeve wondered if this was what her ancestors felt when their "gods" left them. The raven-haired woman canted an eyebrow toward young Gráinne who was quietly talking to herself in whispers. Mrs. Carson, on the other hand, was busily writing in a notebook. Silent scratching of paper on the pad was the only sound in the room for a heartbeat or more. Maeve rested a hand at her jawline to fathom what could lay in front of her.

"Graine, Sophia, you both may go. Miss Horton will be discussing with you the detention I've assigned specifically for the two of you," Carson's voice was carefully controlled, “even if you were provoked attacking another student is unacceptable”

A rumbling disquiet though threatened to explode from the woman. Gráinne and Sophia both slowly rose to their feet and left with simple goodbyes. The door left a loud thunk as it closed leaving only the two individuals of Maeve and one angry Headmistress alone. Rage seemed to simmer around the woman like a sidewalk boiling in the glaring light of the sun.

"I will give you -one-...last...chance...before I call your supervisors and use whatever favors I have to destroy you. Did you really think I was going to let you break that poor girl AGAIN?" The ferocity in which the woman deliver the words surprised Maeve. As an Irishwoman, the Second Lieutenant was a simple one with the Irish stereotype of the sharp-tongued girl. She'd even kissed the blarney stone on a dare from her sister years ago. Perhaps her life as a bullshit artist was finally calling in the debts for all her bad behavior.

"I 'av wha I need," Maeve replied shortly.

"Oh, you do?" Carson snarled, "remember this Maeve. Your sister knew what she was getting into when she joined the Fianna. Just as I knew what I got into when I became Headmistress of -this- Academy."

Maeve herself could feel the desire to leave, not because she was scared or remotely intimidated by Lady Astarte. I'm not an idiot. Thickheaded, and stubborn, but this is checkmate to the Headmistress. The mage considered what options lay in front of her and like a grand mistress chess player she thought three moves ahead. I can go straight for Bess and end this. There was still a problem left, Bess Monaghan was just a mercenary. The Average Man appearing....why would Wolftone kill my sister to go after her spirit. Rider only meant one thing to her, someone wanted the Faerie extinguished. Her opponent was hiding in the shadows playing farther than she could see.

A faint smirk came to the woman's face as she finished thinking and bit the inside of her cheek. She remembered the third lesson taught to her by her teacher, "Beware what you find at the crossroads, and never take a deal from who you find."

"Understood headmistress," Maeve enunciated before she left the room.

Late Evening, November 19th, 2007 - A Hotel In Boston

Bess
"Dark King, Scion of Dead Stars.
I invoke your word sight!
The bloody light of Aldebaran!
Cut through the Veil of Night!"

The spell tore from her throat and covered her skin in a thick miasma of woe and dread. Disquiet lingered as the words left her lips. An ethereal knife gently drew across her neck just deep enough to draw a thin line of blood. I should've known better than to use a probability Hex to moderate the Balance. She dry heaved at the feeling and reached up to wince at the small cut along her throat. The essence was pulled out of her body at a rapid rate. A recently polished mirror stood in front of her as she repeated the incantation one more time.

She was alone in a small motel just on the outskirts of Northern Boston. A single bed in a room smelling of mold was her only consolation for the evening. Tracking her target after the stupid teen left Washington State had been a pain in the ass. Not because she was terrible at locating a faerish signature off the girl, no it was the other pursuer, one Mave Maguire. If her earlier spell hadn't been thwarted the bloody Second Lieutenant would be dead.

 Her eyes focused on the mirror as she shifted in the long black cardigan and black carpenter jeans. The knife dropped lower and pressed against her side and danced across her ribs. Its wielder speaking sweet nothings filled with false promise. Ghost hands gripped her shoulders as weight pulled down on her. Each and every time she used the spell she was forced to invoke Syndarien's Tithe. A terrible price for all who used the magic of the Dark King would pay the toll.

"Why did I 'ave ta be a Caillech!" she muttered as the surface of the mirror began to fog over with frost. The air around it dropped several degrees causing the hex-witch to shiver. Druídech and Seidr were like that, both facets of magic always required a cost. Just as the tithe made her wretch yet again there was a loud pounding tap against the mirror. The thump was similar to someone knocking on a window.

"WHY HAVE YOU CALLED!?" said an eerie voice from the mirror. Every surface in the room began to fog over instantly as a ghostly breath could be heard sighing across her small dwelling.

"Did da Average Man inform ye o' da complications?" she asked the thing in the mirror. Shapes and shadows shifted in the reflection as a singular burning eye appeared. Straight out of the tales of the Fomori. Bess Monaghan flinched as the eye widened, its sclera were blacker than ink and seemed to pulsate around a singular gold pupil.

"Aye," the voice quieted itself as the rough shape of a person appeared on the other side. A forest green beret covered the figures face as long chocolate waves of hair streaked with sunkissed highlights. The face was youthful and androgynous in appearance with the lower half below the eyes covered by a solid forest green mask.

"Maguire 'as followed da new foundlin' intah the Academy grounds," Bess replied. She spoke the words quickly as she wished this encounter would end quickly.

"...Medawhila...WHATELEY!" the figure snapped. The golden eye blazing harder and seemed to glow with hatred. "Ye swore ye coulda kill the Emerald Soul. Da last loose strin' in our plans fer EIRE!"

"Aye, Cap'n Tone, I ken!" she raised a hand in an attempt to placate the figure.

"Yer gonta need some help den?" Wolftone asked the androgyne's eye narrowed as it scowled at Bess.

"Da place bleeds wit' protective wards an' I ain goin' in dere without some help," she said crossing her arms. As a mercenary, she did what she was paid to do, yet her contracts did stipulate a few protections. Bess didn't risk her life much for her work if it would only result in her death. Having no living family or any loved one she always had to look out for number one.

"Can't call up yer mistress den?" the eye focused on her as an empty socket of another came fully into view.

"I - I see no reason ta awaken Nimue fer dis!" she protested.

"It's har plan ta end da Soul...I only wan wha is owed." The voice chuckled. "Beidh Lia Fáil agam agus rialóidh mé na hÉirinn ar fad!"

"Amadán tú! Ná munín bantiarna na cairn." She coughed in return, her Irish flowed off her lips in the throaty accent of Donegal.

"Call me a fool? YE BLOODY CUNT!" roared Wolftone, "IF TWEREN'T FER ME YE BE A SLAVE TA HAR!"

"Aye," she gulped and gave a shake of her head. "Yiz deal save me life."

"Goo' ta ken ye didna ferget," drawled the terrorist leader.

"So....bou' dose wards......" she asked.

"I be burnin' trough cash ta provide yer reliquary habit." Tone sighed and rolled their eye. "Ow many mar do ye nee'?"

"One - an' I nee' some notes. I cannae break da wards..." She realized perhaps she'd perhaps have omitted that fact.

"SA WHY YE CALLIN' ME IN DA FARST PLACE!?" screeched Tone.

"I nee' ta make a scry call ta a fren' on inside," she asked quietly.

"...FOINE!" the head of the True Fenians snapped.

"Uh....really?" Bess asked carefully.

"Aye," Tone heaved a sigh before pressing a black-gloved hand to their forehead. "Ye get dis don Bess an' yer arse is back hair payin' fer all dis extra asset shite!"

Bess' eyes widened as She felt a shiver go through their body. Heat grasped her cheeks as a bright red blush came to her pale face. I'll keel over from having my blood in me face! Tone's words were always like that, sweet caramel laced with an addictive undercoating. A friend she'd had since she and Sinead were tots in Primary School. Schooling her feature's she inhaled and let out a demonstrative sigh.

"Anytin else ta say?" they asked, their mask slipping down to reveal a crooked roman nose.

"Nae," Bess murmured. She held her breath for a beat before biting the inside of her cheek.

"Ye owe sa much Bess. Ow' much of yer soul is left?" Wolftone asked carefully.

Pay the piper, or y'all never get yer name back. It was the most crucial rule she lived by ever since learning she was a Draoi. Just as the image of Wolftone began to fade from the mirror leaving her completely alone in her moldy motel room. How the hell did my life become this?