He was not happy. While he had been able to sacrifice the boy, the girl had managed to escape. While he could track her down and abscond with her from the hospital where she was currently staying, that would force him to reveal himself. She was an unacceptable risk. He would need to move on, and quickly. He could feel the time backing up.

He walked down the stairs to his basement. The boy on the table was still unconscious and the locks were secure. He ran a finger down the muscular frame; his patron would be happy with this one. He walked to his bench and grabbed the bottle and the brush; he may as well as repaint the sigils on his chest. The fresher the sigil, the more likely he would sleep until he was needed to be awake.

He smiled at his luck with this one. The young werewolf had been ousted from his pack and was looking for any pack to take him. Lord Jonathan would probably have accepted him, put him through a hazing period of tough and boring tasks, and then accepted him fully into the pack. However, he also had no idea the boy was even coming, so he had been taken before he could make his way to the pack's headquarters.

The boy had been looking for a pack for a long time. The grime on his clothes was evidence of that, as was the wear on his clothes. That journey was now over.

He needed to find a replacement. The girl he had taken had proven to be not what he needed. She had been an actual witch; she had actual power. He needed someone who was somewhat powerless. He had erred in his selection, and it may have cost him his cover. He still needed another three sacrifices to complete the spell. He only hoped that the shackles he had placed on the girl and the boy she had found would hold until he had finished.

His drawing finished, and he returned the bottle and brush to his bench. As he walked up to his kitchen he debated where he would look for another potential sacrifice.

* * * * *

Percival walked into the cafe where Sheriff Ann was waiting for him. He smiled as he saw the steaming coffee and scone waiting for him. He nodded as he sat down. “Thanks for breakfast.”

She touched her hat in greeting. “Not a problem.” She pulled out her notebook. So, any developments from your side? I was able to look at their financials and such, but no real patterns there.”

He took a sip from his coffee, pausing a moment to appreciate its rich smell. “Not really. The coven is working on reviving the pair we rescued, which would give us at least one witness, but they hit a snag.” He took spread a little butter on the scone. “I won't go into details given the nature of the snag, but it has them worried.”

She took a sip from her coffee. “I'm going to thank you for that, considering it could be supernatural in nature.”

He took a bite of his scone. “No problem. Not everyone wants to be updated when it comes to the arcane.” He sipped his coffee. “Sorry, I had problems getting out on time. Things had to be sacrificed for time.”

“Understood.”

He took another bite of scone. “However, when I compiled the murder board, I did notice a bit of, well, a non-pattern.” He sipped his coffee. “He's been aggressively grabbing people with no real rhyme or reason once you allow for the supernatural element or lack thereof. The sole exception seems to be his last pair.”

“Interesting.” She sipped from her coffee.

“Yeah. It feels even more like an attack of opportunity. I think he was honestly expecting her to be a normal person.” He grabbed a quick bite. “Otherwise, he's been meticulous about who he has taken.”

She sipped her coffee. “Any idea if he's done taking people to be sacrificed?”

He sipped, bit, and responded. “It looks like he needs to make up the lost woman, but otherwise it looks like he could be after as many as two, maybe three people.” He took a bite. “I'm just not sure what the end goal of the ritual is.”

“Any input from the witches on that?” She sipped her coffee.

“Not yet.” He relaxed a bit. “They know it's something old but that's it. The number of sacrifices involved gives a rough estimate, as the older the ritual the more sacrifices seem to be involved. But that just helps the research at this point.” He leaned forward a bit. “It looks like it could be almost 1500 years old, but not tried all that often.”

She whistled. “Great.”

* * * * *

Jena had been unsure of what to prepare for her guests. Before she sat true avatars of a pair of avatars. The androgynous pair were dressed in black leather from head to foot, from their black hats to their boots. Their skin was pale and their hair copper. One wore her hair to her waist, smooth save for a single, thin ponytail while the other, slightly huskier, only wore his to his neck. And she had no idea which was who.

She had prepared a small charcuterie board with a plate of honey cakes with flagons of mead. “I hope this works.”

Huginn and Muninn nodded their approval. The one with long hair spoke first. “This is actually a more interesting situation than it appears at first. Especially as there are so many variables.”

Her twin nodded. “You have a ritual being cast that hasn't been used in a very long time. And its effects on the local population could be very interesting.”

Jena sat down. “How so? As I doubt you're talking about 'everyone gets a puppy' interesting”

They smiled at her. The girl looked at her over her shades. “Oh no, but that would be interesting.”

Her twin smirked. “Very. Especially as you so rarely see such effects.” He looked at his twin. “I wonder if everyone would get the same puppy or a different puppy?”

She pondered that for a moment. “Would it not be interesting if the puppy represented their hidden desires, like a boxer to a coward or a pit bull to someone refined?”

He nodded. “Oh, yes! I am so tired of the puppy mirroring its master!” She nodded her assent.

Jena was beginning to question her life choices. “Everyone getting a puppy is all well and good, but what does the ritual do?”

They each grabbed a honey cake and a flagon. He spoke first this time. “By the way, this is such a nice and welcome change. Usually, it's carrion and blood.”

She nodded. “Oh, yes! And the charcuterie board is such a nice touch!” They clinked the flagons and drank from them.

Jena was looking from one to the other. “Sorry to keep bringing it up, but the ritual?”

The boy put his flagon down. “Oh, it's an equalizer of sorts. It compares the number of different species of supernaturals to the number of mortals, determining which is the most plentiful. And then---”

She dramatically opened her hand, like an explosion. They smiled at each other. “It solves several problems.” She nibbled at a honey cake. “But that is not why you asked us here.”

Allowing herself just another second of shock, she composed herself. “True. It's the shackles on the boy's spirit that have me curious.”

He eyed the charcuterie board and then his twin. She nodded. He reached for it. “The shackles are an advanced form of mind magic.”

She crumbled the honey cake. “They are virtually impossible to break. They were designed to keep a secret hidden, a secret that had to be defined by the caster. There are few magics that can break the shackles, and they never come with keys that can open them.”

He grabbed some cheese and meat chunks. “The shackles simply keep the secret from being told. The wearer usually doesn't even have an idea what the secret is, and will carry the secret to his grave.”

She nodded. “The magic can be broken, but it requires some sort of magic that naturally opposes their secrecy. While such magic does exist, it also needs to be pretty powerful in its own right.”

He was making some neat little sandwiches. “The shackles hide secrets, locking them forever away requiring a way to expose them or free them.“

She made a grab for some of the cheese. “As a witch, you have access to that kind of magic. You just need it to be more powerful.” She tossed a piece and caught it in her mouth, swallowing it.

* * * * *

He rarely attended SCA practice anymore. He needed to relieve some stress and hitting others with the foam swords could actually be a little cathartic. As he put his gear into his car, he tried to remember how each would eventually go on his body. Satisfied, he drove to Lieutenant Krasimov Park. When he arrived there was already a small crowd in their homemade armor and warming up with their foam weapons.

Johnston was giving his lessons to the beginners; he smiled as he remembered when he was in their place. He joined the group of skirmishers; as someone who didn't go to the events, he was relegated to the fodder. They who serve and all that. He mentally prepared for an evening of verbal abuse. After the event, he approached one of his brethren in arms to compliment him on his ability to crush the attackers. He was surprised somewhat when the fighter took off his helmet to reveal long blond hair. She accepted his compliment gracefully and even invited him to go drinking with the other fighters. He begged off, claiming work in the morning. He walked to his car.

He smiled as he realized that she would make the perfect sacrifice.