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"Looks like she was trying to protect herself from one of our kind." Ash tucked the gun into his coat after double checking to ensure it was empty. "D'you think we should give chase? She can't have gone far without leaving a scent trail."

After a split-second's hesitation, Ash reached for the gun. No reaction. "So's not silver," he murmured, examining the frame. "I didn't think there was anything out there what could hurt halfbloods. What's the point? Some racist gunsmith out there really, really doesn't want you guys handling...

"Something might've taken her. For all we know, the old lady look was just a disguise--" Then Taylor swore, and Ash's brows furrowed. "What happened?" He swallowed two extra-strength tablets, dry, and joined Taylor in the bathroom. The pain radiating along his forearms already kept him on...

Ash followed Taylor into the room and examined the little book in his hand. "Some of these are crossed out," he said, tapping one such name for emphasis. "Pretty violently, too. I figure it's a hit list, but it could be contacts. An old, leathery address book for an old, leathery hag. Ugh."...

Ash sighed, rubbed his nape in frustration. "Willing to bet she bolted," he said. The scent left an unpleasant aftertaste that only an entire clove of garlic could displace. Gross. "She must've gone for the window and... jumped? Flown? We're eight stories up." He moved to the windowsill to...