They were careful, these sisters. They knew enough to ward themselves away from prying eyes that might trace the distance back to them. They didn't know what it was they were about to find, but they did what they could to keep the ravenous forces at bay.
It was good that they did.
And so they searched the mists for answers, seeking first to find the threads of fate and follow them where and when they might lead. Fate could be capricious and enigmatic: an uncertain future balancing on the edge of so many possibilities. But Lucy and Delilah found those threads, the ones that hummed with hunger and ill-portent. They found them after hours of hunting, and felt their vision pulled along the axes of time and space.
It was Friday evening. And they were... not in Denver. Not in the city. There were fields and hills and golden-yellow groves of quaking aspen. There were large, open plots of land dotted with expensive houses. The landscape was familiar enough to anyone who'd ever been out to the chantry, though (thankfully) fate did not lead Lucy and Delilah to that particular house. Neither did it lead them to any house, for that matter. Fate took them to Morrison on Friday night, but as they neared the apex of their destination, their vision became clouded by a thick and impenetrable fog. Dusk and Dawn were a powerful force when they worked as one, and still they found themselves lost.
But it was there: the thing they were searching for. They couldn't see it, but they could feel it growling in the mists. Ravenous hunger, and a force like a great, Devouring leviathan.
This was not the work of the young men who had taken Jeremy Tran. Those four had been ruthless and brutal, but they did not possess this kind of Will. The longer Lucy and Delilah remained in the fog, the more it felt as though they were being hunted. That something was out there with them, prowling through the mists.
But their ward held, and Lucy and Delilah awoke - safe and alone - in their home.
There was yet one more ritual to undertake, but tracking Hunger's footprints proved equally difficult. There were old echoes of the resonance winding throughout the city; multiple trails that had been left behind. They'd been to a park, a bar, a Home Depot. They'd been through the Arts district and some of the surrounding areas. Then each of the trails converged in a parking lot and headed off down the road. Through the city and out into Morrison.
And then... Lucy and Delilah hit that fog again.
When they came back to themselves, they meditated. There was intuition to be gleaned from the universal mind, and that night what it offered them was this:
Hunger could be an addiction, if it was strong enough. These men were going to feed again. And again. They called themselves wolves, but in this they were more like sharks. (What happens to sharks when they're surrounded by blood?) Perhaps they could beat their addiction if they tried, but Lucy had seen these men. She'd seen the way they'd taken down their prey. There was no remorse in them. If there ever had been, it was wiped out long ago.
How does one deal with those who eat their own kind? Eliminate their hunger, or kill them.
This much, both Lucy and Delilah understood. But there was one more piece of insight that only Delilah found. This was old magic. A stolen ritual, twisted and abused. Some people believed that if you ate the flesh of your enemy you would gain their strength.
The thing these men hungered for (the thing they so desperately wanted) - it consumed them. Strength. Power. How many people throughout history had become monsters while hunting these same things? Someone had targeted these men. Even before the addiction, they'd been hungry. Then someone came along and gave them a taste of what they wanted.
The Devourer was building a cult.
It was good that they did.
And so they searched the mists for answers, seeking first to find the threads of fate and follow them where and when they might lead. Fate could be capricious and enigmatic: an uncertain future balancing on the edge of so many possibilities. But Lucy and Delilah found those threads, the ones that hummed with hunger and ill-portent. They found them after hours of hunting, and felt their vision pulled along the axes of time and space.
It was Friday evening. And they were... not in Denver. Not in the city. There were fields and hills and golden-yellow groves of quaking aspen. There were large, open plots of land dotted with expensive houses. The landscape was familiar enough to anyone who'd ever been out to the chantry, though (thankfully) fate did not lead Lucy and Delilah to that particular house. Neither did it lead them to any house, for that matter. Fate took them to Morrison on Friday night, but as they neared the apex of their destination, their vision became clouded by a thick and impenetrable fog. Dusk and Dawn were a powerful force when they worked as one, and still they found themselves lost.
But it was there: the thing they were searching for. They couldn't see it, but they could feel it growling in the mists. Ravenous hunger, and a force like a great, Devouring leviathan.
This was not the work of the young men who had taken Jeremy Tran. Those four had been ruthless and brutal, but they did not possess this kind of Will. The longer Lucy and Delilah remained in the fog, the more it felt as though they were being hunted. That something was out there with them, prowling through the mists.
But their ward held, and Lucy and Delilah awoke - safe and alone - in their home.
There was yet one more ritual to undertake, but tracking Hunger's footprints proved equally difficult. There were old echoes of the resonance winding throughout the city; multiple trails that had been left behind. They'd been to a park, a bar, a Home Depot. They'd been through the Arts district and some of the surrounding areas. Then each of the trails converged in a parking lot and headed off down the road. Through the city and out into Morrison.
And then... Lucy and Delilah hit that fog again.
When they came back to themselves, they meditated. There was intuition to be gleaned from the universal mind, and that night what it offered them was this:
Hunger could be an addiction, if it was strong enough. These men were going to feed again. And again. They called themselves wolves, but in this they were more like sharks. (What happens to sharks when they're surrounded by blood?) Perhaps they could beat their addiction if they tried, but Lucy had seen these men. She'd seen the way they'd taken down their prey. There was no remorse in them. If there ever had been, it was wiped out long ago.
How does one deal with those who eat their own kind? Eliminate their hunger, or kill them.
This much, both Lucy and Delilah understood. But there was one more piece of insight that only Delilah found. This was old magic. A stolen ritual, twisted and abused. Some people believed that if you ate the flesh of your enemy you would gain their strength.
The thing these men hungered for (the thing they so desperately wanted) - it consumed them. Strength. Power. How many people throughout history had become monsters while hunting these same things? Someone had targeted these men. Even before the addiction, they'd been hungry. Then someone came along and gave them a taste of what they wanted.
The Devourer was building a cult.