"I've got no reason to want him dead. But if I did, I'd use fire. Stakes don't always work, like you think they do."

She pulled on a shoulder rig, and then a black leather jacket over it. Socks and black leather boots. She looked like she should be in a biker gang.

He had so much to learn, and so little time to learn it all. It made a knot if worry form, between her shoulders. It was good he'd come to ask her for help. As skilled as he was, as tucked by destiny, he was still going to need it.

"They're fleshcrafters. A brush of their fingers, and you've got a stump instead of a hand. Or no mouth. They're sadists beyond compare.

Hell, they probably made Dracula want nothing to do with us, after the whole Cathedral of Flesh incident. I wouldn't blame him, if the story is even a quarter true."