Chapter 123

~~Natasha~~

When dawn came, she knew everyone else was getting involved in the search for Jack. For the first time, she wasn’t concerned to learn he was missing, though. Jack, new Jack, cursed Jack, was as strong as the elders if he let loose, from what Damien told her. He might throw the Masquerade to the wind, but no one was killing that kid without napalm or a nuke.

The concern, when it came to Jack, was what would happen if he went rogue and decided to do whatever the fuck he wanted. He’d be another Viktor or Tony, except worse.

But, for tonight, she had a different concern.

“Noah and Caleb are with J-Jessy?” she said. The three of them, her and her boyfriends, were on a rooftop between the North Side and South Side, standing around and looking up at the light-washed sky.

“Yeah. They wanted to talk with Eric, according to Avery. But then Damien called about Jack, asking for some help running his trail.” Art checked a message on his new phone, clearly had trouble pressing buttons on a touch screen, and put the phone away. Poor guy still wasn’t used to technology, but it was high time he, and all the other Uratha learned what a touchscreen was.

Natasha nodded. The Prince was going to ask her to do it, no doubt, but she already had a mission. Investigate the tears. Antoinette knew how important that was, and she knew that Jack was strong enough to take care of himself in any circumstance now.

Tash dared not think about how Antoinette might react if she turned out to be wrong.

“You trust those t-two?” she asked.

Matthew, eyes locked on the sky, didn’t respond. Not ignoring her, and not choosing to remain silent, either. He just liked looking at the sky. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sky, not with Dolareido’s unending nightlife washing it out with a million lights, but he watched the blackness above anyway, as if looking for stars bright enough to poke through Dolareido’s light curtain.

“‘Course, yeah,” Art said. “Caleb can be a bit of a hothead, or a hotshot, depending on how successful his impulsiveness is. But Noah is a bedrock.”

She smiled at that. “Caleb. Jessy says he and Eric, umm ... really t-tore up a chunk of North Side.”

“Ha. Like I said, hothead. Caleb’s a smart guy, but a bit overconfident. He told us about that fight too, by the way, and how Eric lost control.”

“Uh oh...”

“Lost control, but somehow managed to not go on a rampage and start ripping everyone apart.” Shrugging, Art walked over to her and set a kiss on her forehead. “He’s a weird breed, Eric. Must be Dolareido.”

Dolareido, changing people to the point they could have sex in any circumstance. Yeah, that sounded right.

“You know the drill Natasha,” Avery said from the couch. “But we’re splitting up this time. No hunts. Avoid talking to anyone.”

“Yes ma’am,” everyone said together. Natasha didn’t, but she nodded to Avery, enough to let her know she was listening and planned to follow her lead.

With a snort, Avery got up and started hand talking, using her hands to make sweeping gestures to emphasize her commands. It was cute. The Kindred elders in Dolareido preferred to stand like monolith statues.

“Me, Flow, and Carter are going to North Side, and we’ll check out some previous activity. The rest of you, check out South Side, and scout out trails that lead to the Cathedral. Natasha, take the boys and check out near the Grand Cathedral directly.”

“There? D-Directly? Why?”

“Because you know Maria. If she’s up to something, something involving spirits, there’s a good chance you can find evidence there. Plus, you’re sneaky. You and Art can stealth around, and Matthew will be your enforcer. So keep an eye open for those tears, and if you see something that points a finger at Maria, you know the drill. Recon only.”

The three of them nodded, and Natasha looked down as she started planning. She also looked down because she didn’t want Avery to see the expression on her face. From the way Avery had worded the command, it sounded like she figured Natasha would agree to spy on her old boss without issue. Maybe the boys gave Avery the impression Tash didn’t like Maria?

Well, she didn’t like Maria, that was true. But she didn’t hate her, not anymore. The woman had shown a softer side too, since Lucas’s death, and if anything, Natasha found herself wanting Maria to find a little happiness. Maybe in the future, she might even learn to like her, if they hung out more. If Avery turned out to be right, and Maria was up to something sinister, she wasn’t sure how she’d respond. Ideally, she’d talk to her old boss, but that might be difficult with Matt and Art with her.

“And Clara?” Matt said.

“She’ll be fine,” Avery said. “And if she’s not, Noah and Caleb can find her. Having ten noses on that trail wouldn’t help much more than two. And they’ve got Eric, and they’ve got that Damien fellow, who’s going to bring his monster girlfriend. You know, the one that can open portals into the Hisil, Gurihal, the Dream Realm, and whothefuck knows where else?” She stomped over to the huge man, glared up at him, and poked him a couple times in the chest. “So unless you can think of some other way we might find her, other than by doing exactly what we’re doing, feel free to suggest something.”

“Got nothing, boss,” he said, small smile turning the tense situation into a happy one. They were friends and family, not military. Arguments rolled off them like they were in a sitcom.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

There wasn’t much ceremony this time. It wasn’t Tash’s first trip into the Hisil, and everyone had orders. Without Eric to be an X factor that needed guidance and monitoring, Avery didn’t feel the need to be extra careful. To her, Natasha was harmless. Natasha wasn’t harmless, but she didn’t want to make any waves either.

But, if Maria came into the picture, she didn’t know. Maybe waves would happen. After having been chased by the werewolves through the tunnels, the first time Natasha met them, and seeing first hand how strong, fast, and destructive they could be, she was confident she could adapt. She’d been working on it. She had her silver knife, and tonight, she brought a second pistol, a small one, with silver bullets. Not because she thought she’d have to fight the werewolves; they might even be right about Maria. But, she didn’t live as long as she had without preparing, when considering possibilities. If the werewolves and Maria got into a fight, better to have options ready.

Flow was waiting for them, and while the rest of the pack acknowledged her, er, it, with nods, waves, a few hellos, and otherwise perfectly casual greetings, Natasha stared up at the beautiful goddess of water. So gorgeous and angelic. So awesome, in the original sense of the word. And also clearly female, or at least feminine.

“Flowing Sanctuary,” Natasha said, voice wavering. “Um, d-do you know, if, uh, a spirit named Safe of Grey Street is ... okay?”

The swirling goddess looked down at her, crystal glowing eyes staring down with the strange impassion of an alien entity who thought of her with as much interest as humans did ants.

“Safe of Grey Street and its choir do well, in the ... rural areas, of Dolareido, where they stay.”

“Sh—it does?” So damn hard to remember spirits didn’t have genders. They embodied things, and sometimes embodied things often identified with a gender, but they themselves didn’t have them. The exception being Black Blood, that insisted it did. Strange.

“Yes. It avoids South Side, and the turmoils caused by Black Blood, Street-Tail King, and Red Tide. Do not worry.” Flow nodded from atop its spinning vortex of water, and without preamble, followed after Avery.

Natasha smiled, managed a tiny finger wave at the colossal creature, and followed after the boys.

The night was young, and it was important they didn’t overstep themselves, so they walked. Without traffic, pedestrian or otherwise, it wouldn’t take long, walking at a brisk pace, and it let them keep their eyes and ears open for nearby disturbances. It was a recon mission, after all. Once they were within a mile of the Cathedral, they could get stealthy.

Crows with glowing eyes flew overhead. More rat-like blobs disappeared around the corners of twisted, leaning buildings, through the holes in strangely dark manhole covers, and some disappeared through minuscule cracks in building foundations. A few flying eels came around, spotted them, and flew away. Some creatures the size of dogs, made of concrete and wheels, drove by. All in all, it was a lot quieter than the entertainment district of South Side would be, if the route they were was going there. But, from the Carthian half of South Side to the Grand Cathedral was a quiet route, both in and out of the spirit world apparently.

“I ... I hope it’s not M-Maria,” she said. “If it’s another Minerva situation, it’d be p-pretty horrible, right?”

“Yeah, it would be,” Matt said. “Avery would insist on stopping her, and something tells me Maria wouldn’t listen.”

“D-Do you think you could take her?” she said.

Art shrugged. “Maybe. You saw what happened when Matt and I tried to take on Jacob.”

She shivered. That had been a horrible night. Jacob, like all Nosferatu, had ludicrous amounts of strength, but she’d never expected him to be able to thrash two werewolves like they were children. The only reason Matt and Art survived the encounter and didn’t have permanent injuries to show for it, was their Gauru forms’ ridiculous healing ability, and Jacob’s mercy.

And Maria was Nosferatu, supposedly with the strongest Nightmare Discipline in the city. Seeing Matt succumb to Jacob’s Nightmare had been scary enough. Seeing either of them succumb to hers, would be worse.

“Why?” she said.

“Why what?” they said together.

“Why w-would Avery insist on stopping Maria?”

Art shrugged. “The tears—”

“What if the tears aren’t a result of whatever M-Maria is d-d-doing?” Assumptions were bad. It was important they dot the Is and cross the Ts, before someone died who didn’t need to die. The devil was in the details.

The two men looked at each other, as if never having considered the suggestion before.

“The red wraiths are hanging out around the tears,” Matt said. “And we know the red wraiths are talking to Maria somehow. We know the red wraiths have some kind of deal with Black Blood. That’s—”

“N-Not enough evidence.” She frowned, stomped her foot once, and folded her arms across her chest. “We need to learn more.”

Art smiled down at her. For a moment, she thought it might be a condescending smile, but it wasn’t.

“That’s why we brought you, to be the smart one. Matt and I? Hell, the whole pack? Dumb, dumber, and dumbest.”

She beamed, for a second, but quickly suppressed the smile. He may have been right about his pack, though she suspected Noah and Art were both a lot smarter than they let on.

“Alright, so, follow m-my lead tonight, ok?”

Both men simultaneously saluted with strict military posture. “Yes ma’am.”

Oh good grief.

~~Beatrice~~

There were two ways to communicate with Black Blood. Perform a communication ritual, which seemed to be a pretty loose ritual involving burning some candles, and having a shit load of occult symbols drawn on the walls and floor and shit. The cave already had that, so, all she had to do, was put some vitae into the effort, like beckoning a bird with a bird call. Except, big dangerous bird.

The other way was with a sacrifice. That was required if Black Blood was to directly act on physical matter in a casual way, according to Jacob. Also required, if someone didn’t know all the symbols and shit that Black Blood liked. If Antoinette or Maria or whoever else wanted to speak with the big bastard attempted to summon him, they’d have to sacrifice someone. Jacob could talk to him without that step.

And, Beatrice wanted to see if she could talk to him without that step as well, using the tools Jacob had given her. Deep as this pit she’d dug herself was, slaughtering kine was not fun.

She and Jennifer lit the candles. So fucking creepy how Elen hung in the center of the small occult cave, with much less room for the two vampires to back off and not be too close. In the other cave, they had plenty of room to walk around, without having to be within touching distance of the bowl in the center. It added weight to their actions, being so close to Elen. If she’d been a normal person, groaning or crying, Triss doubted she’d have been able to enact what was doubtlessly going to be act of torture.

She held up her hands, out to her sides like a big Y, looked up, and forced vitae through her limbs. Vitae was empowering. It was life energy, stolen from prey and used to fuel physical and magical abilities. Kindred could manipulate it to do any number of things. Tonight, the goal was simple: use the environment around her, a giant summoning room, to beckon a god of death to her. Fucking. Metal.

It was sort of like a Crúac ritual. With Crúac, she had to infuse her vitae into the act, usually by sacrificing some of her blood, but not always. It was a strange feeling, but like riding a bike or playing an instrument, it was something attached to her, something she could use, like flexing a muscle, a strange muscle inside her. And like learning to ride a bike or playing an instrument, it was a skill that could be learned, to use vitae to reach out for the strange forces that permeated the fucking universe.

She’d learned. Now, all she could do was hope the thing she was trying to contact, was listening, and willing to come.

First, the cold came, the unnatural, piercing cold that wasn’t a temperature, but an aura. It hit the skin and the bones at the same time, and Beatrice couldn’t suppress the shiver that worked up her spine, inviting hard muscle clenches, as if she’d jumped into a pool of ice water. Black ooze began to trickle from the walls, thick, as if the Earth could bleed onyx. The symbols that covered the walls, floor, and fucking ceiling, oozed bits of blood as well, always black. The skulls underneath the iron bowl in the center cried tears of obsidian, and some of those tears went up, against gravity, and splashed into the ceiling.

She was used to Black Blood’s presence now; as used to the presence of absolute death someone could get, anyway. But this time, Jacob wasn’t around. It was just her, Jennifer, and Black Blood, a spirit creature entity thing that everyone was terrified of. If she said something wrong or did something to piss it—him off, she could easily end up a stain on the floor, along with Jennifer.

“I spy, with my little eye,” the darkness said in a Southern drawl, “a young witch and her companion, looking to beckon the likes of me.”

Well, that was easy. Too easy.

“Yes, Black Blood,” Beatrice said. “I ... I uh...”

“Y’all don’t need to be so stiff. I ain’t gonna hurt you, unless you do something to rightly deserve it.”

A god of death telling her to not be stiff, would have been hilariously weird in most situations. But she’d met the creature several times, and his personality remained consistent. He seemed like a happy guy from the South, except, with a strange obsession with flesh and death. Similar to Jacob, in his own strange way.

“Uh, thanks. Let me know if I’m approaching that line, k? Cause, yeah.” Cause Jacob wasn’t there, and she really didn’t want to fuck up and die.

“Reckon I will.”

Triss nodded, and glanced over to see how her friend was doing. Jen was beside her, a step to the side and a step back, away from the bowl. But Black Blood wasn’t summoned to the bowl. The spirit filled the room around them, having no body to possess, and not bothering to ‘manifest’ itself; apparently that took a lot of effort. Without a direct body to avoid, Jen slowly turned in circles, eyes scanning, hints of fear in her gaze. She stayed close to Triss. Triss stayed close to her.

“Black Blood, I summoned you to request your—”

“Aren’t you precious? I said don’t be such a stick in the mud, little witch. Speak freely.”

Don’t be stiff, he said, right. Ok, talk to the closest thing to the god of death she imagined she’d ever see, like she’d talk to Jacob. Except, hopefully without the insults.

“Know why I called you?” she said.

“Malachi informed me. Said you were fixin’ to break this woman? Get her to use her flesh magics, in ways I can’t.”

That made her pause. “In ways you can’t? You can manipulate flesh?”

“Of the dead.”

Black Blood, weird spirit that grew with Dolareido, that seemed to embody death, or at least an artistic side of it, was capable of manipulating the flesh of the dead. It would explain why he needed, or wanted, a body if he was going to interact directly with the physical world. Somehow, she got the impression that was mostly just to make things easier for him. Or maybe, he just really got off on it.

“And ... how did you come to possess an ability like that?”

The oozing darkness laughed, and hints of the deep, alien bass underneath the voice rumbled the walls. “I am what I am. Has Malachi not educated you?”

“He’s told me some things about you, yeah. But I still don’t know what you are, Black Blood, where you came from, how you came to be, all that shit.”

More laughter, but quieter, as if the thing was thinking. Could a spirit think? It didn’t have a brain. Questions for a dragon, she supposed, not a witch.

“Powerful secrets, vampire. Ain’t no reason for me to share them with you. Maybe in a few hundred years, when you got the strength to be useful to me, we can trade for ‘em.”

Spirits had banes and bans, according to Jacob. Things that could hurt them, and ways to control them, rules they had to follow. What she knew about Black Blood told her he was some sort of spirit of death, and apparently dead flesh. The name Black Blood started to have a lot more meaning than just something creepy, and a good indicator of what the spirit looked like. Maybe the spirit thing was a literal incarnation of death in the sense of flesh. Surprising he didn’t smell like rot, like Mark did.

“So, you won’t give me anything for free? Gonna have to trade for everything?”

“Slicker than a fox, ain’t ya? Yes, that’s how things work, little witch. You do me a favor, and I do you one.”

“Alright.” She took a deep breath, and glanced over at Jennifer. Jen didn’t like what she was hearing, but she stayed quiet. “What favor would you want from me, if I asked you to poke around inside Elen? I need her to—”

“To create and twist flesh, yes? To craft a vessel?”

“Yes. Jacob’s filled you in on what I want to do, right? I want to ... to ... resurrect Julias.” She was tempted to say ‘resurrect someone’ but there was no point in lying, not to this thing. It knew everything, either because Jacob told it everything, or the damn thing eavesdropped with a thousand ears.

“And you know chances of success are low? Damn low. Even if this shell of a woman could do what you wanted, finding your man’s soul in the great beyond is probably a lost cause?”

“Fuck, if you’re convinced that—”

“Now now, hold your horses. I said chances are low, not impossible. Malachi took a stab at it, after Minerva was killed, but we ran into a couple problems.”

“Getting a body, and getting the soul.”

“Exactly. Now, I can craft me a fine body with the flesh of the dead, but it will be dead, and not like a vampire. The curse—”

“Curse?”

“Not that thing inside the kid, Jack. The normal curse that infects every single last one of you varmints. It latches onto your soul, and turns your body into a dead thing, half alive on the blood of victims. It’s special, and not something I can just create.”

She nodded, and slowly paced the bowl with Elen. The old woman’s eyes were closed. Sleeping maybe? Or comatose? She looked like hell, but she would not die, no matter how long they left her up there.

“So, what about creating a zombie corpse version of Minerva, and jamming her soul in there?”

The darkness chuckled. “A walking corpse is not a vampire. Many would consider it a fate worse than death.”

That, was a point worth considering. What would someone think, or feel, if they suddenly woke up a zombie corpse? Vampires were undead, true, but like the spirit said, they weren’t anything like zombies. Hell, all it took was a fresh meal to have a vampire’s body basically running like it weren’t dead at all. In reality, vampires were half-dead. If Black Blood somehow managed to give a corpse the ability to walk around under a soul’s influence, how the fuck would that work? They might rot standing, for all Triss knew.

“And, of course, getting the soul,” she said.

“The bigger problem, without a doubt. We killed dozens of people at the height of the experiment, and only managed the tiniest glimpse to the other side.”

“That ... that problem can wait. Let’s just see if we can get Elen to craft us a living body.”

“I’m fixing to, as long as you agree to my terms.”

Time to dance with the devil.

“Alright. What’s the deal?”

~~Jack~~

It didn’t take long to update Sabrina on Dolareido. She’d learned from more recent ghosts, and hadn’t died all that long ago. His smartphone really impressed her though, but predictably, he had no signal, of any kind.

“The Harlington building was re-purposed into a casino.”

“Aw, that’s a shame,” the ghost said. “I liked the food there. Very fancy.”

“And ... and that’s everything, really. That’s all I know about Dolareido. Sorry, I never did watch the news much.”

Sabrina laughed, a harsh and shrill sound, but it faded before any of them started to cringe. “I guess. But ... you still haven’t explained about you.”

He sighed, looked around at the subway platform, at Clara and Sándor, and then back to the ghost. “I was kinda hoping I wouldn’t have to.”

Sabrina frowned, and he flinched. Careful, Jack.

“You’re not human. Neither is she. Neither is he.” She hovered up and around, slowly drifting over them, mist leaking out of her and falling on them and the subway alike. More of that death cold crept into his system. If he’d been alive like his two companions, it would have bothered him more; he could feel the cold leaching at his bones. But, he was already dead, and being cold meant nothing to him. Clara would be uncomfortable, but fine, for now. Sándor he wasn’t sure about. The guy was healing, and quickly, but he hadn’t eaten or drank anything, and while Clara could probably go a couple more days before dehydration became a problem, he doubted Sándor had that long. They both had something inhuman in them to fight that sorta stuff off, but he had no idea how long they could subsist on it. The trouble with a living body.

“Vampires ... exist,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t know if that should be really surprising though? You’re a ghost.”

She laughed at that, a sharp, short-lived laugh. “True.”

“Right, so vampires exist, and so do most paranormal creatures you might think of. The usual stuff anyway. Vampires, werewolves, nightmare monsters, ghosts, uh ... probably other things.”

“Ooh, scary.” The ghost nodded, taking it all in stride. “I can see that you’re not human, and that you’re all different, but not much more. Like you’re all half human.”

“Vampire,” Jack said with raised hand. “Clara’s a werewolf. My injured friend there Sándor is a nightmare monster. And, we really need to find a way out of here and back to the rea—physical world, to get him treatment.” Or at least some water.

“Wait here. I’ll see if the coast is clear. Could take a bit to give the area a once-over though. Gimme a bit.” With that, Sabrina flew away, body going horizontal like a bird as she disappeared down the tunnel.

“Clara,” Jack whispered, “keep your senses open, for her specifically.”

“Why? She’s helping us out.”

“She’s Sabrina Douville.”

Clara raised a brow. “How do you know her last name?”

“High school project, to look into some of the history of Dolareido. We had to present stuff, with pictures. I did some stuff about the colonials, nothing specific. But one girl in the class, one of those types that really likes crime dramas, you know? She did her project on Sabrina Douville.”

“Why ... don’t I like where this story is going?” She looked past him to the tunnel where Sabrina had disappeared, squinting, and scanning. Now she was scared.

“Sabrina Douville was a serial killer.”

“Of course she was, because why wouldn’t she be?” She threw her hands up, voice a whisper despite the anger in it. “Cause things would be too god damn easy if she was a saint.”

“Tell me about it.” They both chuckled. Dismay chuckles were a classic defense mechanism. “She killed half a dozen people.”

“How?”

“Stabbed them to death. No rhyme or reason to the kills. Four men, two women, spread out over a few years.” Unlike paranormal creatures, humans had to be pretty damn careful about killing. Their trails were too easy to trace back to them. Sabrina had been very careful to kill that many people in only a few years, and not get caught until the end. “Cops found her.”

“Suicide?”

“Nope. She tried to stab them. They shot her.”

Clara shivered and rubbed her arms. “No wonder she’s interested in Dolareido. It was her killing ground.”

“Will she harm us?” Sándor said. No waver in his voice, that was good.

“How would I know? I barely know how to deal with my sister.” And it was very much a problem he was avoiding. Saying goodbye to her had been heart wrenching, and saying goodbye to her a second time was going to be even worse, cause his mom was going to be there to see it, once he figured out how to send her on her way. “You’re better off asking Clara.”

“Ha, the fuck do I know about ghosts? Werewolves deal with spirits.”

“Ghosts are—”

“Not spirits. Made of the same stuff, but very different. If anyone knows how to deal with ghosts, it’s hunters.”

Oh, that was not a bad idea actually. He nodded as he put his fingers on his chin, and started pacing again.

“I’ll talk to Harcourt when we get back.”

“If he’s still got a brain left. Isabella looked like she wanted to do some serious shit to him.”

He shook his head. “She knows that’d be crossing a line. Those three are the Prince’s prisoners. They’re in a gilded cage, but they are prisoners, and if someone else fucks with them, Antoinette will deal with them.”

Nodding, Clara reached down for Sándor, and helped him to his feet again. “Alright, well, a killer ghost has tricked us into come into her lair. I vote we leave.”

“Yeah, agreed. But, I’m not sure she’s a threat. She probably is, but she is a ghost now. That’s changed her. Not to mention thirty years of hanging around a bunch of ghosts. I mean, she didn’t attack you while I was asleep, right?”

Clara looked at him, deadpan. “Jack, come on. You really think that a serial killer who’s become a ghost, will become less dangerous over the years?”

Yeah, no. Sighing, he stopped pacing, got under Sándor’s arm, and helped Clara walk the man to the edge so they could get down onto the tracks.

“Whatcha thinking Sándor?” Clara said. “Try and get back to the tear? Or get you somewhere where you think you can tunnel us out of here?”

After a few seconds of silence, Sándor spoke up. “Let’s check the tear first. Those spiders may have sealed it, but maybe not.”

“That reminds me,” Jack said, “what sort of ways are Begotten able to travel between realms? I hear talk of tunneling and pathways, but then, what Fiona did with a tear we found was very different, I think?”

“Begotten can create pathways between any realm and our lair. They overlap at the point of contact.”

“Right, I’ve seen that.”

“Begotten can also open any pathway we find created by other ... things.”

“What the fuck? Something else out there is creating interdimensional pathways?” Clara asked.

Sándor managed a small shrug with his good shoulder. “There’s a lot of things out there. Some of them would terrify you, or make you doubt your religion ... or your atheism. Some of these things can create pathways between realms, and many are permanent, and ancient. Begotten can only create temporary pathways to our lairs, or from our lairs.”

Things to doubt religion, or atheism. Well, that was a weird statement. Then again, cosmic horrors probably had that effect.

“And,” he continued, “if necessary, we can use a human’s mind, bestow a nightmare on them, and slip into our lairs.”

“How’s that work?” Jack asked.

“I’d need access to a sleeping human.”

“Sleeping human? How does—right, right, dream monster.” He was so used to dealing with flesh and blood, even when dealing with things very much not made of flesh and blood, that it was easy to forget that Begotten very much weren’t. Ghosts and spirits were made of ephemera, and could possess people and shit. Begottens’ Horrors were made of dream, or nightmare, or whatever the fuck that was, and they could quite literally go into people’s dreams, and do supernatural shit with them. Sándor had done that to Eric, before kidnapping him.