"Don't worry, she's alive," Butcher said, settling the woman into a booth. "Found her in the cemetery. And she's got a British bat."
Right on cue, the small bat glided through the door and perched protectively on the back of the booth.
"She needs sustenance," Bartie announced in his crisp, haughty British accent. "And perhaps a proper cup of tea, if you Americans can manage such a thing."
"We're Irish, you arse." Uma crossed her arms, smirking. "Allen," she said, "don't let that bat cause any problems."
"Don't worry," Allen replied, his tail swishing. "If Wings there gets uppity, I'll show him how we handle troublemakers.”
Murphy leaned over the woman to check her pulse, noticing the scratches on her arms and bruising on her neck. "These look rough. Some healed, some fresh." Murphy looked up at Bartie.
"Not from me! These are from their... methods." Bartie corrected stiffly. "They kept her weakened and scared."
The pub's warmth seemed to rouse the woman. Her eyes fluttered, then snapped open in panic. She jerked upright, immediately pressing herself into the corner of the booth, her hands raised defensively.
"Easy now," Murphy said gently. "You're safe here."
But her wild eyes darted around the pub, taking in the crowd of faces with visible terror. When someone shifted in their chair, she flinched. The sound of glasses clinking made her shoulders hunch up around her ears.
"What kind of bat is he?" Dottie Darwin whispered loudly, as she leaned in for a better look at Bartie.
"I am a fruit bat, thank you very much," Bartie retorted, puffing out his chest. "Though I've kept some... questionable company of late. The name is Bartholomew, but you may call me Bartie. I'm particular about who uses my diminutive, but given the circumstances, I'll make an exception."
Uma returned with soup and water. "Here, try to eat something."
But as Uma approached with the steaming bowl, the woman shrank back, her breathing becoming rapid and shallow. "No, please... they used to drug the food." Her voice cracked.
"It's safe," Bartie assured her, flying down to land on the table. "I assure you. No tampering. You need strength."
Her hands shook as she reached for the spoon. The first attempt sent soup splattering across the table as tremors wracked her fingers. She froze, expecting punishment or ridicule, her whole body tensing.
"It's alright," Uma said softly, sliding a napkin over. "Take your time."
"Where am I?" she asked hoarsely, her voice worn out from fatigue.
"Cauldron Falls, love," Murphy answered, helping her steady the spoon. "The Boozy Cauldron, to be exact. I'm Murphy O'Reilly."
"Cauldron Falls," she repeated, and for the first time, hope flickered across her face. "I made it. I actually made it." Then her expression crumpled. "He'll find me. He always finds me." She shuddered.
"Who'll find you?" Uma asked.
"Ronald." The name came out like a curse. "He'll be so angry. When vampires don't get their way..." She rubbed her arms where old bruises overlapped new ones.
"Vampires?" several pub patrons murmured the word.
"Someone call Roam," Murphy instructed one of the onlookers. "Tell him we've got a visitor, who might have a case."
"Already texted him," Uma said, keeping a wary eye on the stranger as she hungrily devoured the soup. "He was at FACTS & FIBS with Honey. Should be here soon."
At the mention of Honey's name, the woman's spoon slipped back into the bowl, and she grabbed her chest where a thin silver chain was visible.
"What, precisely, are FACTS & FIBS?" Bartie inquired, trying to distract his ward from her growing distress.
Gloria Pendlebury jumped in enthusiastically. "It's where witches and warlocks go to get paired with their perfect familiar companions. Honey Hadwin runs it while her parents are traveling the world rescuing rogue, and lost familiars."
Minutes later, Roam O'Reilly burst through the pub door, his presence immediately commanding attention. Close behind, Honey Hadwin followed.
"What's the emergency?" Roam asked wrinkling his nose as an acrid scent that didn't belong in the familiar warmth of the pub hit his nostrils.
