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“Her horns aren’t even the right shape,” he complained.
“I can’t breathe,” Ria wheezed.
Once she’d recovered enough to drive, she found a parking spot two blocks from the address the woman from New York had given them. They got out and immediately found themselves in a stream of costumed pedestrians. Witches, vampires, zombies, and at least three people dressed as black cats passed them before they reached the corner.
Ria stopped, staring up at Asterion. An idea had been forming since the minotaur costume, and now she just couldn’t help herself.
“Hold still.”
Before he could protest, she raised her hand and flicked her fingers. The glamour dissipated, revealing his full minotaur form. He stood in the middle of a busy Upperworld sidewalk, completely himself.
A man in a superhero costume walking by slowed, eyes bulging as they roamed over Asterion. “Dude. That is an insane costume.”
“Thank you,” Asterion mumbled.
“How did you manage to make the horn thingies? Are those, like, prosthetics? They look so real.”
“They are real.”
“Sick.” The man gave him a thumbs-up and walked on.
Ria covered her mouth to suppress a giggle and ultimately failed.
“You are enjoying this,” Asterion grumbled.
“More than you know. Now,” she began as she took her phone out and tapped on her navigation app where she had inputted Dorian’s address. “Let’s go find this warlock.”
They followed the app’s directions until they came to a narrow side street off the main drag. While Salem itself looked and felt old, this small pocket of the town seemed ancient. The buildings were darker, the red bricks more weathered with time. Ria stopped in front of a plain wooden door of a shop between a used bookstore and a closed down cafe. There was no sign or display indicating what it was. The door was painted black and had a knocker shaped like a hand.
“This is it?” Asterion asked.
She double-checked the address on her phone. “Apparently.” Grabbing the brass knocker, she tapped it against the painted wood.
Footsteps shuffled from behind the door, and it opened just enough to reveal a small, elderly woman with a thin face and silver hair pulled back into a bun.
“Can I help you?” She tilted her head to the side and her expression remained neutral.
“We’re looking for Dorian,” Ria said.
“There’s no Dorian here.”
“Ma’am, we were told—”
The door shut in their faces.
“That went well,” Asterion said with a loud snort.
Ria reached for the knock once more, but dropped her hand to her side. Then she remembered the note; or rather, what else was written on it. She reached into her jacket pocket and unfolded the slip of paper.
Ask for the raven with blue eyes.
She knocked again.
The same shuffling. The door cracked open and the old woman reappeared, her expression several degrees colder than before.
“I said there’s no—”
“We’re here for the raven with blue eyes.”
