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The woman stopped. Her mouth closed. A sizzle of magic charged the air between them.

“Well,” she mumbled. “That changes things.”

The old woman stepped back from the door, and as she did, the threshold rippled. The door, the frame, the brick wall on either side of it, all of it shimmered, then dissolved, and shimmered back into place, but entirely different. The plain door became a wide entrance framed in dark wood, carved with symbols Ria recognized as ancient Greek. Above it, a sign appeared in wrought iron lettering, which translated to Raven Tattoos.

The old crone was gone. In her place stood a young woman, mid-twenties at most. Her dark hair was cut short on one side and long on the other, a silver ring through her nose, and tattoos running up her arms.

“Follow me.” She turned and walked without waiting for an answer.

The inside smelled of ink and sandalwood and the walls were lined with framed designs that appeared normal. However, when Ria took the effort to examine them, she could feel them pulse with magic. A tattoo chair sat under a bright lamp at the center of the room, and the back wall was cluttered with inks and needles and tools.

The woman gestured to a pair of chairs near the front counter. “Wait here. I’ll get him.”

She disappeared through a beaded curtain at the back and they sat down as instructed.

“Can you feel that?” Ria asked.

“Aye.” His nostrils flared. “The whole place is thick with magic.”

“Old magic,” she added. “Built up and layered and older than this building. Maybe even Salem.”

Before Asterion could reply, the beaded curtain parted again and a man stepped through. He was lean, average height, with dark hair that fell just past his ears. Full tattoo sleeves covered his arms, and whatever skin was left exposed by his plain black tank top. He appeared to be early thirties, but Ria’s senses told her otherwise. The piercing blue eyes reminded her of the note in her pocket. The raven with blue eyes. This had to be the warlock.

“I’m Dorian.” He pulled a chair from behind the counter, flipped it around and sat down across from them. “I hear you’ve been searching for me.”

“Ria Park.” She offered her hand and he shook it, his grip firm. “This is Asterion.”

“I’d shake your hand but I think you might break mine, Minotaur.” Obviously, he could tell Asterion wasn’t wearing a costume.

“I might,” Asterion agreed.

Dorian’s mouth curved. “Fair enough.”

Ria couldn’t help herself and blurted out. “How old are you? Er, sorry. Was that rude?” She recalled asking Hecate one time and the death glare she got from the goddess had her shivering for a week.

Dorian just laughed. “I stopped counting after eight hundred.” He pulled down the collar of his tank top to reveal a small medallion on a chain around his neck.

“Does that keep you alive forever?” Asterion asked.

“Not really. It slows down my aging. It was a gift from someone who owed me a very large favor.” He released the collar, covering the amulet. “Now, you didn’t come all the way from Vale Crossing to ask about my skincare secrets, did you? What do you need?”

And so, Ria told him everything, about Korinnae and Liora, about the hunters and the poison. She also told him about the treatments and everything they tried, like the Moonmoss.

“…and then someone told us about you and we went to New York to try and find you,” Ria finished. “Which led us here.”

“I see.” He tapped one ink-stained finger on one knee. “That’s quite a story.”

“Do you know anything about this poison? Have you encountered it or anything like it before?” Ria asked.

“The poison is blood-based,” the warlock stated. “Which means the cure must be blood-based too.” Before she could ask further, he continued. “The poison entered her bloodstream and bonded to it,” he began. “No potion or plant is going to break that bond because they work on the body, not the blood itself. You need something that can reach the blood directly and rewrite what the poison did.”

“Like an injection?” She exhaled. “Or…a tattoo?”

A smile spread across his face. “You’re quick.”

“It could work.” She snapped her fingers. “Mix some enchanted ink with blood, and voila, a cure.” Her mind began to race.

“That’s the principle.”