The next morning, before the crows even started to caw, there was a pounding at the front door of the Montgomery Mansion. Tate had already warned all the ghosts he was on speaking terms with not to open the door if strangers came. He certainly wasn't going to go anywhere near the door. He remembered the fairy tales. When witches came to your door, you didn't answer. If you did, either you got turned into a beast or you'd get eaten. Neither of those was on his list of things he wanted to do.

The pounding stopped for a moment then resumed with double force. An ordinary door would have fallen in under such an assault but the oak barrier merely rattled in its frame.

"Little pigs, little pigs," Pietre said with great amusement. He hadn't met a building that had given him such a challenge in a long time. "Let me IN."

On the last word he channeled his energy into the symbol he made with his hands. The door shuddered and flew inward, banging against the far wall. It tried to swing shut again but the blond man put himself in its path. The whole house creaked with the force of resistance. Fiona stepped into the entryway past him.

The interior of the house was well-appointed and clean but dead. Very dead.

"Wow," said the younger witch, Desiree, as she came in last. "There are so many!"

The frizzy-haired psychic referred to all the spirits in the house. She could sense them even though she couldn't see them.

"Where's the body?"

"I don't know yet," Desiree said, her Louisiana accent stretching her words with her impatience. "It's a big house."

"We're at risk every minute we're in this place," said Fiona sternly. "Focus on your job so we can get out of here."

The mulatto girl had never seen the Supreme so close to nervous before. That was more intimidating than the woman's glare, which was saying something. The younger woman nodded and put her full concentration into sensing for dead tissue. She found a surprising amount of it.

"Holy cow!" she exclaimed. "Did they do abortions here?" She caught Fiona's insistent stare and looked chagrined. Then she spotted what she was searching for. "I found her. She's in the wall upstairs."

"Well, let's go haul her dusty bones out," said Fiona. "I'm not getting any younger."

The three went upstairs, all the way up to the attic. They were nearly to the false panel that led to the crawlspace when Tate appeared before them. He wore his favorite black and green striped sweater for the occasion since he was meeting family for the first time.

"If you're looking for the antique store," he quipped. "It went out of business two years ago."

"We're here for Constance's body," Fiona said, unimpressed with his humor.

So much for playtime. "I'm afraid I can't let you have her. See, she's my mother. If I let you have her body, then I have to put up with her bitching at me and I really don't want that."

"Mother?" Fiona looked the ghost boy over with new appreciation. "Well, I'll be damned." She gave a short laugh then folded her arms. "Move aside, my dear nephew, or go fetch her bones for me. Either way, I'm leaving this house with her body."

Tate braced himself. He hadn't wanted a fight but if she insisted, he was ready. "I can't let you do that."

Tired of the stalling, Fiona flicked her hand at the boy. He should have been moved by the energy she released with the gesture, or else disapparated. He didn't move.

"I really don't want to hurt you," Tate said, using his Reasonable voice. It was one Dr. Harmon had helped him polish. "Why do you want her body, anyway?"

"We're going to resurrect your mother," Pietre provided.

That got Tate. "Why?" he blurted. Then, realizing how bad that sounded, he added: "I mean." But he got hung again. "Why?"

Fiona shot Pietre a withering look. Then, to her nephew: "She has a part to play in a prophecy as yet to be fulfilled. And you're standing in the way of it. Move aside."

Pietre took a turn then and tried to banish the specter. It was a cantrip he'd used many times over the centuries, so it was a genuine surprise to him when it didn't work on Tate. He didn't have time to rally another plan as the spirit lunged at him then, losing form briefly with the rapidity of his motion.

It had been years since the violent ghost wind had moved through Tate and he relished it. He could feel Thaddeus with him, ravening for the man's blood. The sharp teeth he borrowed from his phantom half-brother tore into the blond warlock's shoulder, narrowly missing his jugular. The man cried out. Fiona shouted something and she and the younger woman with her started chanting in unison.

Agony lanced through Tate like a lightning bolt and he was flung to the side, separated from the Infantata and left groaning on the floor, weakened and in pain.

"Get in there!" Fiona commanded Desiree. "I'll handle this!"

The younger witch scrambled to the wall and frantically started beating on it, trying to figure out how to open it. Meanwhile, Fiona went to her fallen comrade and eyed his injury. He clutched at his bleeding shoulder. It was a nasty wound that would require attention fast. He forced himself to get to his feet. He didn't expect Fiona to offer to help, which was good because she didn't.

The younger witch finally got the panel open and peeked inside. "Lux," she murmured and a tiny spot of light appeared behind her.

Carefully she climbed into the walls of the house, unsettled by the experience of crawling through such a small space. The golden light behind her threw weird shadows as she moved. She almost fell when the chute she was crawling through suddenly gave way to an open space. Looking down, she saw two bodies below, a skeleton and a severely withered corpse.

"Shit," she cursed. She couldn't tell which one was the right one. She thought about asking Fiona but she knew the woman had no patience for indecision. But the girl didn't want to bring the wrong body back. "Shit!"

In the end she loaded them both into a body bag she found off to the side. They didn't weigh as much as a fresh body did; not by a long shot. Two combined almost made the weight of one full adult the size she'd moved before. Once she had them both zipped up, she quickly tugged the bag back to the attic.

She climbed back out and dragged the bag after. She saw her companions but not the ghost boy.

"Where'd he go?"

"He faded out," said Fiona. "That spell we hit him with will have him licking his wounds for another hour at least."

"Let's not dally, regardless," said Pietre. He was looking paler than normal as blood loss took its toll.

Fiona led the way back down, with the injured warlock following. Desiree was stuck hauling the bodies back to the hotel.

...

As soon as he had the strength, Tate went to his mother's house. He still hurt all over, like when he used to run track and coach would make him run laps for not changing out. But the pain didn't matter to him nearly as much as what had happened.

"Mama!" he hollered as he burst into the house. He didn't bother with the bell. This was too important. "They got all the bones, Mama!"

Constance, Michael, and Jeremiah were all in the kitchen and collectively rose. The teen rushed in, frantic.

"There were three of them," he blurted, tears in his eyes. "And one was Aunt Fiona and they hit me with some sort of thing and they took your bones and they took Violet's bones too!"

Constance winced at his rapid rattle of information. "Slow down! They got both of our bodies? How?"

Tate looked from person to person then made a contrite face. "I put you both in the same place. I thought it would be safe, but they were too strong."

"Why do they want Violet's body?" asked Michael.

"They don't," Tate said. "They want Constance's. I guess they took both to be sure they got all of the right bones? I don't know. What if they try to resurrect her?"

"We need to find them," Father Jeremiah said. "Do you know which direction they headed?"

Tate shook his head. "They did something to me. It hurt. Bad. I couldn't move. By the time I could, they were gone."

Michael canted his head to one side, thinking. The Dragon had said the world belonged to him. If that was true, there ought to be something he could do to find the witches. The idea came on him immediately and, frowning in concentration, he pushed his thoughts outward to the carrion crows that still roosted in the area. There weren't the droves there used to be, but there were still several dozen that he could locate. Their life rhythms were different than anything else nearby so he was able to home in on them easily.

Once he had them, he sensed out their eyes and their muscles. Then he took flight. It was disorienting at first, flying in all directions at once without actually moving. He had to adjust his thinking. It was sort of like panning out on Google maps, back when it was still accessible. He used to play with that a lot, to explore the world. Once he'd expanded his concept of directional perception, he was better able to see what the birds were seeing.

The foggy streets spread out below him, rushing by. He couldn't see who he was looking for at first but soon he detected them, traveling east in a long black car. He drew the whole flock together to pursue them. It wasn't subtle but he wasn't trying to hide what he was doing. He didn't care if they knew someone was watching them. All that mattered to him was where they were going.

The dark vehicle below sped up. They couldn't lose the crows, though, who kept up effortlessly. Desiree watched the flock from the passenger's seat while Fiona drove. Pietre was in back, laying down and trying to keep pressure on his wound.

"They're definitely following us," the girl told the Supreme.

"No shit," Fiona snarled. She didn't need the updates.

She floored it and tried to lose the pestiferous flock but after a couple of blocks it was obvious they weren't going to be able to lose the crows. She would have kept driving around but she couldn't count on the possessed creatures to lose stamina and Pietre needed to be someplace safe where he could heal.

Fiona muttered a curse under her breath then headed for the hotel. The old three-story structure used to be a small jail before it was turned into a tourist destination. The back side had a garage of sorts where inmates were once delivered like cargo. There was no door on it now but the birds banked off and didn't follow the car in, regardless. Instead they circled up and around the building, taking it all in.

"Come on!" Fiona barked at the younger witch and hopped out herself. "Get the bodies!"

They hurried to the trunk where the Superior popped open the trunk with the key fob. Pietre got himself inside while Desiree pulled the body bag out. Fiona closed the trunk then, after a quick glance outside, hurried inside as well. She bolted the door behind them.

—

"They went inside a building outside the wall," Michael reported. His words were distant as he was focusing on what he was seeing and piloting the birds as well. "The side says... Bradford Hotel."

"Let's go," said Constance.

"Wait," said Father Jeremiah. "We need a plan first."

"We have a plan!" she exclaimed. She grabbed her purse. "We get my body back!"

"And Violet's," Tate threw in. He followed his mother to the door.

Michael settled the birds to roost all around the building. He released a few to return home in case he needed them for something else. Then he swayed, suddenly dizzy. Father Jeremiah steadied him.

"I'm okay," Michael said. He was already beginning to feel better. Tired, but better. "Let's go."

"And do what?" Jeremiah said, determined to make sense. He followed the rest of them to the car. "Demand they give her body back?"

"And Violet's!" Tate insisted, not liking that nobody seemed to be remembering that.

He got in the back seat. He expected Michael to join him but the other boy got in the front with Constance. Father Jeremiah got in back with Tate, though he crowded more toward the center.

"That's exactly what we're going to do," said Constance with grim determination. She started the car and threw it into gear. "And if that bitch Fiona doesn't give it to me, I'll damn well take it."

—

The car idled just beyond the gates to the settled portion of the foggy zone. The fog terminated a few feet ahead, thinning out to show clear roads ahead. That was a problem. The place they were going was beyond the fog.

"If we keep going," the priest said. "Constance and Tate will be sent back home. Either they get out," he said to Michael, who was seated diagonally across from him in the back seat. "Or we do."

"You're not takin' him up there by yourself," Constance objected.

"I have to save Violet!" Tate interjected.

"We'll be fine," Father Jeremiah reassured.

Considering the boy had resurrected himself, Constance wasn't terribly worried. She knew the priest could look out for himself as well. What she really wanted was to claw her sister's eyes out but that was an impossibility at present.

"Well," she sighed. "You may as well take over drivin'. I don't want to walk back home so we'll just ride till..." She circled a hand, not wanting to spell out how she and her ghost son would be transported back to the haunted property.

"No!" Tate objected louder. Tears leaked out. "I want to save Violet!"

She turned in the car and shot him a Look. "Quit hollering. We can hear you just fine. There's nothin' you and I can do now. Michael and Father Jeremiah have to handle this, whether we like it or not."

He scowled at her but he knew she was right. He smudged his eyes with both hands then looked away out the window. He muttered something into his flannel but the only part that made it out was: "..better save Violet."

Jeremiah caught Constance's glance his way and he got out of the car. He traded seats with her then, once they were settled again, he put the car in gear. A few moments later, he and Michael were alone.

Author's Note:

Since someone asked, I thought I'd clarify for the record: Fiona (and Pietre) haven't aged since my Coven fic. Misty Day has. She looks decent for her age, under all the shawls, but definitely older.

I've got a super-busy couple of weeks coming up so I thought I'd post this next chapter before things got wild. I've only given it a first-pass edit so please forgive any issues with it. I'll tidy it up later after the new year. I hope you guys stay safe and have a great one. See you next year!

Next time: Michael meets Fiona while Tate mopes with his mom. I'd say mirror light, mirror dark but... there's only darkness here.