The old man approached Hunter with a crooked grin tugging at one corner of his face. "Well look at that—Hunter, you look like you were the one being hunted for once. Something take a bite out of you?" He turned to Mike. "Was it you?"
Hunter let out a low laugh. "His wife, actually. Long story."
"Not as long as you think," the old man replied. "Hecate's no small threat. On equal footing, she's terrifying—let alone when she gets the jump."
Mike's eyes narrowed. "How do you know what happened?"
"Son, allow me to introduce myself." He gave a small bow. "I'm Mr. Johns, chosen of Anansi—Akan spider god of stories, wisdom, and trickery. Welcome to my web." He gestured around to the vast library behind him. "I hear everything and spin it into narrative. That's why I'm so useful to the council."
"Then why'd you ask if it was me?" Mike asked.
"I know facts," Mr. Johns replied, waving a hand. "But I feed on personality. I wanted to see how you two answered. It's telling—reveals how you work together. And frankly, I know Hunter. Let's just say he doesn't play well with the other kids. So I was curious how he'd mesh with someone who might happily hunt him back." He nodded at Hunter with a grin.
Looking Mike over, Mr. Johns added, "You can handle yourself, no question. But you're fresh." Then, eyeing the gash on Hunter's side, he added, "And it'll take time before you're fully back in the saddle."
"I'm perfectly fine—" Hunter began.
"Shut your mouth, boy," Mr. Johns interrupted. "You know better than to lie to me."
Hunter snapped back, "Don't send me on some bullshit errand just 'cause I'm scratched up."
"You mean like babysitting?" Mr. Johns gestured at Mike.
"I don't need a babysitter," Mike said flatly.
"Keep your scales on, son. You gotta walk before you run. Trials are over—we're a team now."
Mike and Hunter exchanged a glance. The tension eased. An unspoken agreement passed between them.
"Now," Mr. Johns said, "I've got a nice warm-up for you. Sending you out to west Texas. Refugee camp. A starving refugee should be quiet enough, unless he's already awakened. If he's hostile, let the new kid handle it." He jabbed a thumb toward Mike. "Don't kill him unless he tries to kill you."
He handed a slip of paper to Hunter. "Here's the location. Name's Hamza Ayad. Judging by the name, if he's awakened, I'm hoping for a lesser Middle Eastern deity. But hell, he might just be a scared human with nothing in his head."
Hunter sighed. "So… could be a wild goose chase."
"Could be," Mr. Johns grinned. "Either way, you two leave me alone for a few days."
Then he turned to Mike. "You've been staring at me long enough, son. Go ahead. Ask."
"I have a couple questions."
"Well, this is the place for it."
Mike stepped forward. "Do you know how I can get Hecate out of my wife's body?"
"Damn, son," Mr. Johns muttered. "No warm-up, huh? Straight to the boss fight."
He folded his arms. "There are limits, even to what I know. Hecate's a necromancer. She's preserving your wife's body with her magic. So the simplest answer is this: only her magic can restore your wife. She'd have to leave the host willingly."
Mike's expression darkened.
Mr. Johns continued, "There may be other ways—but until the council finishes digging, I can't say what those are."
"I understand. Thank you," Mike said, turning toward the exit.
"Well, it's been a delight as always," Hunter grunted, forcing himself to stand. "We're heading to the armory."
"Bring me something interesting," Mr. Johns said with a wink, disappearing back into the shelves.
The armory sat at the back of the temple, and as they approached, Mike felt a jolt of recognition. He'd been here before. Slept in this room during the trial.
"Hamza Ayad's our target," Hunter said, pushing open the door. "We don't know if he'll be hostile. Angels are targeting any potential threats who might help in the war. So even innocents are at risk."
As they entered, Mike's gaze fell on the far wall. His body remembered it before his mind caught up—the place where he'd carved marks, raged alone, fought to hold on to his sanity. Where he thought he'd never get back to his family.
Now, his wife was possessed by a witch. But his parents… they were still out there.
When I get back, I need to see them. I can't lose that chance again.
"Hey." Hunter's voice snapped him out of the daze. "You were totally zoned out. Just staring at that wall."
"I stayed here for a long time during my trial," Mike said. "Brought back a lot of memories."
He took a deep breath. "When we get back—I want to see my parents."
"Of course," Hunter nodded. "Let's get this done first."
They moved toward the gear shelves. Most of it was simple—military surplus or alloy-forged blades.
"We've been trying to find a chosen whose god dealt in craftsmanship, but no luck yet," Hunter muttered.
Mike examined a pair of black alloy gauntlets with clawed tips. Perfect fit. Beside them, a matte-black chestplate—lightweight, flexible. He strapped them on, grabbing some basic supplies and a backpack.
Hunter slung a bag over his shoulder. "Let's hit the road. El Paso's not close, and if we're lucky, this guy hasn't turned into another ticking time bomb."
Mike nodded. As they stepped out into the night, he felt the weight of the armor settle against his skin.
This wasn't just another mission.
This was a step forward—toward war, toward power,
Toward redemption.
And he would face whatever waited in Texas
with claws.