The Drowned Rat was every bit as run down as the agent had implied. From the room to the steps, everything slumped. An actual dead rat hung by its tail to the right of the door. Damien shuddered, they might catch something just from looking at the place.

“What a dump.” Imogen summarized the tavern perfectly.

“Morana’s the only one in there.”

“Agreed. How do you want to handle this?”

“I’ll go in the front and draw her lightning. You hit her from behind.”

Imogen nodded and slipped around the back of the tavern. If there wasn’t a door she could always make one. Damien counted slowly to thirty, drew Lizzy, and kicked the door down.

Morana sat at a table, a mug in one hand and a pitcher beside her. The shiny black urn rested at her elbow on the table. She made no move to grab it.

She drained her mug and slammed it down. “I figured they’d send you. No one else has the guts to approach while I have this.” She patted the urn.

“I don’t suppose you want to hand it over and come along quietly?”

She snatched the urn off the table and hurled it at him. Damien snagged it out of the air and set it beside him. “Thank you?”

“Might as well invite your friend to join us. Make sure she doesn’t touch any of the knives in the kitchen. They’re liable to give her tetanus.”

“It’s okay, Imogen. Doesn’t look like we’re going to have a fight after all.”

Imogen emerged from the kitchen surrounded by golden armor, a matching ax floating at her side. The warlock looked back at her. “You look familiar. Did I capture you?”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Yes. Me and two others. I’d like to kill you for that, but the archmage wants you alive.”

Morana barked a laugh. “You’re both out of luck. I’m already dead.”

Damien sheathed Lizzy and sat across from her. “What do you mean?”

“My soul force is slowly draining and with Connor dead it won’t regenerate. At the rate it’s going I’d say I have two, maybe three days left. I couldn’t use that damned urn on you if I wanted to.” She grabbed the pitcher and poured herself another mug. “Have a drink with a dying woman?”

“I’d rather drink out of the bay.”

She laughed and drained part of her mug. “So what happens now?”

“Do you have family?” Damien asked.

“My family’s all dead. Connor was all I had and now he’s dead too. Not that I have to tell you since you killed him.”

“I didn’t. Connor allowed an avatar of the Horned One to enter his body. It burned him out. He sacrificed himself to his master for one last chance at victory.”

She sniffed, half a laugh and half a sob. “That sounds like Connor.” She finally looked up and her crimson gaze met his. “What happens now?”

“That’s up to you. We could sit here, enjoying this establishment’s fine wares while you tell us everything you know about the surviving cultists, or we can take you somewhere more pleasant and ask you in a less pleasant way.”

She shrugged. “Don’t know much, but I’ll tell you what I do know in exchange for one thing.”

“What?”

Her lip trembled. “I don’t want to die alone. Will you stay until the end?”

Damien reached out and patted her hand. It was ice cold. This poor woman, seduced, used, and ultimately betrayed by Connor Blackman. Once so fierce, she was more pathetic than anything now. She’d lost it all and despite everything she’d done Damien felt bad for her.

“I will. I don’t suppose the owner has anything resembling a scroll and ink around here?”

“I doubt it.”

“Will you excuse us while we fetch some? I won’t be a minute.”

Morana waved a hand and returned to her mug. Damien picked up the urn then he and Imogen slipped outside. When the door closed Imogen said, “Why are you being so nice to her? We should bring her in and rip what we need out of her screaming head.”

“If we try to bring her in she’ll fight with every drop of soul force she’s got.”

Imogen snorted. “I could take her in the shape she’s in now.”

“I don’t doubt it, but didn’t you see she has no flow? Morana wasn’t lying about being unable to regenerate her power. When it’s gone she dies. Fight her and we get nothing. A little kindness buys us everything she knows. Not to mention, I feel bad for her. She’s lost everything.”

“It’s no less than she deserves. I’ll fetch writing supplies then leave you to it. I can’t stand the sight of her.” Damien handed her the urn before she left.