“Hold your fire,” I say. “Let me get a closer look.”
I approach the crows. The guys follow slowly behind me. There’s not a lot of moonlight. Still, I can see that the birds have stone eyes, razor-sharp wings, and rusted nails for claws. Both of their rib cages have been cracked open, then sewn back together at an odd angle using leather strips. Bits of mangy straw peep out from the needle holes.
“What the hell are those things?” asks Zee.
“Cross between taxidermy and zombie, far as I can tell. It’s the work of a demon warlock named Silas. Class A job.”
The joy in Raj’s tone is unmistakable. “You think he’s nearby?”
“No doubt.” I scan the darkened skies. “Let’s hope Tempest gets here first, though.”
“Why?” asks Zee.
“I took an oath not to harm Silas. Long story.”
Zee frowns. “Think
