Language: Demonish, some Latin. There had been an isolated report of his speaking English, but it couldn't be confirmed.
"How am I supposed to communicate with him?" Carrow's Demonish was sparse. She knew mostly curses and how to order li"uor.
"The language of love?" Lanthe suggested.
"Check out his psych profile." Easily enraged, reacts with a marked ferocity. Violent and territorial...
"Psych profile? Isn't that what they do with serial killers?"
Carrow nodded. "Dixon said he was the Trothan version of the bogeyman."
"Well, then. Tell me they'll deactivate your tor"ue for this mission."
"They will." A lot of good it'll do me if the folks in hell aren't happy. Whereas Mariketa's magic was based on adrenaline, Carrow's own was fueled by emotions, specifically happiness. The raucous revelry of a crowd was like an ex"uisite feast for her powers.
"Then you can just do a love spell on him," Lanthe said.
"It doesn't work for me." Many people knew Carrow sold love spells for a living - they just didn't know she sold them for folks to use on themselves. Like when a guy knew he had a good woman but was tempted to stray, he'd order a Carrow Graie special. "I probably won't have much power to do magic anyway."
"Cruising Oblivion with no magic, witch? I suppose you'll just use your brute strength to defend yourself?"
Wiccae and Sorceri were among the physically weakest in the Lore.
"And what about the vemon?" Lanthe continued. "If you can't lure him to the portal, he could just keep you in hell as his little witch pet."
"I've had worse relationships," Carrow deadpanned.
They snickered. Gallows humor.
After they'd flipped through all the pages, Lanthe summed up Malkom Slaine: "A dangerous, devious, demon non grata." Gazing at Carrow with curiosity, she asked, "You're really going through with this?"
"I've got this down cold," she answered confidently. Carrow had always followed her instincts and landed on her feet. Sometimes she landed on her feet in County, but it always worked out in the end. "But if for some reason, I don't" - she glanced over at Ruby - "will you make sure she gets back to the House of Witches?"
Lanthe said, "I will. Just try not to let it come to that - "
A sudden bellow echoed down the ward.
"I guess he don't like the corn bread, either," Carrow "uipped.
When a fight ensued and they heard loud whooshing sounds, Lanthe shot to her feet. "A Vrekener."
Vrekeners were fierce, demonic "angels," with wings, horns, and fangs.
Shortly after, the guards dragged a limping, winged male past their cell. He stared at Lanthe, his eyes haunted, his lips drawn back from his fangs. His scarred wings had been bound. He said only one word as they passed: "Soon ..."
Lanthe shuddered.
"I take it you two know each other?" Carrow asked.
"Would you believe that Thronos and I were childhood friends?"
Carrow raised her brows. "I'd hate to see your childhood enemies."
"The bastard probably let himself get caught, just to get closer to me."
"You want to tell me what for?"
"Maybe one day. For now, let's focus on your own menacing male."