Under a blood red sky

Molly has some 'splainin' to do. Doing research with a vampire with throwing only one punch had gone a long way to getting her nerve back after being attacked in the woods with Harry. Living with Murphy and having three squares a day didn't hurt either. It was about time she set something she messed up straight.

It meant haunting outside her most recently evacuated motel, waiting to catch Dean either coming or going. She wasn't unarmed. She wasn't that stupid, but she made certain what she had on her was within view. 45mm pistol tucked into her belt where it usually wasn't. Hunting knife clipped to her belt at her hip. She felt it would be kind of stupid to show off the chalk.

She finally spotted him and stepped out of the shadows, swallowing down the sudden case of nerves, then raised her voice forcing it to be solid. "Hey."

Trout Run Road was not such a long distance from the house he'd purchased on the edge of Roth Cemetery. And though it was probably not the wisest of ideas, Bill decided that a trip towards the ruined site of the old psychiatric hospital might shed some proverbial light on the mystery that was York, Pennsylvania. Whilst he could have driven and been there in a matter of minutes, Bill opted to take a more cardiovascular approach to his evening jaunt. He walked.

It was a clear evening, with only a few clouds hazing up the star-dotted sky. The air was chilly with the approach of winter, but not so cold that he felt the need to wear anything more than a long sleeved shirt. He had the benefit of having a certain immunity to the cold, what with being dead and all. He wouldn't be uncomfortable in the outdoors until it started snowing. And, even then, he could have still gone out sans a jacket and still lived to tell the tale. No, the cold had little effect. It was the heat that stirred emotion in him. Perhaps because he had become so unaccustomed to warmth in his second life.

The road was quiet. Since crossing a long field from across the town, he had yet to see a single approaching vehicle. And, once he stepped upon Trout Run, it was as if all life itself seemed to cease. No humming sounds of automobile engines. No nightly calls of owls or other nocturnal beasts. Even the air was still, as if the wind itself had been sucked into a void of nothingness. Bill glanced back in the direction from whence he came, but the lights of the small town were concealed by rows of oak trees. Had he not known that there were the makings of a community behind him, he would have imagined that nothing existed out in this abandoned countryside.
( His shoes echoed on the pavement. )

Anita had flown to Pennsylvania--reluctantly, because she hated flying--after she and Jean Claude had both gotten calls from their respective connections. They'd all heard rumors, down in St. Louis, about the going-on in York. Some of them had even felt the dark magic at work. Now, it was time for Anita Blake--animator, federal marshal, bolverk, nimir-ra and human scion--to find out first hand what the situation really was, and what--if anything--could be done about it.

Little did she know there would be more trouble waiting for her than just vamp-versus-furry politics, or evil sorcerers awaiting when she got there.

Being used to working the graveyard shift--literally--she'd arrived at the airport via Jean Claude's private jet at what most people called 'stupid am,' then picked up her rental car, and driven to her motel in York. Once there, she decided to make a few calls before she caught some shuteye. But before she did that, she needed more coffee, so she walked over to the nearest cafe to get her morning fix--keeping a weather eye out as she waited for her order to come up.