Privateer made some phone calls and considered his quarry's likely next move. If she meant to attack anyone else near the university, she would have done so already. Dr. Jones' office was his next stop. Since it was already growing dark and Dr. Jones was not in, there was no need for any dancing around the subject of doctor-patient confidentiality; he broke in. Her office was on the second floor, so he simply walked up the wall, magnetically eased open the window lock, and was in. Filing cabinets, check. Albright... there.
    She had come for help with nightmares and anxiety attacks stemming from years of abuse and molestation by her father, which had stopped only when the Coven used him in a sacrifice during the 1984 daemon incursion. That fit the pattern; for whatever reason, Sabertooth's previous victims in January had been relatives of people killed in daemon-related incidents.
    If she was still heading north, there was a cluster of Daemonwar survivors who had settled in Worcester, Massachusetts. There had been a Revolution case back in January, too, he recalled, about the same time as the one in Connecticut, to do with daemons, which made Boston a possibility. Even further north was Stratton, Maine, where Black Dragon had once fought some of the Coven.
    Plenty of victims up that way, in other words. He put the file back, locked the window behind him and headed for Worcester.

Phoenix Talon packed his overnight bag and called Candi to let her know that he was going to have to go out of town.
    "Shouldn't take more than a couple of days," he assured her.
    "I was hoping to be able to get together, I'm going to be out of town doing some publicity stuff for a few days."
    "Well, it's just in Worcester, I can probably come back...." Memory of their interrupted evening remained fresh.
    "I wouldn't want to get in the way of anything."
    "Like I said, I don't think this is going to be a problem."
    "Tell you what," she decided. "It is just in Worcester, why don't I come out and join you after I get off, I'll drive out, maybe we can get a hotel room or something?"
    "Yeah, well, I was going to get a room while I was there."
    "Oh, that sounds great!"
    "See you then, honey." This sounded promising. Talon took a hoverbike out the MassPike; it wasn't very far. "Hi, I'm Phoenix Talon, I'm here to help you with your rooster problem," he introduced himself at the police station.
    "Yeah," the desk officer nodded, recognizing him. "He's the biggest cock we've ever seen."
    "I don't know what the hell goes through these guys' heads," Talon shrugged. "Is that his only crime so far?" Other than his name.
    The man nodded. "We've been checking other things, but you know the way these people think an awful lot more than we do. If you want to check out the area, more power to you."
    Phoenix Talon took his leave and went looking for abandoned farms, slaughterhouses, etc., and found a few promising prospects. Near the city was a large farm that not only raised poultry but had a giant corn maze at this time of year, which might attract a theme villain. There was a biotech compound in the city working on chicken genetics. Finally, the Worcester Outlet Mall was having its annual harvest festival and represented a high concentration of ready cash, if nothing obviously chicken-related.
    He called Scott. "Could you have your K. Robeson guys call some of the major art dealers in Boston, see if anyone's approached them with the paintings?"
    "I'm sorry, actually, K. Robeson seems to be out of town at the moment. Larry's still on tour, and Felix just left. I can look, see if they're sold anyplace legitimate. I don't have any contacts on the art black market."
    "Just a thought, thanks."
    "Sorry." It was a good idea, but the resources to follow up on it seemed to have vanished at the moment.

Privateer reached Worcester late in the evening and quickly located the man who came as close as the survivor community had to a leader, Mr. Randolph Gold.
    "Call me Randy, really," the man introduced himself.
    "Privateer."
    "Never heard of you."
    "From Harborview."
    "Oh." He stood aside, led the way into the house.
    "There's—I'll be brutally honest with you." There really wasn't any gentle way to break this kind of news. "I'm on the trail of a dangerous villain who has a prior history of attacking people involved in the not-too-far-in-the-past daemon incursions in Harborview and Brooklyn."
    "Oh." Beat. "Coffee?" Randy gestured with a suddenly-trembling hand.
    "No, thank you. We can have a seat."
    Randy collapsed into the nearest chair.
    "I was hoping that as a sort of central figure in the community—"
    "I can certainly contact everybody. You honestly think this man's coming here?" he asked tensely.
    "Woman. Yes. It's a distinct possibility, there are few other possible locations."
    "I'll call everybody. Do you want me to get them all together here?"
    "How many people are we talking?"
    "There are eleven of us."
    He nodded. "It might make my job that much easier."
    "Hang on." Randolph began making phone calls, coffee forgotten.

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