"By the Angel," he murmurs and shakes his head before he rolls up the sleeve of his flannel shirt, exposing the nearly healed burn around his wrist. "They used silver. My hands and feet, sometimes my throat depending on how much I was fighting back that day. They knew what to do for every last one of us."

Silver for him, the collar for Terry, they'd bled Magnus, confused and disoriented Simon somehow.

"I think they were watching us," he says. "For weeks before. I could sometimes hear or see people who looked out of place and then, about four days before they took me, I was attacked on my way home. It was them. It had to be."