Bodram was nursing his ribs and pride on a bench in the park.
“Now the Witching Hour’s over for another month, truce?” The newcomer was from the other power block in town. Her silver hair and gamin face said ‘storybook fairy.’
“All right.” He was reduced to grunting.
“We tried to unite them as subordinates for us a few years ago,” she said conversationally. “Third time wasn’t the charm, so we consulted a Seer.”
“Turned out their unity wouldn’t have been in our best interests. It might not be in yours either,” she added.
“So we should see a Seer?”
“Of your choice,” she agreed. “Just in case.”