Exton

My scimitar still lies against the gloved hand, as the hood slips from the creature's head. The pale hair hung past its shoulders and it turned, looking at me through its own reflection.

"Let me take the power home, Daemon. This is a power of good, not of the nether realms. I have no wish to die, doing as God has commanded. Or am I to be your prey of the Hunt?" The voice was soft, birdlike. I had heard it before. What was a fae of the Manx doing here?

"Adhene... I will put down my blade, if you talk to me of this.. I was sent to Hunt the slayers, not take the life of the fallen who seek redemption." I lower my blade and let the Adhene finish its spell. It rose to its feet and motioned me onward.

"Come walk with me and I will tell you what I can of that which you seek." It began to follow a trail barely desceriable to my eyes.  "There is another in trouble. This one in the Arabic Deserts." It pauses, fixing me with pale eyes. "Do you fear a return home, Daemon? This time the blade being sought is the one called Allah's Light. It was last held by the sons of Romanavich"

I finger the stopper on the chain around my neck. Allah's Light was the blade passed down through the bands of the Gypsies. So my kin held the sacred blade. It looked like I was going home.

As we walked, the Adhene spoke of what was, what is, and what was coming. The killer was immune to the magic of the Gifts. Mostly because he did not believe in the powers the items held. The killer is what I did not expect.

The killer is human.