He was standing in the bed of his brother's pickup truck, in a time when the truck still ran and he was smaller and skinnier and his hair shorter and grey on the sides. The truck idled, surrounded by other cars that idled as well, waiting. He was looking up at the birds overhead, mouth moving, working out what they meant.

Someone spoke from the cab of the pickup, but he didn't know what they meant, either.

He glanced down, forward, and then woke up quite suddenly to a loud crack.

He sat up, finding himself in a dark hotel room. Flashing red and blue lights lined the edges of the furniture. Teige--back in his more demonic shape--stood in front of the window, peering down below, the light running over his horns and muzzle.

Hawk got up and moved quietly to the window. Below them, in the alleyway between the hotel and the fenceline, a Waycross police car was parked. A man with horns and a woman with leathery wings cowered in the harsh flood of its headlights; two cops were advancing on them from either side of the car, guns trained. The long, thin shape of some kind of serpent lay coiled uselessly beside the horned man, blood smeared from its skull across the pavement.

"...Should we do something?" Hawk asked very quietly, almost guiltily. Teige's eyes glowed angrily at him, and they both flinched as another loud crack of gunshot sounded from below.

"I think we're a bit late, sunshine," Teige murmured, and added derisively, "And ennyway, I thought you didn't want ennythin' to do with�demons."