“There were three of them,” declared the Amazon, dumping the lone survivor a few feet away from Jack. “Each man carried an AK-47 and knew how to use it. For humans, they made remarkably little noise. Lucky for us, your friend here sounded the alarm.”

“Humans?” repeated Jack, caught by surprise.

He had naturally assumed their enemies to be supernatural entities. New minions of his sinister foe, sent to eliminate him before he could interfere in the demigod’s schemes. Jack stared at the unconscious man with undisguised annoyance. The assassin definitely possessed an aura. He was distressingly mortal.

“What’s the story with this clown?” asked Hugo, hopping forward to peer into die man’s face. “Disgruntled ex-student?”

“I never saw him before in my life,” said Jack. “Besides, math majors don’t carry automatic weapons. At least,” he added cautiously, “none of my students did.”

“Let’s wake him up and ask him a few questions,” said Cassandra. There was an icy calmness to her voice that made Jack shiver. “If he proves uncooperative, I can break a few of his bones. Slowly. One at a time.”

“I can peck his eyes out if you want,” added Hugo helpfully, “Haven’t done it for centuries, but I think I still remember the technique. It’s like riding a bicycle. Once you learn how, you never forget.”

“No need to resort to torture unless absolutely necessary,” said Jack, turning green. Born of mankind’s most vivid imaginings, the supernaturals had a tendency to view everything in terms of extremes. There were no grays for them, only blacks and whites. “The sight of you two should loosen his tongue quick enough.”

“Maybe,” said Cassandra, sounding doubtful. “Though anyone using an AK-47 isn’t going to start talking just because he’s threatened by a talking bird.” She smiled. “Crushing a few fingers usually starts them babbling.”