“Did you hear that?” she asked.

  “Hear what, Mrs. Crass?” her burly minion answered.

  “No, of course you didn’t. If you never listen, how could you hear changes that small? I hired your muscles, not your brain. Still I know I heard something.”

  Mrs. Crass had scoured Grandeur, looking for evidence of the next Chosen. After her will had broken, her driving motivation was only to serve King Zolf. A Chosen had not been found in twenty years, which concerned King Zolf. His concern became Mrs. Crass’s passion. She had to find a Chosen for the king.

  “What? Like a burglar or something?” said her other henchman.

  “No, not a noise, you idiot. I heard a change. Something shifted. This might be what the Dark King wants me to find. Hand me the list,” said the crazy old woman.

  The grunt walked over to the table and returned with a list of a couple hundred names of people. A few names had a circle around them, while others had a star by the name. Some names were all in capital letters, while others had been underlined. Only Mrs. Crass knew what the markings meant. Nine of the names had a thin red line through them. The thugs knew what a line through the name meant.

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  “Time to recheck a few leads, I think,” she said.

  “Aw, but Mrs. Crass, we’ve checked and rechecked all those people in Grandeur over and over again. Finn always says the same thing. ‘No aura of significance,’ whatever that means,” said the thug.

  Mrs. Crass walked over to the large brute. He continued to stare at her like a slug looking at a child with a container of salt. His partner had already moved to the other side of the room. One had learned never to question her orders, but some people learned slowly.

  Some people might be surprised that an old woman with a wooden spoon could knock a large man unconscious.

  “Time to recheck a few leads,” Mrs. Crass repeated.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the only conscious lackey.

  The sleek midnight-black cat observed the interaction without interest. It leaped down from the cabinet and crept to the unconscious man. It sniffed the large goose egg growing on the man’s head and lapped up the trickle of blood from the cut. It looked over at the other man and smiled, too broadly for how a cat should be able to smile. Its teeth had a dull red shine to them.

  The man always did whatever Mrs. Crass asked. He had also learned to do whatever the cat asked. Otherwise, Mrs. Crass would wallop him on the head for disobeying. The cat would eat part of his soul.

  The man, the bozrac, and the old woman went out the door and began their long night of searching for the next Chosen.