[img]http://i.imgur.com/WpylMQ5.png[/img]

Henry doesn't sleep. Not any more. Not since he made the bargain. Sleeping means letting a creature far more vile then any demon he had met know where he was. He traveled a lot, in hotter climates where the frost never formed. He all but lived in the tropics at this point, paranoid and torn between returning to the company HQ or not. He had told Atticus, that the price he had paid might never be possible to pay back. He had given up control of his life in a sense, what little protection he had been afforded had been voided, gone for good now. He stared blankly at the drink in his hand. The final battle had been intense, he had not been fully prepared for it either. And the pain he had seen, his magic had done nothing to stop it, she had been a monster and only Max, in his brilliant, fierce dedication to Veti, had been able to truly kill the First Daughter. A splendid man in truth, even tough Henry would not have ever have admitted it to his face. Brazen but true to his own, that was the Max Henry had come to remember. 

“To you, you great idiot.” He muttered under his breath as he swept a glass of some sweet Brazilian booze. The buzz could hardly be felt for him. His unnatural physiology all but neutralized it. But the taste was pleasant. His eyes met a girl across the bar and he shot her a smile. The effect was immediete, the girl looked almost stricken with panic, the feelings running trough her went haywire. She approached him with a sway on her hips that meant buisness. Mean, frantic, sweaty buisness. He raised a eyebrow. His glamor these days was less of the androgynous supermodel veriaty and more akin to his true form in that he had chiseled, very much masculine feautures. His hair, once kept long, was cut short. His blue eyes remained their usual deep and mystifying self of course. He eyed her more critically now, and she was quite the looker. But that was not the reason she had called her ower with his inhuman charms. 

“The man you are dating is a ritualistic cannibal. You snare guys who you then drug and lead up to a place off the usual tourist path, hidden with old magic. They you eat them. But you are just a mortal. And I am a fae. And the little chupacabra you used as a guard dog is dead. It's not nice to import rare creatures against their will. Even if it is a blood thirsty vampire dog.” He said slowly, in perfect Portuguese. She looked at him stunned and seemed to back off a little. But she was mortal, and the siren had already prepared a spell for her and her boyfriend. By the side of his stool rested a violin case.

“Where is he. Tell me and you may live. ” He said calmly, eyes hard and without a shred of pity or mercy in them. The girl nodded, seemingly stunned. Henry grabbed his violin and tucked it under his arm as he let her lead the way. She led him the usual way she led their victims, but this time she almost stumbled as she walked, as if drunk. They reached the place, a groove cut out for the purpose of sacrifice. The man standing there wore what seemed to be very illfitting for such a hot climate.

“Henry Grimm. I am with a company who was hired to find the whereabout of one Elizabeth Tarver. You ate her. “ He said as he carefully sat the by completely out of it girl aside. The spell he had woven around her was blasting full effect. She would wake up in a jail cell next time. 

“As you ate her, I am to bring a end to you. The girl is mortal. I see that you are not, are you? Your blood is that of a Berserker, like Wolf in human clothing” He narrowed his eyes. Dressed in a wolf pelt, a animal entirely foreign to this land the man was a strange sight to see in the jungle. Eyes that were wild and red and with teeth that was those of a canine. Indeed, a old viking bloodline stuck in Brazil, dormant and then awoken for whatever reason. It happened ever so often that dorman powers awoke. The man was beyond saving, he would have a quick death and nothing more.

“nothing personal.” Henry produced his violin from it's case. There would be no more girls eaten after that day. Atleast not from the crazed Berserker. The berserker managed to take a single step before his vision dissapeared and blood poured out of his ears. He didn't scream, for the magic in Henrys sonata would not let him. By the time Henry had put the violin back and began to walk of with the sleeping girl, the Berserker was long since dead. The animals would to the rest. 

Henry left the girl with the police, pointing them to the her boyfriends apartment for evidence of her guilt before strolling back to the Hotel. Nobody tried to stop him, his charm saw to that. As he arrived there was a neat, very Atticus like letter waiting for him. As he read it he sighed and looked to the plane ticket enclosed in the letter.

“Atticus.. What are you dragging me into now...” he muttered.

..
A day later
–

“good to see you Atticus” The Siren offered his sincerest smile to his old friend. “Must say I was hesitant. I have not been to Europe... since that time.” He eyed Atticus as he said this. He knew his friend and boss had not called him here unless it was off outmost importance. Atticus knew very well of Henrys situation. Yet here they stood, on Irish soil. On the upside, Henry could feel the powers return from being so much closer to his cold, northern rivers.