"Listen to me, Claire Chase, and I will share a bit of faery lore. Most items," she continued, plucking a skull from a table with her bony talons, "are just that. Mundane, ordinary, commonplace. Nothing special. However..." She replaced the skull with a thunk and carefully picked up a small leather bag, tied with a leather thong. There was the rattle of pebbles or bones within as she held it up.

"Certain items have been so loved and cherished by mortals that they become something else entirely--a symbol of that emotion, whether it be love, hate, pride, or fear. A favored doll, or an artists masterpiece. And sometimes, though rarely, the item becomes so important that it grows a life of its own. Its as if a bit of the humans soul was left behind, clinging to the once-ordinary article. We fey call these items Tokens, and they are highly sought after, for they radiate a special glamour that never fades away." The oracle stepped back, seeming to fade into the paraphernalia lining the walls. "Find me a Token," she whispered, "and I will give you refuge for the night."

And then she was gone.

He roused himself and glanced down at Claire. "I might know where we can find one," he mused, suddenly solemn again. "But its not a place people like to visit, especially at night."

She frowns, "It doesnt look like we have much of a choice."

A trace of humor touched his eyes, a silent challenge. "All right, then," he said, leading her out. "Follow me."

She follows him.

The City of the Dead stretched away before them, stark and black under the swollen yellow moon, steaming in the humid air. Rows upon rows of crypts, tombs, and mausoleums lined the narrow streets, some lovingly decorated with flowers, candles, and plaques, others crumbling with age and neglect. Some of them looked like miniature houses, or even tiny cathedrals, spires and stone crosses raking the sky. Statues of angels and weeping women peered down from rooftops, looking stern or in the throes of grief. Their hollow eyes seemed to follow them down the tomb-lined alleyways.

Ash walked through the narrow streets. A warm breeze whispered between crypts, kicking up dust and causing dead leaves to skitter along the ground.

She stayed close to him, eyes darting around. "Cant stand this... So creepy." She whispers

Ash who, damn him, seemed quite unfazed about walking through a New Orleans cemetery in the dead of night. His amusement at her expense wasn't exactly secret.

There was a shimmer of movement between the crypts, a flutter of something white and ghostly, a woman in a bloodstained hood and cowl, floating over the ground.

She quickly backs away shaking her head, "Nope nope nope."

He turned. "Claire? Whats wrong?"

Her head snapped towards him, eyes wide. "You didnt see her?!"