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It's much harder to hide your true nature in a world where one's soul takes physical form.
"....already made a statement. They're calling him the Minnesota Shrike." Jack-or-Price-or-whoever's voice doesn't so much cut through the noise of his thoughts as it does join them. Another red-drenched fly buzzing 'round Will's ear.
Dammon shudders through the grass, underbelly slick with the blood of the girl he's been slip-sliding in. Will tastes it on his own tongue when his daemon's flutters out, flicks against the girl's still-oozing arm.
She tastes like bird, hisses Dammon. Bird and creepy-crawly-clicky things. Birds and static.
"Birds and death," Will mutters.
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3
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Ch3
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Super interested in this