"Really?" Rowena smiles and raises her eyebrows. "From so many people, too? Whenever I've been in a group of more than a half-dozen action-prone adventurers, at least someone's stabbing everyone else in the back for their own agenda at any given moment."

Covens are nasty hives of cattiness and backbiting, and the only thing you can trust a Winchester about is that they'll always protect each other before anything else.

"Only enough to determine that the Darlington we're in appears to be a fanciful cover-up for the mundane horrors of American history." The whole country's younger than Rowena by a wide margin, and she'll never be able to imagine it as anything but a squalling baby of a nation anyway. "So, Dingle. How long have you been under the Jorgmund's thumb?"