While Rachel was getting dressed, the necromancer known as Michael was on the phone, plotting horrific malice against her. "I don’t care if it is last minute, I will call in every favor I have to get this done. Would you rather I owe you, or one of the other patriarchs? She had an out of state ID: this might be the only chance we get to grab her – and tonight I can tell you where she’ll be right down to the seat number."
On the other end of the line, the crime lord Michael was talking to grunted. "Don’t know: grabbing a witch in broad daylight, out of a public place? It’s a big risk, yes? I think you’d owe more than you expect."
Michael started pacing. He was in his home, in his ritual chamber – the seat of his power. But Rachel’s aura could double, even triple that… as long as he wasn’t forced to burn through it making repayments for her abduction.
"She isn’t a true witch," Michael said. "If she were, her aura would have been shaped; compacted. But it was wild – she has the potential, but not the training. It will be no more risk to your people than any other snatch. Hell, I’d do it myself except it will be at the theater: the people there know me."
"Hmph," the crime lord grunted. "Alright. But I’ll want another ghoul for my enforcers, and there are some dead rivals I’d like to question."
Michael stopped in front of his "workbench." It was an old medical examination table he’d liberated from an abandoned prison years ago, complete with restraints. It was stained a dark reddish brown and crusted over with candle wax from previous rituals. He picked up a long, straight dagger from the tray beside it. "Done," Michael said as he examined the blade’s edge. "Bring me the girl and the bodies and you’ll have your minion and your answers." He put the dagger down. "Oh," Michael said in an afterthought. "She purchased two tickets. You may want to grab her companion as well – ghouls tend to be hungry when they first reanimate."