The address was in West Erlsley – they often were – in a maze of rundown tenements and concrete walkways that stank of piss and the charred extinction of small conjuring fires.  Pathetic remnants of bone and fur and feathers in sheltered corners, where the meagre sacrifices had been made.  Huldu runes scrawled across the stone in charcoal or daubed in blood.  As far as Duncan could tell, most of it was gibberish.  Certainly, there was nothing you’d call a functional spell anywhere on these w...