Chapter 32: Declaration of War
“Does Crowin make announcements often?” I ask.
“Every once in a while,” Chase says, “when he has something to say.”
“You should come watch it too,” Nick says. “It might be relevant to us.”
All of us wind up standing or sitting behind Nick and watching the announcement on his phone.
Isaak Crowin stands behind a podium which bears the Bloodfang sigil: a set of canine teeth, dripping with blood. How literal. Crowin himself is a fit-looking man in his late fifties. His hair is sandy yellow with a touch of gray. He’s a tall, broad man, whose eyes stare fiercely at the camera as he speaks in a deep, almost musical voice, which carries the faintest possible hint of a Russian accent.