In this Night We Own (The Commander Book 6) by Randall Farmer

disgust.  “I haven’t had anything this coherent since my incarceration.”  When she had invited the Madonna of Montreal into her dreams, to chase off the Patterson image.  “I really hope this isn’t some lingering effects from what Rogue Focus did to me, because this one was more than a little Freudian.  The parts that made any sense, anyway.”
    Gilgamesh grunted and wiggled, trying to twitch away some aching back muscles.  Carol sounded like she was slowly coming out of what Kali called the chaotic dreaming phase.  He couldn’t help but be a little jealous.  “What did you see?”
    “Two women.  Monsters?  I’m not sure.  They appeared on my, um, bed and started fighting me and each other.  They wore black feather coats.  Their weapons were bed toys, except the bed toys kept changing shape and becoming children.  Then the Madonna appeared, giant sized, and swung a pillow at the lot of us, sending me and my opponents flying off the bed.”  Carol paused.  “That’s when I woke up.”
    “What were you fighting with?”
    “I was unarmed.  Whenever I tried to pick up one of my knives, it skittered away from me.”  She grimaced.  “Being unarmed is bad.  The rest doesn’t make any sense at all.”  Another grimace.  “Yet another stupid needless distraction,” she said, her voice low.
    “I disagree,” Gilgamesh said.  “Even if we can’t figure out its exact meaning, there is one thing we can say about the meaning of these dreams: we need to look out for trouble.”
    “I’m always looking out for trouble.  As are you.”  He didn’t respond.  She sighed.  “Okay.  I’ll look harder.  Be more cautious.  That’s not the only hint I’ve gotten recently that it’s a good time to be cautious.”  She flipped him over on his stomach and started to rub his back, knowing exactly where to rub to work out the aftereffects of the previous night.  He practically purred in response.
    Carol wasn’t selfish in bed.  She didn’t need to be, to be dominant.
     
    ---
     
    “Gilgamesh,” he said, as the two Crows approached.  One continued forward, but the other held back.  They met at the current common Crow meeting place in Houston, a set of vacant lots near a bayou a half mile south of the South Main Transform Center, just past midnight.  Gray clouds hovered above, threatening rain.
    “Talisman,” the closer Crow said.  The other didn’t speak.  That matched Carol’s report.  “I beg your pardon, sir.”
    For what? Gilgamesh thought.  “I bid you welcome.  Midgard said you were interested in helping the Rizzari rebellion.  I’m here to help you help us.”
    “Thank you for your kind words, sir.  I am but a minor Crow, with no aspirations, just with a desire to help.”  Talisman slowly slunk forward through the overgrown weeds.  He was a short young man, with curly red hair and light freckles.  He spoke with a Midwestern accent.  “Sir, I don’t understand anything about the setup in Houston.  Hephaestus is a Guru, but neither you nor Midgard are his students.  You feel like you belong to this city, the chief local Crow, but you also feel younger than I am.  And, sir, you’re fiercer than Midgard and Midgard is nearly too much for me to handle.  As is the other Crow I haven’t met, the other one who hangs out with the Good Doctor and, at times, the Arm.”
    Sinclair, then.
    “Midgard left the initiation for me.  This will help you see and understand.  Follow, please,” Gilgamesh said.  Calm and firm, Carol had said.
    The advice worked a little.  Talisman didn’t run, and did follow.
    They chatted as they walked through the south Houston streets to Tiamat’s graveyard.  Talisman had been a Crow for four years, studied under Merlin, and knew the rudiments of making dross constructs.  He was limited to stationary dross constructs, though, and showed some interest in practical dross construct applications.  He distrusted Focuses, but had