The ghoulish Llorona smells like wet decay, sickening sweet. Ducking her flailing limbs, he turns and throws her aside like a sack of potatoes, and scrambles backward out of her reach.

"I don't think so." McCoy glances over at the other woman, first at the gleaming blade, then at the dark bleeding cuts in her neck. He chances touching her shoulder, keeping one eye on the Unseelie as she gathers herself up again.

"Best we retreat, and wrap your throat. C'mon!"