The manor rose above the street, dark pillars thrusting the lofted roof high above the entrance. Built on the rise at the end of the street, the manor crouched, lording over the buildings surrounding it like a shadowed king crowned by gargoyles carved of the same stone as the foundations. Green black stone, the green a shimmering film atop the black like oil scum on deep ocean water. Dark paneled wood recessed in smooth cut black stone, a door to the Underworld. Windows, small and metal barred, stared out of the exterior like the beady eyes of a raven, watching for the next corpse upon which to feast.

Great effort had been expended to change the rough stone walls to things of harsh beauty, carvings of vast geometric complexities sat next to reliefs of mankind harnessing fire, taming the wild beast, conquering the natural world. Above them all, dark birds of carrion flew, wings straining against the stone of their form.

For all that mortal boasting, nature showed its tenacity, ivy climbing the walls, clinging to the edges of the reliefs, roots seeking cracks and expanding them for survival. Yet for all nature’s tenacity, the ivy was sick, withered green, flush with yellow decay. Civilization and nature, destroying each other in turn.

Twisted trees grew in the yard before the house, confined by the iron fences driven into the earth around them. The gnarled roots pushed at the fences, buckling the rusting structures, the rusting metal piercing the ground, poisoning the roots. Gray paving stones formed the path, leading the unsuspecting to the doom at the heart of the house. Set around the far reaches of the property, thick rough stones were set in the ground, jagged lines carved into the gray surfaces. Boundary stones, to keep undesired things away.

“That sure does not belong here,” Blake said.

“Quit yer mumblin’,” the tallest thug snapped. “Speak up if ye’re gonna say summat.”

“What the hell was the Lord Mayor thinking when he built the place? It looks about as out of place as a cow on a lilypad.” Might as well have screamed to the world he was a Dark worshipper. Of which cult to the Dark, Blake could not say. How a man of the Mayor’s beliefs had become Mayor instead of tossed in prison was a mystery Blake would have liked to investigate, had he the time. Curious, but there were places he needed to be.

“Dunno. Did no ask ‘im.” The tall thug was the only conversationalist among the trio, Shorty and Tubby seemed mutes.

“Would Miss Kingston know? She seems to have made herself right at home.”

“Shut it,” Legs said. The top of the entryway almost brushed his head as he pulled the dark wood door open. The knocker, shaped in a mass of twisting feathers and sharp claws, rattled as the door swung open, a dull rattle of bones. The hinges opened smoothly, which Blake appreciated. Shorty walked in first, and Tubby shoved Blake after him.

“Easy now,” Blake protested, “I want to go in, you do not need to force me. Which is something I suspect you do not hear from women you take to your bedroom.”

Legs grabbed Tubby’s arm before he could reach Blake again and shoved the wider man back.

“Ms. Kingston said unharmed. ‘Less ye wanna explain what ye did?”

Tubby shook his head, eyes darting further into the house. A moment later they refocused on Blake.

“Ye wait ‘til after, Ferret.” A thick finger emphasized the point, waving with all the threat of a limp sausage in Blake’s face.

“So you can talk!” Blake said. “I was not sure. Hard to tell with you types.”

Legs thrust a hand into Tubby’s chest. “Enough. Go check the horses. Calm.”

He shut the heavy door in Tubby’s face before protest could be raised. Blake watched as the tall thug turned to Blake and raised his own finger. “Give respect when you talk wit’ Ms Kingston. Else I give ye to him.”

“Nothing but polite,” Blake said, ducking his head. Legs squinted for a moment, then shook his head. The hand he put on Blake’s shoulder could have crushed rocks with some effort.

“This way.”

The man guided Blake down a vaulted entrance hall, the walls adorned with a continuation of scenes of Man conquering nature from the exterior of the manor house. Paintings of fantastic landscapes, trees and hills and canyons and plains, all coming under the heel of Mankind. The frames were gilded and expansive, the paint gorgeous. It appeared it paid to be a Dark cultist, if the Mayor could have afforded such extravagant decor.

No rugs graced the floors, nor furniture. Dust spots on the floor showed there had been such, some time before. But now only polished shadowed wood and wallpaper the deep red of dried blood remained. No flames burned in the lamps set into the walls at regular intervals between the doors branching off to regions unknown. Behind one vaulted archway, a broad carved staircase ascended to the upper floors.

The pair passed through the last doorway at the end of the hall, to find Shorty waiting for them. He stood next to a long table, burdened with heaping platters of food. Steaming roasts, sizzling vegetables, dripping fruits. The smell of fresh bread filled the air. Blake’s stomach rumbled in joy at the sight, the sound filling the silent room. A fire crackled in the fireplace set into the far wall, and dark wood panels absorbed the light cast off. Tall windows adorned the outside wall, thick red curtains blocking the noonday sun.

At the head of the table sat a woman.

She was something out of a dream, hair the color of fire, skin the white of snow, full lips curved in an inviting smile. Her elegant red and gray dress was tailored to allow a peek at the ample bosom hidden beneath, a brilliant diamond set in a slender chain resting between the swells of her chest, hung from her graceful neck. Her piercing emerald eyes flashed to light a fire in the heart of any who gazed into their depths.

It was a glamour that would have ensnared many men, and Blake could see why the thugs had been so adamant he be respectful. To be the object of men’s desire was a powerful tool. Her appearance was not a tool to work against men like Blake.

“Ms. Kingston, I presume,” Blake said. He tipped his head. “Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

The woman blinked before gesturing at a chair across from her, the only sign of surprise when she failed to immediately Charm the man standing before her.

“Please, call me Kathryn. Come, sit, Sir Knight. We have much to discuss.” Even her voice was rich and throaty, a warm caress. Of course, a succubus needed to use every weapon at her disposal. “Thank you Howard, you’ve done well.”

“Ma’am,” Legs said and walked to stand against the wall.

Blake propped his bag against the chair and sat. The chair was carved exceptionally well, and Blake let himself sink into its wooden embrace.

“Thank you. This all smells delicious.” Blake speared a slice of roast before she could give permission and added a generous portion of greens. “How did you have the time to prepare this?”

“Oh, the cook is wonderful. He can do anything I ask of him.” Blake noted she did not put any food on her own plate. She saw him looking and smiled. “I’ve already eaten lunch. It’s difficult enough to maintain this figure without double lunches.”

She ran her hands along her curves, watching for any reaction from him. Blake shrugged and filled his mouth with a thick cut of meat after a brief Prayer of Thanks. It was full of juice and tender. She was not Fae, so the food could not carry Debts or unwanted Obligations. All the succubus could do to affect his mind was Charm, and he had inherent resistance to her brand of Charm. He still made the signs of protection under the table as a precaution.

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“My compliments to the chef. Might I trouble you to pass the butter?” She passed it over with a small smile.

“Locally produced,” she said. “I find the local flavour to be… delectable.”

“Ninnesaw is not a region I am familiar with, so I will have to take your word.” The butter was thick and creamy, and spread with ease on the dense oat bread. The taste was as Kathryn had described, delectable. “This is very good.”

She smiled again, showing teeth. Sharp for a succubus, but Blake had never claimed expertise on this category of demon. The fire flickered in the hearth as a stray gust outside ruffled down the chimney.

“This is a nice home you have here.” Blake grabbed another slice of bread. “But I cannot help but notice the lighting quality is not as it could be. Would not elymis lamps would be the better choice?”

Kathryn flickered her hand. “My skin doesn’t agree with the light, and it makes the stone diminished. Something to be avoided. It’s so unique.”

“We should all appreciate the natural beauty in things,” Blake said with a half grin, lifting his glass to the woman.

“What brings you all the way out to our meagre town, Sir? Is there something terrible lurking in the woods the Order seeks to neutralize?”

“Only passing through, Kathryn. I did hear some mysterious rumors in town.”

“Aren’t all rumours mysterious?”

Blake lifted the glass to her before drinking the cold water contained within. “Indeed. If you do not mind me asking, where are you from? Your accent is distinctive, yet I cannot place it. Most of the folk I have spoken with here…” he flickered his eyes to Legs, who scowled broadly from the corner of the room. “Well. It is not the same.”

She laughed, a delicate sound. “I hail from Altland, near the White Coast.”

“What a distance! What is an Altish lady doing here in the Ebbolochian? And performing the rituals, as I hear it.”

“I’m no lady, Sir, only a woman who knows some things about the world. I saw a town in need and simply stepped into help. The same as you would have done.”

“Yes, what did happen to the dear departed Reverend and missing Granny Woman?” Unlike with the failed Charm, she did not give any outward sign Blake’s knowledge of local happenings disturbed her.

“I can’t say for sure, they were gone by the time I wandered through. The poor dears needed someone who knew what to do.” She flashed another dazzling smile to the pair of thugs in the corner. The men nearly fainted with joy.

Blake snorted and took another mouthful of vegetables. The buttered potatoes offset the green beans in a way he found he enjoyed. Much of the meal was to his liking, almost too much. If he had not known better, Blake would have said the succubus had read his mind and prepared the perfect meal.

“It is the reason I wished to speak with you, before your dears brought me here anyway.” Blake lifted an eyebrow at the scowls redecorating the thuggish faces. “Are you aware the boundary wards are decaying? They will fail within the moon if they are not maintained. I will do it, and teach you if you do not know the way. It is easy enough for those who know something of the world.”

For the first time in the conversation, Blake saw the succubus lose her poise. Naked suspicion flooded her face before being replaced with wide eyed shock.

“You… you would do this?” Her voice had lost its unearthly Charm, and she spoke with the voice nature had given her. The perfect curve of her back collapsed as she sank back into the thick cushioned chair. “You speak the truth.”

Succubi and other imitator demons knew when they were being lied to, making them a particularly annoying Hunt. A troublesome side of their gilded tongues. Blake cut into his beef roast, the meat tender enough to make the knife meaningless.

“I do. I have places I need to be, and I see no need for me to intervene here. I will of course report what I have seen, and there will be monitors, but no drastic actions need to be taken. If all I have seen and heard is the way it has happened. I want to move on, but I gave my Knightly Vows. I cannot allow a dangerous creature to roam free if I have knowledge of its existence.” He leveled a hard gaze at the woman. Grizzled veterans had quailed under his gaze, but she looked back without blinking.

“If only it was so simple. I know your kind, Knight. There would be no peace.” Blake was aware of the violent presences moving to his sides. The thugs had moved from their corner at an unspoken command from their Lady.

“There would be, if people did not make rash decisions.”

She furrowed her exquisite eyebrows. “What was that? I couldn’t make it out.”

“Not all are as belligerent to the nonhumans we find. I would prefer to solve this with peace. We fix the wards together, you do not kill anybody, I go home. Everybody is happy.” Blake tightened his grip around the knife and readied himself for the fight he knew was coming and wished to avoid. His free hand slipped beneath the table and to the bottle in one of his pockets.

“Nonhuman? I am human, you Ferret!” Kathryn slammed her palms into the table as she stood. The crack of wood could be heard under the louder thud. “You’re less human than I am.”

“I would like to leave the two idiots behind me alive, if possible,” Blake said. The intake of breath behind the chair told him the two had thought they were being stealthy. They would have to try harder to get the drop on a Knight of Iron. Blake had Hunted much stealthier beings. “I see you have enthralled them, but I will still respond with deadly force to a threat on my life.”

“Oh, you think so?” Kathryn laughed. Blake was grateful to see her wave off the pair approaching from his blind spots. “I don’t understand how you resisted my Charm, but you’ve eaten enough Ironcap and Horseheel to kill three men. That should be enough for one of your constitution, Sir Knight.”

“Huh.” There had been a tangy flavor to the meat. He had attributed it to the local flavoring. Which it still technically was. A troubling twitch developed in his left arm, making it hard for him to loosen the cap on the bottle in his hand. “Cannot say I had considered a succubus resorting to poison.”

“I am a vampire, not a succubus,” she spat.

“Ooh, struck a nerve, did I?”

“Stop mumbling!” she yelled.

“You are no vampire, lady. It is still daylight outside. And with your figure? Succubus for sure.” Blake dragged his eyes up and down the woman, from her fiery hair to the hem of her purple skirt. “Not the look I like. Would have done quite the number on my brother though. He must have eight or nine kids by now.”

“You-but-” she spluttered. Blake shrugged. The twitch had developed into a full spasm, flopping his elbow into the table edge. He looked at it and shook his head.

“I think I found my cue.” Blake shoved his chair back from the table and scooped his bag up in the same motion, thumb held tight over the bottle spout to hold the contents in. He fought the spasms enough to keep the bag tight and right arm free to defend himself. “I thank you for the me-”

Faster than his poison addled mind could follow, Kathryn rounded the table and lunged at him, arm crashing into his chest. As she connected, he flung out his hand to spill the holy water onto the demon. He flew into the wall a dozen feet across the room with a sound he hoped was splintering wood and through into the next room, unable to tell if his strike had connected.

“Oof!” The breath was driven from his lungs by the impact, but he forced himself to his feet. There was no way he would survive a more direct confrontation with the succubus, not with the advantages he had allowed her. He needed to get away and gather himself to return on more even footing. He did not get more than a step before colliding with his next obstacle.

Blake had not been the first Federation soldier to pass through the town of Quincy Hill on their way home. Not if the tattered uniform of the growling corpse standing in front of him was anything to go by. An officer, from the knots of rank on the shoulders. The glassy eyes of the revenant stared into Blake’s own, hatred for the living burning in their depths.

“Oh fuck.”

The revenant’s rictus face seemed to smile with glee as it drove a sorcery-empowered hand through Blake’s spell-reinforced clothing and into his living flesh. Blake screamed as the dead hand ripped into his skin, and the foul magics of ritual death spread into his body.

The revenant screamed in reply as Blake’s revolver unleashed a runed bullet propelled by exploding elymis powder into its lifeless chest. It might not feel pain as a man might, but the force guiding it would feel the effects of the shot. The power in the bullet pushed the dead thing back, but it would not return it to death. With the brief respite, Blake took stock of his situation, and took the only route left available to him. He ran down the corridor he had first entered, side burning, mind and body slowing from Dark energy and the poison he had eaten like a fool.

A figure moved to block his path, and Blake put a bullet between the eyes of Shorty before he could recognize the enthralled man for what he was. Then he leapt over the corpse and crashed bodily through the front door, the howls of the revenant close behind. The roars of the angered succubus were fainter, echoing from the dining room Blake had left her in. The holy water must have at least slowed her, or the demon would have grabbed him by now.

The heel of his boot caught on the top step and Blake overbalanced, legs shooting from under him. Sharp stone edges slammed into his arms, back, and head in rapid succession before the dirt path absorbed his fall.

“Ack!”

Seconds passed before he could gather himself, seconds he did not have to waste. A welcome sight met his eyes when Blake got himself upright. The revenant stood at the door, screaming its defiance at the sun, pure light keeping it contained within the dark house. It would be unable to leave until nightfall.

The pair of humans carrying long rifles behind it, however, would be able to leave whenever they wanted. Blake grabbed his bag from where it had fallen in his plunge down the stairs. He winced as his shoulder and back protested with vigor. There was nothing for it but to run for the woods and hope to find a place to hide. The chances of him making it to the woods, let alone finding a hiding spot, were slim to none with the pain coming from his twisted ankle. But he had to try. Blake was dead if he stayed and fought.

“This way, ye daft idjit!” Blake whipped his head around to see a cart careening towards him, pulled by a wide-eyed dun. The driver was a woman with steel gray hair and a thunderous expression. Her forearms alone seemed like they could compete with the horse for sheer power. “Get in the cart if ye want to live!”

Generally, Blake had a policy against getting into carts with strange women, but this seemed a good time to make an exception. The shot that whistled over his shoulder removed any remaining doubts he had. With a stifled yelp of pain, he lunged the excruciating distance to the cart in a series of quick hops and shuffles and dragged himself into the bed. Fire raced along his ribs at the motion. A shot rang out, this one from the mystery savior, to keep the pursuing thugs a manageable distance away.

The wood of the cart was soft against his throbbing head. Blake pulled his bag to his chest and hugged it close. He had not lost it. The last thing he heard before black overtook his mind was the lashing reins urging the horse away from the dark house of sin and death.