"You've employed your chief suspect!"

Cenorth's voice projecting out of the Sending Stone was in danger of reaching a pitch and intensity that would attract the local bat population. As most of the species that inhabited Soar were of the thirsty, vampiric variety, Lowe mused aloud that it might be sensible to 'calm the fuck down.'

Oddly, this did little to lower temperatures. "Do you have any idea how unethical that is!?"

Lowe kept his voice at a tone he considered to be his best 'who, me Guv?' level. "Firstly, let us remember that Mylaf is not anyone's 'chief suspect'. She's a Level 15 who, if she could as much as crease the High Priestess's trousers, deserves a medal for services to laundry for so comprehensively outperforming expectations. Secondly," he barreled on before Cenorth could interrupt, "there are enough high-level security Skills focused on that house that there is simply no way anyone could leave - even via a Portal Stone - without appearing on any number of logs. I am satisfied Mylaf did not exit the d'Avec home from the moment the High Priestess arrived at the Temple the previous day until I arrived yesterday afternoon to break the bad news."

Lowe paused then to allow his boss to weigh in. He took it as a very good sign that the only thing that greeted him was an expectant silence.

He was probably not going to get fired over this.

Then he remembered that, to all intents and purposes, he had already been fired and, what was more, didn't really care what Cenorth thought of him any longer.

"Thirdly, and it would be good for you to remember this, I have not 'employed Mylaf.' I am merely offering her sanctuary from the attentions of the thousands of currently camped outside her door. A situation that has presumably come about because someone in your office - I'm betting on Jenert, by the way - leaked the news of the d'Avec murder for cookies."

Cenorth made a non-committal noise, which may or may not indicate that a certain overweight has already felt the edge of the Commander's tongue this morning. "But that aside, the fact that she possesses a Legendary version of Hostess with the Mostess has nothing to do with it. I suppose!"

"Of course not," Lowe said, ostentatiously taking a bite out of a Red Velvet cupcake which boosted his constitution by a flat 200 - he didn't think he'd ever had it that high, even when he was Classed and under some significant Security Service buffs. It was - and, obviously, this was all a bit relative in the joy/despair continuum - pretty disappointing that he could only benefit from two of Mylaf's consumable bonuses at one time, with one of the buffs having to be from food, and the other from drink.

Since using the High Priestess's Portal Stone to return to his apartment complex - again, the money d'Avec had spent on the single most discrete stone Lowe had ever seen, with more privacy settings than the average spy network, was noted; this was not an avatar who wanted anyone tracking her movements - Lowe had been surprised by how quickly the had adapted to her new surroundings.

After making sure she was happy with the arrangement, he had left her to make herself comfortable whilst he returned to the Temple and tried to work his way through the list of names Latham had provided that both might wish the Priestess harm and had access to the Third Floor.

He had returned that evening somewhat jaded by the experience.

The length of the list of possible murder suspects - and those just within Gravalk's priesthood - was astonishing, and he'd only been able to speak to those who were willing to have their day interrupted by a Classless investigator of dubious authority. So far, he'd avoided asking Latham to weigh in and force the issue with the others, mostly because he wasn't sure the would come through for him.

Thus, during a wholly unprofitable afternoon's questioning, all he'd been able to determine was that most people who worked for Gianna d'Avec thought she was, in the words of one particularly charming priest, 'a bitch who deserved what happened to her.'

This was not an uncommon sentiment.

It was thus gratifying when he returned late last evening to step through his door and apparently enter an entirely different world—one where alien concepts such as dusting, washing, and baking were very much in evidence. Then he reminded himself that he was putting her up because it was the right thing to do, not because he was hoping she'd tidy up behind him.

However, Mylaf had confessed to him that she had not had so much fun in years. "I loved looking after the mistress. I'd been with her since before she could walk, and I'd have never left her service in any other circumstance. But -" and with this, she looked around the small apartment she now shared with Lowe - "well, a needs to work to feel valuable, and there is far more for me to achieve here than I ever needed to do for the High Priestess."

That was clearly undeniable.

Lowe's two-bedroom flat - well, one bedroom and one room of unclear purpose that, until the arrival of Mylaf, had simply been the 'room where belongings go to die.' - was already wholly unrecognisable.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The floors were clean, the curtains washed, the cushions . . . well, he had some now.

And that was before encountering the smell of baking goods that greeted him as he arrived after a somewhat taxing day of talking to people delighted their boss had been murdered. The scent was of a depth and quality he had never experienced in his life.

He might even have shed a little tear.

After ensuring he had everything he needed, Mylaf had then retired to bed - humming happily to herself as she went - leaving Lowe to ponder both the nature of the case and his conflicted feelings about using the in such a way.

Lowe understood that the 'cruel' thing to do in this circumstance would be to ban Mylaf from doing further work in his flat. For someone whose entire Class was built around service, that would be the equivalent of giving a an enforced summer holiday at the beach. Just because Lowe didn't want to do any of the things Mylaf had been up to that day didn't mean they didn't give her immense pleasure.

But whichever way you looked at it, one human being 'serving' another in such a way was a touch distasteful. Unlike the beef and mustard sandwich, he had just finished demolishing with great joy.

With a sigh, he'd parked the idea of being able to solve the inequality of Class distribution for the night and - before going to bed - pulled open .

When on a case, it was his custom to spend some time at the crime scene as a prelude to going to sleep. More than once, he'd been amazed at how his subconscious could unpick details that his conscious mind had missed.

The evening light was casting a soft, murky glow through his freshly laundered curtains as the haunting tableau of Gianna d'Avec's receiving chamber swam into focus in Lowe's mind.

The first thing that struck him was that the High Priestess had been dismembered with a brutality that belied the studied elegance of her surroundings. His eyes were inevitably drawn to her torso, still upright on the Scarlet Throne in a macabre parody of a regal poise. From there, it was hard not to obsess about the limbs strewn about with ghastly randomness, each severed messily as if ripped clear with great force and no precision whatsoever.

There had been no blade involved, that much was clear.

Her right arm lay beneath the grand window; fingers curled as if in a final plea for mercy. The left was draped over the ornate writing desk, almost an afterthought. Her legs, one under the Throne and the other splayed near the chamber’s entrance, created a disjointed path through the crimson-stained water that soaked the polished marble floor.

Blood had mingled with the water, forming a viscous, dark liquid that lapped against the base of the Throne and the scattered furniture.

It was an unusual detail, Lowe thought, the water.

Its presence was such an anomaly in a place dedicated to Gravalk, the Fire Demon. Had that been intended to be purification, or rather desecration?

Pondering that momentarily, Lowe breathed in, seeking to recapture something that had tickled his notice when he had been there in reality. The air was, of course, heavy with the metallic tang of blood. But there was the faintest scent of something acrid, like burnt copper. Or some flavour of incense? It felt a touch out of place.

Above, Gianna's head was gruesomely perched on the chandelier, swaying gently with each draft that slipped through the cracked window. Her eyes, lifeless yet wide open, seemed to stare accusingly at the chamber below. But, Lowe thought, that was probably just his standard background paranoia and guilt, giving a texture that was not there.

Nevertheless, the chandelier’s once-gleaming crystals were now drenched in blood, casting a ghastly red light that danced across the ceiling and walls.

Dragging his focus away from the corpse's remains, Lowe began meticulously cataloguing the scene, his eyes drifting over the details he would not have taken on board previously.

There, on the edge of the writing desk, a single, damp footprint—the shape of a boot, not Gianna’s bared foot—pointed towards the window. Likewise, the windowsill bore scratches, as if someone - or something - had clambered in or out with haste.

Near the Throne, a series of gouges in the floor suggested a struggle; the heavy seat dragged forcefully around, perhaps? Or the High Priestess' death throes?

Looking over towards the corner of the room, beside the scattered death threats on the desk, was a tiny, half-burnt candle, the wick still smouldering. Again, like the odd smell in the air, it seemed out of place amidst the chaos.

Lowe wondered if it was a remnant of an interrupted ritual or an extinguished signal. A closer look revealed a thin strand of seaweed entwined with the wax—an odd relic in a fire-worshipping sanctum.

had then faded as Lowe's mana bottomed out. He briefly considered waking up Mylaf to see what she had in the way of snacks that might help with that. But, on second thoughts, he'd see that this would be crossing a line between awkwardly accepting the support of a person who liked to help and becoming a needy mooch.

Having quite a bit to think about, he'd retired to bed.

And, amongst fresh, clean sheets for the first in a grotesquely long time, dreamt about a piece of seaweed.

*

"I'm going to be going out shortly," Lowe said once Cenorth's furious voice had faded away, slipping on a clean jacket from which - as if by magic - various stains of unknown origin had removed themselves. "I need to speak further to Aintra Webber this morning as to whether he noticed anything unusual when he found the body."

Mylaf's eyes had filled with tears, and he cursed his bluntness. The previous day, he had spent so long speaking to people who were glad d'Avec was dead that he had forgotten there was at least one person who mourned her. "Are you any further to uncovering what occurred?"

Lowe shook his head. "It's early days yet. We're still trying to gather as much information as we can. I'm hopeful Mr. Webber will have something useful for me, though."

Mylaf nodded and returned to directing various cleaning tools and implements to their work around the kitchen. Lowe had done his best to dissuade her but—without all that much encouragement—had relented.

"I will see you this evening, sir," she had said with a smile, pretty much shooing him away.

Lowe made his way, thoughtfully, through his front door and then attacked the steps down to the ground floor of his building with a confidence he did not truly feel.

He was beginning to suspect no one really wanted this case solved.

Quite apart from him being the only investigator in the whole of Soar who had been put on it, the absence of a bereaved family pressurising the Mayor was going to be an issue. And then there was the fact that despite Gianna's exalted rank, not even the Temple was pushing for answers. If this Level 67 avatar could vanish and never be heard of again simply, it felt like everybody would prefer that.

Feeling more than a little sorry for Gianna d'Avec, Lowe approached the Portal Stone that would return him to the Temple.