Four weeks after I let Lady Karsin walk out a probable door, I was considering what would have happened if I’d followed her.

Not that I wanted to die, but as my few current customers were picking their way around my shop, looking at ingredients or the potions on display in locked cabinets, I needed something to occupy my mind.

Life as a shopkeeper wasn’t all bad. A steady flow of income. Plenty of interaction with people! Those who showed up.

And weren’t here to buy illegal drugs.

See, when your name was all over the newspapers, it attracted the wrong kind of customers. A few different wrong kinds, very few of whom were interested in legitimate business.

The ones hoping to catch a glimpse of the Empire’s greatest detective had mostly vanished in the first week when it was clear he wouldn’t be frequenting my shop. Besides, most of them had been of the non-Infernal variety, and even close to the boundaries of the Quarter the discomfort some of them had ventured even a little ways in had been clear.

The one’s thinking I was still Black Flame, that they could use me as a way of becoming friendlier with Versalicci? Those had left soon after, mostly when I made it very clear that I was serious about blowing the kneecaps off of anyone even hinting at that.

Those trying to see if I was in the trade of illegal substances? Well, I was, but not for people trying to ask over the counter. I’d never had a high opinion of those trying to buy said substances, but some of this was moronic. Do not hint, no matter how subtly you believed you were being.

I made money at least, enough to maintain my little store. Mostly through orders instead of customers, who made a small slice of my business. I still spent time in the underground, helping the Delvers in return for a chance to harvest ingredients.

Of course, I was Malvia Harrow, not Katheryn Falara anymore. Only the most desperate or the more sketchy Delving parties trusted me these days. The hostility I’d gotten as Falara was magnified as an ex-member of the Black Flame.

Back here in the Quarter, it got more leeway, although I knew many people avoided my shop like the plague because of that connection.

Tend to the shop. Go delve. Stay the hells away from Hells’ Own both because of Tolman and because I’d been banned by Edwards. Resist the urge to drink. Have tea instead. Go home and practice Diabolism. Head to bed. Wake up and prepare ingredients and potions. Get orders ready. Occasionally spar verbally with Varrow. Once every two days keep myself in shape.

Varrow would be around at some point. When I’d negotiated a continuing line of medicine for him, I had never intended he could only get it from me, but Intelligence insisted on it. I understood why Varrow was a resource worth cultivating if it wasn’t for some personal animosity that I found unfair on his part. Of course, calming that animosity when he knew what was going on and was firmly convinced I had arranged it despite my protests to the contrary? Impossible.

I still looked forward to it. He was a regular. I didn’t have many of those, at least ones I’d known before opening this store. Just the one.

I could feel the chill air coming in from the windows, cooling down the stifling warmth from the potion-brewing I’d down early in the morning. I’d close them eventually for my customer’s comfort and to make sure I didn’t need too much wood for my log-fired stove.

For right now, the chill was just a pleasant sensation on my exposed skin and a little else on everything that was covered. Which was close to everything, including my hands. I’d covered both my arms, but only one needed it.

The marks on my right arm, the spirals of darker red from when I’d poured Diabolism out in my efforts to end Hawkins extending from black-colored fingers, all of it carving through my natural blue.

The consequence of pouring far too much rot with far too little control, and something I was working on mastering with the Imp during the lessons I’d agree to. The results so far have been mixed. I was making progress at least, and without unleashing some horrible abomination on the city thanks to enough restrictive wards to keep any corruptive influence trapped down there.

It was worth the feelings of pain every time I had to share a room with that assortment of holy symbols.

“Excuse me, Miss Harrow?”

A customer’s voice roused me from my musings. Jenny Dalson, a young woman who had been showing up more often as of late. Often for potions and tinctures, she didn’t need, and I was pretty sure I knew why he kept coming.

Somewhat sketchy, the way she’d described his line of work during our brief chats. Sounded like the person whose delivery business was occasionally supplemented by packages falling off the back of the wagon.

Honestly, I couldn’t judge. She certainly had the arms to steal said packages, as I’d noticed when we first met. And kept noticing since then.

Honestly, it was nice to notice. It kept my mind off of might-have-been.

“Miss Dalson,” I said with a slight smile. “What are we looking at today?”

She was about to reply when the door opened, the cheap bell I’d installed ringing as my next customers entered the store.

I turned to greet them, then froze. Next to me, Jenny’s face paled, and my other customers backed away, trying to put as much distance between themselves and what was to come.

Giovanni Versalicci grinned, shaking the snow off of his coat as the rest of his entourage entered behind him.

“Ms. Harrow,” he said, while I considered the revolver under my counter. “Salutations! Apologies that it’s been so long since we last met, but upon hearing you had opened a shop, I just had to visit!”

He walked further into my shop, staying in the middle while his entourage stuck close to him, two new, three distressingly familiar. My customers stuck to the edges, keeping as much distance as possible before making for the door, some pausing to throw a respectful bow or curtsy to Versalicci before escaping my shop.

They were hedging their bets just in case. I couldn’t blame them. If it wasn’t for me having nastier protectors, I’d be doing the same.

I waited till the door shut for a last time, the bell ringing with finality as my hand curled around the gun under my counter.

“No words for me, Malvia,” Versalicci asked as he neared, taking his gloves off as he reached the halfway point between me and the door, pausing. His entourage fanned out, forming a loose line to either side.

He didn’t want to pressure me too much. Worried about a fight? There was no way he had not brought a diabolist to this. Then again, he also shouldn’t be on the damn surface.

“Mr. Versalicci,” I replied carefully. “What a surprise to see you on the surface. I would think you’d be a little more careful about being seen in public.”

The Watch still didn’t venture into the Quarter often, still preferring to stick to the outskirts, but there were some things that would make them venture into the heart of the quarter. A tip that might have led to the capture of one of his top lieutenants, Golvar, had led to a whole host descending on the Quarter, only to find Golvar dead from a fight I’d been the only survivor of. For a chance to catch Versalicci himself?

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That might get the army involved, or worse.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said with a smile. “I have my own ways of handling any issues regarding that, so I am perfectly safe. But it is nice hearing you care so much.”

“Of course I care,” I said bluntly. “I don’t need my store getting smashed apart. Well, can I help you at all? A particular tincture or potion you are interested in? Something to help you in bed, perhaps, or are we looking for something less personal in use?”

Versalicci chuckled. “Oh, I don’t think anything personal. Although I have heard you’ve acquired some truly delightful tea that I’d be happy to take off your hands.”

Over. My. Dead. Body.

“But no, I’m looking for something of a more gaseous nature, if it is available.”

“It’s not,” I replied. “And even if it was, I’ll note the first time was a suggestion. One I qualified carefully when I made it and no one paid attention to, anyway.”

“Oh, come on,” one of this entourage said, grinning under an obnoxiously red top hat. “You were as eager as the rest of us. You just had to pretend to have opinions afterward once you got to see all the gory details.”

“Malachti,” I spat at one of my old comrades. Long thought dead by me, erroneously. “One of these days, your mouth will get you into something you can’t talk your way out of.”

“Trite,” the little shit said, grin only widening. “It’s done me well enough for the last few years, despite your proclamations otherwise. Besides, I got people to get me out of those situations, unlike you.”

“Fun,” I said. “If I joined back up, would you let me kill him? Because that would be very tempting, Gio.”

Malachti laughed harshly, only for the rough barking guffaws to end when he noticed Versalicci staring at him, seemingly deep in thought.

“Boss, you are not considering the traitor over me,” he protested.

“No, but it’s amusing to make you squirm. Still, it’s not a genuine offer, is it Malvia?”

“It is not,” I confirmed. “Also hello Melissa.”

The red-skinned Infernal didn’t seem to know whether or not to wave, settling for a cautious nod. Curious. Lot meeker than when we’d interacted the first few times. I doubted her screw-up involving torturing me had left that big an impact.

“Mitlau,” I said warily, to a polite nod from the giant. Hell’s sake, had he gotten bigger since Understreet? He might be close to seven feet tall now, horns nearly scraping the ceiling of my shop. “Is anyone from the old days actually dead?”

“Some folks,” he replied, voice rumbling like a steam engine. One about to go over your head and pop it like a grape. “Not us though.”

“Not us,” I agreed bitterly. “Honestly, you should have brought Syn, or Kanes as well. Round it out with people I know. So, I’m going to assume this is not a business call. Give me a second, and I’ll break out my teapot if you want this to be a social call.”

“Unnecessary,” Versalicci said. “I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time. I’m just here to talk over a mutually beneficial arrangement-”

“No,” I said bluntly. “Now get out of my store.”

He sighed dramatically. “Malvia, at least hear me out. If anything, I just want to assure the safety of our community from whispers of something truly dangerous.”

“Whispers of what?”

“Hrrm,” Versalicci said. “Well, for the first thing, I don’t know what it is. They come to me from Holmsteader’s territory.”

“I am not clearing out a rival gang’s territory for you,” I stated bluntly. “Also, Miss, unless you plan on buying hands off of the ingredients please?”

Melissa backed away from the rack, letting go of the herbs she’d been examining. She hadn’t been the only one, but her interest seemed mostly curious, unlike someone else’s.

Mitlau’s lock-picking of one of my cabinets stopped, him taking advantage of everyone turning to look at Melissa. There wasn’t anything good in there. He was just being annoying.

“My apologies,” Versalicci said. “But in terms of what is there, we really need to-”

“Hello, Malvia!”

The bell on my front door rang once more, and seeing who stepped inside, I let two words escape my lips, carrying every ounce of frustration I felt. “Oh Hells.”

A pink-colored Infernal in a winter coat and dress waved enthusiastically to me as she walked across the floor, seemingly ignorant to the toughs and gang members on either side of her. Some of them moved to intercept, but Versalicci lazily waved them off.

She was also wearing a top hat, to my irritation. Pink and with fur and honestly the most obnoxious thing I had ever seen, including the ship a dressmaker had once tried to make me wear as a hat.

Malachti stared at it with the most intense look of jealousy I’d ever seen in my life. Damnations, he was going to steal it if the both of them were in the shop for long together.

“Hello!” The Infernal greeted Versalicci brightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was a line. Could you maybe speed your order up a little?”

You could have heard a pin drop. The two new toughs looked unnerved. Melissa was confused. Mitlau looked as placid as he always did when either eating food or ripping someone’s arm from their socket the slow way. Malachti’s expression turned just a little glacial, a bit too forced but he kept that easy, affable grin on his face.

Versalicci didn’t so much as twitch.

“Ah, but of course,” he said, inclining his head. “I sometimes get so lost talking with people I lose track of time. My apologies, Miss-?”

“Valthenmog,” she told him, curtsying, while I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

He didn’t show the slightest hint of surprise. “Well, Miss Valthemnog, I will try to make this quick. Three doses of Angel’s Sorrow, my good alchemist, is what I wish to order.”

“Illegal,” I replied flatly. “So I don’t carry it. Even if I did, I didn’t make it. Besides, even jokingly, the last thing you want is spreading the idea you actually use it. There’ are still a dozen stories circulating about what happened, and the truth isn’t in the three most popular.”

“Yes,” Versalicci agreed. “We are Infernals. It only seems right that we shoulder most of the blame for everything to them, doesn’t it?”

Reality had a very disagreeable way of making me agree with my brother.

“Well, another time perhaps,” Versalicci said, moving back from my counter. “I won’t keep you from your current customer.”

I had a little give. “Perhaps. Send it ahead of time and I might be more agreeable.”

He inclined his head slightly, then walked out, his entourage following in his wake till all of them were out of my store.

“Could you not needle him?” I asked the grinning woman, the tired feeling in my bones only growing. “I realize he’s not much danger to you, but if you poke him too hard, one of his idiot followers will take a swing on his behalf. And the last thing we need is you exposed, especially if I’ll get the blame for it.”

“Ah, but exposed if my favorite kind of being, Malvia,” Tagashin teased, the illusory disguise fading, revealing the Kitsuné underneath. And she had taken that exposed comment to heart as well. “And besides, weren’t you one of those idiot followers?”

“Yeah, and then I learned not to be an idiot, through a long and arduous journey,” I said, turning to close up shop. Tagashin floated over the counter, reclining as if on a couch, staying within my vision. “One of which I guess I’ll need to take soon if you’re here. What does Mr. Voltar want me for?”

The Kitsuné pouted. “You know, I expected something of a larger reaction?”

I looked over the Kitsune before blinking lazily. “It’s very nice. If I didn’t know the horrendous personality attached to it, you would get a bigger reaction. Now put a disguise on before we leave. I’m not violating the obscenity laws, so cover your ankles. Please.”

“You don’t even know where we’re going,” the Kitsune said, reforming her Infernal disguise before hopping off of thin air onto my countertop.

“Well, either you tell me, or Voltar wonders why we’re late,” I said, grabbing my revolver from behind the counter and then getting my coat off its hook. “And I can tell him it’s because you danced naked on my counter right after talking to my brother. Wouldn’t even be stretching the truth that far.”

“Well, truth be told, this is a sensitive manner,” Tagashin admitted as I put my coat on. “There’s been a murder, one that led to many, many more murders. Collateral damage and the victim is a priest of Tarver.”

My fingers froze, trying to button my coat and failing as my mind raced towards a conclusion that sent mixed feelings rushing through me, followed by shame over one side of that. He’d proven himself a judgmental shite, but that was no reason to revel in him being dead.

“Before you ask, it is not Gregory Montague,” Tagashin continued.

“Good,” I replied gruffly. “So, a priest of Tarver is dead?”

“Yes, in his own church as well,” Tagashin commented. “We’ll be heading directly there.”

I froze, stuck on the last button. Tarver was one of the least Infernal adverse deities, but there were still issues with setting foot on consecrated ground. At least, unlike Halspus, you could set foot there and not die immediately.

“That’s an issue,” I said. “I’m not familiar with the process, but I doubt whatever could be done to let me walk in one of his temples can be done by the time we get there.”

“It doesn’t need to be done,” Tagashin said as I finished the button, walking alongside me as we headed to the door. She gestured with her hand and all my windows shut, bolting and locking themselves. I nodded my thanks as she continued her statement.

“The temple itself is no longer consecrated,” Tagashin said. “And I brought a cloak along with me. Hooded. It should help hide features the public currently there might take issue with.”

Oh. It took little to put together what that meant. I sighed and looked at my door. Well, I’d wanted excitement. And maybe this meant Versalicci’s claim about an issue in the Quarter wasn’t too far off.

Time to go see who’d had the bright idea to use Diabolism to murder a priest in his own church.