The tunnel was a smooth polished stone carved out of the foundations below. It made sense, not a single crack for anything to wriggle in or out of like you might encounter with bricks. Even the metal door had been perfectly fitted, not a millimeter of space for anything to get past it.
It only added to the eeriness as we descended.
It was a narrow staircase, and there was not enough space for two people to be abreast. No lights for that reason, hanging or suspending any would mean holes in the walls or ceiling. No space to stand any lights. The only illumination was the pair of lanterns, one I carried in the front, one by Dawes in the back.
The only sound was our breathing and the tread of boots and hooves on stone. I’d insisted on no talking. The chance of something summoned that fed on our manipulated language was slim, but it was a risk I didn’t want to take.
The circular staircase continued down, ten, twenty, thirty feet, circling again and again. How had the construction of this been hidden? Had it been done when the church itself was made, or a later addition that somehow went unnoticed?
Eventually, the stairs stopped, and I eyed the room they deposited us in.
As someone who’d dealt in quite a few, this was not very impressive for an underground hideout.
It had been carved out meticulously, a large square maybe twenty paces long and ten across. Most of it was dominated by a large metal table, dried splotches of what was probably blood on it forming a set of patterns I recognized. Runs were engraved along the sides, ones I recognized from even before my time with the Imp. Basic diabolism ritual outlines, given power with blood. Rough metal chairs, and a workbench with a variety of tools on it. Four metal cages, thankfully empty. Big giant glass containers of sealed liquid
I gripped the focus, eyes open to the arcane as I looked about. They hurt, the riotous mix of divine and diabolic making them tear up.
Red poured up from the table and inside the cages like blood in the water, while white static lines emerged from the divine wards set at the doorway and aligned along all the walls. Nothing else lurked though, and if it was powerful enough to hide on both the astral and the material planes, we wouldn’t be able to stop it.
“We’re clear,” I said, then looked down at the holy sigils planted into the ground. “Well, you two are. I am going to end up burning a hoof down here, I just know it.”
“Minor exposure hopefully shouldn’t hurt,” Voltar said. “What are we looking at here Miss Harrow?”
“Table’s definitely used for rituals,” I said, looking over each of the runes carved into it’s side. “They’ve got a few different ritual shapes set up with that dried blood. Guessing that’s part of what those glass containers have. That or this is going to take a very dark turn and the church has been feeding people into this.”
“Hard to imagine all of these churches would sign off on that,” Dawes said. “I’ll not say anything about how bloody some of them can get but-”
“I agree Doctor, more like the case than not. What were they primarily doing with the table, Miss Harrow?”
I looked it over with a critical eye. “Small-time summoning it looks like, probably what the cages were for. There are a few other things these can be used to do, but they’d draw more attention than not. Most of them are about reaching far away places, so you could use them for striking at far away foes, or communication, but you’d be worried about Infernal energies leaking out at the destination. Worse, it would leave a trail to be followed, so instead they used them to reach into the Hells and bring minor devils.”
“Imps?” Voltar asked while Doctor Dawes examined the dried blood.
“Multiple applications,” the Doctor noted. “Looks like the freshet is maybe a few weeks old at the most. I’d need to examine it in my own lab, but probably not animal.”
“Definitely not animal, and definitely not imps,” I said. “We’re already talking about trying to summon from the Hells, blood not from a fresh sacrifice, especially blood freely given like this likely was? Doesn’t give as much power as a live sacrifice or souls. And Imps are fairly powerful-”
As we have every right to be The Imp said in my head, and I scowled at the interruption.
“They are intelligent, they can speak, they can practice Diabolism, they can fly. Do not let their small stature fool you, they are definitely not the lowest tier of devils. That would be actual animals, devils with no ability to speak, ones that just act on their instincts. Lesser Imps, which are just flying little pests. You can train some of them, and they can be useful sources of reagents. Guessing from the size of the cages, nothing too large. Probably not Hellhounds. This might have just been practice and testing. See if they could tame any diabolic creatures, see how far they could reach. Does raise an interesting question of how they gained the ability to practice in the first place.”
It wasn’t just being an Infernal that could get inherited power, even just a drop of blood in the ancestry could lead to it later down the line. Still, very unlikely. Same for the ability to tap into it naturally. Which left the Deal.
“How many Devils do you think would make deals with Tarverian priests?” Voltar asked me. “In your experience.”
“My experience isn’t much,” I admitted. “Tarverian priests….maybe? You’d probably find some Devil of high power mercenary enough to just do a simple trade in return for an offering. Of course, it wouldn’t be much. Actual power via deals typically comes from repeated dealings or major offerings. If we’re assuming this is church sanctioned and slightly moral, the latter option wouldn’t be possible. Not unless someone was comfortable sacrificing souls, because the more powerful Devils would demand that.”
The more powerful ones I dealt with anyway. It was entirely possible other ways of paying them would work, but I doubted they’d be accommodating to priests.
“For now, we assume it’s a deal,” Voltar said. “Until we have more of the details on this. The tools?”
I took a look over them. “Tools for harvesting reagents. In the Flame, we used modified farming tools, these look purpose-built. Did you find anything in Father Reginald’s desk by the way?”
“Not anything worth noting. The man’s personal life didn’t seem germane and the rest was storage for financial information, correspondence about the people here to the church and trying to drive up worship. Nothing germane yet. As much as it pains me to say it, we should probably leave no. We have a necromatic ritual to fake before they get suspicious, and also we should leave as little trace as possible for when they come here tomorrow.”
***
One faked necromantic ritual later, I was ready to head home, only for a fresh complication to arise.
"You must be kidding me,” I said, looking out from the second-story window. “What does he want?”
Gregory Montague was standing outside the door, maybe ten feet away, stamping his feet to try and keep warm. How long had he been out there?
“If I had to guess,” Voltar said next to me. “He wants to try and come to some kind of accord with you. Something where our joint investigation into this case goes peacefully.”
“Joint investigation,” I repeated. “With the church-approved pack of Diabolists?”
Voltar chuckled. “Miss Harrow, do you have some kind of moral compunction against working alongside Diabolists? Of which there may only be two?”
“No,” I snapped. “I have a compunction against working alongside someone who thinks me a monster!”
Voltar raised an eyebrow. “Really? You worked with Captain Malstein well enough. And you can at least cooperate with Captain Walston and Tagashin without issue.”
“That is different,” I muttered angrily as I turned my attention back to the waiting figure of Montague. It was dark but he could probably tell it was me up here. Horns made that unavoidable.
“Yes. You didn’t care about their opinions, so when they expressed those opinions you dismissed them as not worth it and focused on just getting the job then. You ultimately don’t care about what any of them thought about you.”
I scowled, glaring at the serene detective. “What did I say earlier about commenting on my personal life Voltar?”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“You didn’t say anything,” he replied with infuriating calmness. “You simply let the conversation lead to me and Dawes disagreeing and we went to interview Father Reginald’s traumatized assistant. Besides, what I said earlier applies to you as much as him. Refusal to work together is not something any of us can tolerate while on this case.”
I grunted. “You being right does not make me enthusiastic about this.”
“We are often called upon to do things-”
I didn’t bother listening to the rest, already clopping to the nearest stairs. I might as well. The shortest path to the carriage was this way, and I was spending as little time in the cold as possible.
I stormed outside into the falling snow, and Gregory hesitated. The expression on my face probably had something to do with that.
“Miss Harrow,” he said warily. “Is now a good time to talk?”
“It’s not,” I replied bluntly. “It’s late, it’s cold, and I want to be home in bed, but I’ve been stuck here helping a foolish endeavor till now and don’t particularly want to be involved in a second one right now, thank you. Say your piece, please?”
He bristled at that, but I was hardly lying. It was damn cold out, even through my jacket, and standing out in it for too long would risk chills I did not want.
"I was told that letting tension exist between us is not the best when there's a case to be solved," he started, and I snorted.
"I see little way of getting rid of it," I said. "As long as you are willing to talk, that will suffice. Now, as I said, I am very tired -"
“What did take you all so long inside there, anyway?” He asked me, tone innocently curious in a matter that absolutely had to be faked.
Which lie to go with? Tell him it was none of his business or offer a life as an olive branch. To hells with all of this.
“Voltar had me fetch a ritual circle from his house for the purpose of trying to have a little chat with Father Reginald’s soul,” I deadpanned. “It did not go well.”
Gregory’s eyes widened as he stared at the window Voltar still stood in. “Why would he even begin to think that would work? Father Reginald is a devout follower and cleric of Tarver, his soul-”
“Has two claims,” I interrupted. “Or so Voltar figures. One from Tarver, one from the Hells. Mind you, trying to conjure a soul being fought over by those two is insanity itself, matching his general ideas on everything.”
Gregory shook his head slightly. “He told you to talk to me, didn’t he?”
“Do not engage me in banter,” I snapped. “Right now, handling this is keeping me from a warm, comfortable bed. Now, on the attempted necromancy, it failed. If you want to inform Bishop Derrick, you are welcome although Father Reginald’s soul was not harmed in the slightest.”
“I don’t think that will assuage her mind about Voltar performing necromancy,” Gregory said, crossing his arms. “I won’t question why he has such devices, or where he got permission to utilize them, but this is a trend of very concerning behavior from him, stretching all the way back to the shape-changer incident.”
Ah. Right. No one had ever bothered to tell him about Tagashin and how Voltar’s more erratic behavior of the time was simply the Kitsune’s less-than-stellar impersonation of him. Both Tagashin and Voltar were lucky that Kitsune Glamours was so good at making people not question things. They’d simply thought the detective had turned into a mischievous, tactless prankster for a few weeks.
“It’s an interesting assortment of characters you’ve come to associate yourself with, Montague,” I commented. “Us, and now this gaggle of priests of other deities, some of which have the most interesting pasts, from what Mister Voltar and Doctor Dawes have told me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Really? Such as?”
“One cut the head off a lich, for which I can’t really disagree,” I replied. “The one who used to shove silver spikes in my people’s eyes? That one is interesting.”
His lips thinned, his eyes tightened. “He’s not who I would have picked for this. Nor many of the others, but sometimes we are stuck working with people we would prefer not to, for various reasons.”
“Like me,” I said.
He sighed. “Yes, to be frank. Malvia, can I ask you a question?”
Oh, joy. The fact he felt the need to ask if he could even ask one didn’t promise anything pleasant for what the question would be.
“If it irritates me too much, I’ll just walk past,” I said. “There’s nothing really holding me here.”
“What would it take for you to do what was done to poor Father Reginald?”
Ah. That. “I assume you don’t mean the level of power and technique to achieve such an effect?”
Gregory scowled. “Of course not.”
“Well, I could say no, but I’m rather inclined to think you wouldn’t believe me,” I said harshly. “Have I killed people in slow painful ways in the past? Yes. Would I do it now? I’d say leaving Lady Karsin to the tender mercies of those three drakes wasn’t a swift and painless end, but most would probably judge me less harshly than if I’d ripped that life core right out of her chest.”
He was silent for a few moments. “I’m not sure what to believe. What some of your colleagues have said, what I’ve read you had a hand in, it’s not something I can condone.”
“What I’ve done,” I said. “Is entirely my business, but considering the people you live with or are currently working with, I think you can entirely condone it.”
“My father and some of my colleagues on this,” Gregory said drily. “No offense, but do you want to be grouped in with them.”
My nails pressed against my palms again but I forced myself to breathe.
“This…this isn’t productive,” I said. “I’ve been forced into this, and we aren’t….we can discuss this some other time. Tomorrow, Mister Montague.”
Not attaching ‘Lord’ to his name was the biggest peace offering I was willing to give. From his silence, as I made my way to the carriage, I assumed it had to be.
***
By the time the carriage reached my house, the temperature had plummeted as the night came. The fall of snow had only gotten worse, blanketing everything in a sheet of white higher than my knees now, nearly to my waist.
I got off, with a few more coins for the shivering driver, who was so swaddled in blankets and peppered with snow it was hard to tell if it was a person or a bundle of rags driving the carriage.
After that I struggled to walk to my front door, pushing through the massive amount of snow. What the Hells was being done that this much was allowed to land? Had the City Mages failed in their duties? Is someone demanding a load of freshwater? Or was this just the reaction of the skies to Her Majesty demanding more days when the weather’s normal patterns were forcibly altered to her preferences?
Either way, everything below my waist felt chilled by the time I stumbled out of the door. Hells, just getting free of it immediately made me feel warmer as I stumbled up the steps.
Despite the overwhelming need to get inside my store and home, some semblance of common sense counteracted the overwhelming need to immediately get inside.
I checked my door at about knee-level critically. The little hair I’d stuck across the gap was unbroken. The arcane locks hadn’t shown any sign of tampering. Still, something felt off as I touched my door handle.
Glancing down, I realized what it was.
Sighing, I retrieved the piece of parchment shoved deep into the gap between my door and the floor. There had been maybe a half inch of it visible, and that sigh only deepened as I brought my lantern up.
Black flaming goat head. Hells, there was no relief tonight, was there?
I could read it inside, where I could get a fire going and actually be warm. The chill bite of the wind hadn’t sunk into my bones quite yet.
The door opened with a jangle, and just as swiftly I shut it, locking it tightly. I hurried to the stove behind the counter, put wood in, and then lit the lot of it on fire. Cheap little thing, it would take time to fully heat up my store. Even with Intelligence’s money, there were limits to what one could afford, and instead appeared to be far more well-off than the rest of the neighborhood.
Hells, everyone thought I was probably being financed by Black Flame money already. I’d been tempted to change my face permanently after the Shapeshifter incident, but I’d decided to continue wearing it. Maybe I was just afraid if I put it away again, I’d forget it entirely.
While I waited for the stove’s heat to fill the room, I read the letter by lantern light.
Dearest Sister,
As I found you to still be missing when I visited this afternoon, I have instead decided to leave this letter to perhaps rouse your curiosity. What whispers come to me from Holmsteader’s territory indicate a truly surprising number of disappearances and not ones that can be dismissed as people leaving. Families disappearing in the dead of night, not to be seen again.
All the victims are of the kind that most wouldn’t notice missing. Those who still live the worst off of us, the ones who still feel the yoke of Imperial repression the most. It is unfortunate that we are not still in the times when something may have been done about this. I will be sending my own people if needs demand I must, but I would prefer to instead have someone Holmsteader might see as less of my person go to investigate.
I realize relations between us are strained, and some of this is my fault, but I hope you will not let that weigh on this. The people need your help Malvia, in order to be kept safe. You should not just reserve that for those who prize you as a tool above everything else.
Stay in good health,
You brother,
Giovanni Versalicci
I sighed, considering throwing the letter in the fire. Self-aggrandizement aside, he was clearly talking about disappearance among what were considered the lowest still in the Quarter. Their lives lasted longer than they had in the past. Enough now to notice when they were disapearing.
My fingers crumpled the parchment up as a thought struck me. Diabolists. Well, one who clearly had a lot of power was on the loose, and one way to bargain for more power with Devils was always souls. Crap, this was worse than I thought. This was something worth looking into, although the Quarter was hardly the only place you could abduct the poor and destitute and not have it be noticed.
Something to raise with the others, but saying to come to the Quarter first…part of my balked at that. The Watch had changed, others had said, and some of the officers and beat coppers I’d encountered had shown that, true. But the ones who used to cut my fingers off? The ones who would drag anyone caught outside the Quarter to Halspus’ temples for spikes of silver delivered to their eyes? They were still there. Just not in places I encountered them as much anymore. Hells, Intelligence probably helped ensure that didn’t happen so I would keep on being useful.
How long till that ended? I might hate my brother’s guts, but that didn’t make him wrong in all things.
Sighing, I put the letter inside my coat pocket. The warmth of the stove was reaching my bones now, warming them. This was something to handle, but not tonight. Heading out now might not be of much help, not with me tired and wanting a bed. Besides, darkness might benefit the Diabolist more than me. Unlike a lot of Infernals, I couldn’t see in the dark.
Daylight. When that arrived, I’d go take a look at Holmsteader’s territory, see what I could find out. But first a night in some sheets, letting the aches and pains of the day bleed out of me.
Something creaked behind me.
I turned around, one hand reaching inside my coat for my revolver, the other for my knife. No Diabolism till I knew who it was, and-
Too later, I could feel the cold metal of a gun’s muzzle pressed beneath my shin, skin prickling as they pressed inwards.
"Not. A. Move.” A voice barked, one I knew.
I knew the face below mine, awkward as the angle was with both of the shotgun’s barrels pressed firmly against the underside of my chin. Slightly oblong eyes, two scars over the lips, freckles lightly dusting across the nose while scales formed a pattern along her chin.
I sighed. No comfortable sleep tonight. Potentially no more sleep at all.
“Hi Alice.”