I woke up tired, aching, and in a miserable mood, but alive.

I’d probably have been in an even worse mood, but a warm bath did wonders, even with the effort needed to keep my splint out of there. Taking off the remnants of my poor dress and getting modest had been my last efforts before collapsing into bed and getting some much-needed sleep.

I’d woken up paying for all of last night’s activities. The last pain-blocking effects of the potions had faded, so my entire body was nothing but agony. There were parts of me that merely ached instead of burned as I moved down from the attic. It took nearly half an hour to get to the ground floor with the splint.

The good news was I had somehow not managed to kill off nerves or necrotize my own flesh when I’d used Diabolism to force my leg back into place. There were some minor effects, nothing that wouldn’t eventually heal on its own. The main thing would be letting it heal independently, especially because trying to probe it with Biosculpting wouldn’t be wise. There might still be bits of DIabolism in there that my body would slowly process. Touching them with another form of magic was begging for something foul to occur.

I had examined my right hand, the one turned a darker shade of crimson and found nothing wrong with it physically. Something for the imp, but first, I did need to pay what was owed.

So, instead, I was spending my morning focused on something that would improve my mood. Hot water boiled in a pot as I carefully picked out the correct number of tea leaves to add to the pot.

Impatient waiting as the pot brewed till it was ready and at a drinkable temperature. Tiny little sips at regular intervals helped draw me out of the pain, and larger gulps when the pain spiked. It kept me somewhat capable of focusing.

To my detriment, considering the newspapers in front of me. They’d been on the doorstep in the morning, one from each of the city’s major newspapers.

Infernal Gang attacks Noble Party at the estate of Lord Montague.

Infernals and shapechangers attack noble ball in the dead of night

Disaster was barely averted as Infernals and bio-sculpted monsters attacked the family of Lord Montague.

Shapechangers make a return? A strange assault on noble’s ball.

Attack at recent party linked to Infernals, Shapechangers, and Empire’s Greatest Detective

The most common picture shared among them all was of the ballroom, still not cleaned up, scattered bodies of burnt Infernals and the flesh of Hawkins. Either Lord Montague had allowed that or somehow, a camera had been snuck in. Probably the former. He already had his spin to minimize the effects on his reputation.

Reading the articles didn’t make me feel any better. The reporting emphasized the attack of the Infernals since that had caused the most deaths among guests. No headline named the Black Flame, but the articles themselves mentioned them several times, mostly in interviews with Malstein, Lord Montague, and even a few with ‘Voltar’ which at least seemed to be sane and rational. Various guests, some watchmen, Amna, and not Tommy. Family members. Maybe I should have stayed long enough for my exclusive and then even more agonizing pain in the morning.

Versalicci wouldn’t take this well. Some part of me wondered if it might be better to leave this in his hands, since he clearly had a lead on where this underground lair was. Then I considered the idea of him with Shapechangers.

That could not be allowed.

I was mentioned a few times, mostly as Danielle Waters, occasionally as Malvia Harrow by the two people I really wished had not. I supposed I couldn’t do much about Tagashin, but all Hells damnit Gregory!

At least he had not let slip to reporters that I was also Katheryn Falara, which would bring a host of uncomfortable consequences. Lesser ones like Lord Montague trying to kill me. Greater ones like my family, possibly putting two and two together.

Besides that, the lesser emphasis on the Shape changers….perhaps someone had quietly suggested to the newspapers to emphasize the part of the story less likely to drive everyone to paranoia in the coming months. They’d done a piss-poor job of it, considering the pictures with the remnants of Hawkins strewn about, a sea of insect legs and chunks of white, blubbery flesh. And Lord Montageu’s entire speech laid the blame at the feet of Voltar.

This was all a mess. The temptation to just stay inside and heal up was mounting while the world outside went mad. At the bare minimum, I could have a day, couldn’t I?

“Changer in the front room!” Dawes shrieked next to my ear.

Startled, I flailed as my chair tipped backward. My splinted leg hit the bottom of the table, and all coherent thought left as fresh pain went through it.

I collapsed onto the ground, holding onto my leg as agony rippled through it.

Dawes stood above me, smiling uncharacteristically smugly with a tray in his hands.

“Tagashin,” I growled, then tried to move into a sitting position.

“Just making sure you were awake,” she said, looking at the table. “Ooh, you made tea?”

“Hands. Off.” I said as I gripped the chair, pulling myself up. “Touch my tea, and I don’t care how precious you are to Intelligence. You’ll be a melted pile of charred and decaying flesh.”

“Pleasant,” she remarked, pouring herself a cup despite my warning. “And just when I made breakfast for you.”

“I made breakfast,” the actual Dawes protested from the next room over. “I thought we agreed that since Miss Harrow looked thoroughly out of it, to leave her alone?”

He walked in, a second tray in hand, frowning as he looked at me lying on the ground.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“You did tell me I should let her off the leash a little,” Doctor Dawes said apologetically.

“I didn’t say to let her off on me!” I hissed as I grabbed my chair, trying to pull myself up using it.

“Well, it was your suggestion, and...well, now you see why I don’t do it.”

“It’s why you shouldn’t listen to her. She’s a pretty good font of bad ideas,” Tagashin said.

“Peace. Miss Harrow, Tagashin and I have our own tasks to pursue today. I’m assuming you’ll want at least one day to rest up?”

I sighed. “I would prefer it, but no use letting time slip by. Can’t afford to in some cases. Are either of you going to Lord Montague’s estate?”

Tagashin raised her hand while grinning.

“I need to meet some of the Montagues later today,” I told her. “Elise, Harry, or Gregory. Any of them that are available. Could you pass the message along?”

Hopefully, she wouldn’t find Gregory. The worst case scenario I envisioned was how she might phrase said invitation, especially if people were around to overhear.

“Certainly, and if I have the time, I’ll bring them over myself.”

“Good. Doctor Dawes, this will sound strange, but I need some…livestock.”

***

Dawes delivered quickly on what I wanted, having them all ready for me within an hour inside one of the other houses Voltar owned on the street. I didn’t know how they’d entered the house, but they all waited for me in a large room, just big enough to allow them some space from me as I entered.

Walking across the room clued me in to that as hollow echoes followed the clop of my hooves on the wooden floor. Well, since he'd been nice enough to help put these in a place where no one could see, I wouldn't question why they had an underground entrance large enough for a cow.

I’d dressed in a heavy butchering apron over some cheap clothes of mine as well as heavy boots and gloves. Necessary since I doubted any amount of cleaning would help with what was to come.

In front of me, ten cows occupied the large room, most of them seeming put off by the enclosed space they found themselves in. A few had gone over to a trough that had been dragged in filled with grass, munching away. A few were drinking from a second filled with water.

“Moo,” one of them said placidly, staring at me while chewing.

Of course someone had gotten them grass. Make this as difficult as possible. Were these regular features of the room?

You do eat beef, The Imp said in my head. This honestly is not too much different. Closer to what your ancestors did than you do.

“If you think that makes this easier, you are very much mistaken,” I said as I limped closer. “Do they have to be living? They’ll die after enough bites anyway, and I do not need my leg broken again.”

The Imp audibly sighed. I suppose some allowances will have to be made. The taste is better when alive, decreasing from the moment the heart stops. So while I’d prefer you not kill all of them at once, I suppose to avoid you being stampeded, you can do it like that. The taste of rotting flesh, however, is horrendous, so do not use Diabolism on them. And one of them live.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” I replied, moving over to the water trough.

I produced a vial, and considered the volume of water remaining. It should be enough. I poured the mixture in, then went to a quarter to wait.

One by one the cows eventually took a drink over the next hour till only one was left. It’s fellow surrounding it. They’d drifted off to sleep, one they’d never wake up from.

The remaining cow was nervous as I approached. Only to be expected, it was an animal but it could tell its fellows were not sleeping. It shied away as I approached, backing up and lowering its head. No horns, but I still wouldn’t want it ramming me.

What the Hells ultimately are about is desire when you get down to it Child, The Imp said in my head.

“Really?” I muttered as I took another step closer to the cow, which huffed out a breath.

I will take every opportunity I can to hammer knowledge into your skull since you’ve decided to be more receptive.

I held a hand out towards the cow, hoping to lull it into a false sense of security. Instead, it mooed angrily and charged forward.

I should have brought a gun.

The cow rammed my midsection, forcing the breath from my lungs as it tried to push me under its hooves so it could trample me. I latched my jaws on the side of its face, biting deep into its snout as cow blood poured in.

It’s a desire for something. Each of the seven layers is. And I don’t mean in the fanciful way Lust dresses itself up.

Snarling, I bit harder, teeth punching through flesh. The cow lashed out with a hoof, hitting my unsplinted knee. I fell back, teeth tearing skin away with me.

Each is an expression of desire. More than just staying alive. Always more. A knowledge that you deserve better. Something where you know you should get more than others have, that you deserve it, that you want it.

I went for the cow’s throat, jaws latching on and shredding skin as I forced them closed. Blood flooded my mouth, warm and sticky. The cow lashed out with its hooves repeatedly, but I kept my jaws latched tight, ripping through muscle and into its windpipe before the cow's legs buckled.

Releasing, I pulled myself back just before the cow collapsed onto its side.

While it’s blood is still pumping out, take a bite, a drink, The Imp said in my head. Before the feeling of life fully leaves it.

“Screw you,” I got out between choked breaths as I tried to get back on my hooves, stumbling. My other leg wasn’t broken, but it ached and just moving my knee sent jolts of paint traveling up and down my leg.

The cow mooed pitifully next to me, blood gushing from the hole I’d bitten in its throat. Its thrashing slowed as I approached.

Your desires proved greater than theirs. It had failed to prove its right to life.

I swallowed a retort to the Imp. Instead I leaned down, opening my jaws.

The flesh was warm still as my teeth cut through skin, beginning to bite into the fat and muscle and organs. I tried not to think on what I was doing, keeping things entirely mechanical. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Move onto the next part of the cow. I never felt like I was getting full, or even that the flesh was reaching my stomach, until I stood up from the cow’s corpse.

You did not consume all of it the Imp groused.

I looked over the leftovers. Intestines. Brain. Bones. Hooves. Most of the skin. Eyes.

“I agreed to eat cows, I didn’t specify how much.”

Altering the spirit.

“I’m not eating that.”

You aren’t, I am. And I’m even bothering to make the bits that make it past me taste better for your unrefined palette.

“Learn to temper your hunger,” I muttered, then turned my attention to the nine dead cows while the little devil shrieked inside my head about how insulting that was to a creature like him.

The next one was easier. Not having the cow moving, struggling, the fading warmth as my teeth sliced through cowhide into the flesh underneath. Large bites take chunks out, leaving ragged remnants behind as the stain of blood spreads further and further. I wanted this over with as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t. Cows were large. They took time to chew through, forcing large bits of flesh down my gullet to wherever the Imp moved it to devour.

By the time I reached the final cow, I was exhausted. My jaw burned. My injured leg practically screamed. Even staying on the ground this has tired me out.

I was also absolutely soaked in blood and viscera. The clothes were ruined, and the blood painted my skin, and ran through my hair, it would have gotten into my eyes.

Still, almost done. I bit deep into it’s stomach, into by now cold flesh as stagnant blood filled my mouth.

Then, someone opened the door behind me as I finished the bite.

“Miss Harrow,” Tagashin as Voltar said. “I brought you the two guests you asked for earlier!”

Horror brought a rush of energy as I turned on the ground to see who had entered. Elise and Gregory, both of whom were staring in wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock at the scene before them.

I sat there, blood pouring down my chin, strips of meat hanging from my teeth as I swallowed.

That fucking kitsune.