When Jenz knocked on the door, I let him in. He walked with a notable limp and sat heavily down in the room’s single chair, leaving the end of the bed for me.

“You waited,” he said.

I waited some more, expecting him to continue. He didn’t.

“What do you know about the murders?” I asked as politely as I could, although a little venom leaked out.

Jenz chuckled. “Not a hothead. Good. Listen carefully: There’s more’n one murderer. For some people, the war never really ended. Not too many people who can walk away from getting stabbed in the back. Not too many people who’ll let it all go back to the way it was before.”

I frowned, and leaned forward on the bed, resting my elbows on my knees. “What about you? Are you willing to let things lie?”

“I wasn’t,” Jenz answered slowly. “Not at first. I got injured early—didn’t see as much of the fighting. My partner though, he… he couldn’t let it go. And I’ll not say more.”

“I find it hard to believe everyone’s still killing each other.”

Jenz shrugged. “You don’t have to believe it. Thing is, there’s some of them who hunt the hunters.”

“Hunt the hunters? Like kill the people who are basically keeping the war going?”

“Aye.”

“And how do you know?”

“They got Ayron. They got my partner.”

I thought for a moment. “Are you sure they’re only going after killers?”

Jenz shrugged. “Who knows. All I know is whatever got Ayron wasn’t a normal human. My partner was the best of the best—an elite soldier, even going gray. He wouldn’t have let his guard down, but there was hardly a fight. And his body… Dhias, his body.”

“How long ago did—”

“Long enough,” Jenz answered quickly, cutting me off. “There’s nothing there now. Nothing but pain.”

I hummed in thought.

“That’s all I have. Someone or something dangerous is in this. And it’s killed from here in Gedon all the way as far as a week south, from the rumors I’ve heard.” Jenz stood up with a groan and made to leave.

“Do you have any idea who it could target next?” I pleaded.

The veteran shook his head. “No. This isn’t my fight anymore.”

“Well, uh, thanks.”

Jenz grunted. I watched him go; he closed the door softly and soon booted steps were thumping away down the hall. With a sigh, I flopped back onto the bed. Given how late I’d be at the other place and the fact the information gathering had hit some success, I took a minute to reflect before going to my last stop for the night.

The overheard rumors hadn’t told me anything I didn’t already know. There might very well be merit to a demon contributing to the slaughter, and if there was, it was a safe bet they were a wrath demon. Provided I wasn’t a lot weaker than I thought I was, I should be able to stop them.

But given my status as the Sovereign of Wrath, and given the fact they were picking targets, then I might be able to do something more. I thought about contracts, what Seyari and Lilly had both told me. I hadn’t ever really learned how they worked with demons, but I had to assume it was a similar sort of power or protection in exchange for service type of deal.

Contracts were also corruptive to humans. Were they corruptive to demons? I remembered “can’t corrupt the corrupter,” but I had to wonder if more than just demonic mana influenced a contract. Could terms influence it? Could a Sovereign themselves influence it?

The lust demons under Lilly, Mereneth included, definitely seemed to take after her. Was like drawn to like, or was there something more forceful? Certainly, Lilly had magic that I didn’t.

I also wasn’t keen on forcibly altering someone’s thoughts. The idea seemed, well, frankly horrifying. But if what I knew of demons was true, then many weren’t entirely sane. Whoever a greater demon was could be a single individual hounded by the other soul fragments fused into their being. Echoes of other invasive memories and feelings, but not enough to form a distinct identity. Lilly had almost said as much, though she was also a terrestrial demon, and a mostly binary case at that. I wished I could talk to her.

Were there any demons who had multiple fragments such that multiple people existed inside a shared body? Would it always be a situation where one fought for total control? I couldn’t fathom what that might be like.

Without sitting up, I turned my head to stare at the shuttered window and then the door. There were no soft footsteps, and no convenient entrance of the Sovereign of Lust. Or Seyari. Or anyone who knew about this stuff—I’d even have taken Yevon quietly sliding into the room with a bowl of stew I’d have to pay for.

It was all so complicated. Rules with exceptions and vague trends that I didn’t know the beginning or end to.

None of this thinking was getting me any closer to my goal, however. I had a tavern to visit, and I needed serious information. Very private, very illegal information.

A realization hit me: I’d have the best luck if I found my way into the good graces of someone committing murder under the guise of a “war.” Jenz had shown me that much, even if indirectly.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

For a moment, I imagined running into Taava at that sort of clandestine meeting. I hoped her own search was going well—and safe. The others, too, for that matter.

I didn’t feel particularly threatened by much these days—not in a physical sense. With regard to clandestine meetings, it wasn’t like I was above duplicity, or vigilante justice myself. I was a demon, after all.

My mind made up, I popped up off the bed and sauntered downstairs. I flipped a silver piece to Hannah for helping me out and walked off into the chill night, headed straight for what I had been told was the worst part of town.

***

I could certainly see more damage around here, from the rutted road to the sagging roofs, much of which wasn’t from the war. At the same time, I also didn’t have any unusual encounters. Perhaps it was the chill, perhaps it was some other factor, or perhaps certain people in the guard had confused “downtrodden” with “dangerous.” I didn’t have enough information to be certain.

The fact I was thinking about that at all, however, meant that I was still in my head. I took a moment to shake myself out of it, staring up at the half moon before I walked forward and into the door of the tavern where I’d be spending the next few hours.

Gods I wanted to spend the next few hours in a bed instead.

When I ducked inside, I was met with the smell of alcohol mixed with something acrid. I wrinkled my nose and walked forward around mismatched tables and toward the single, sagging counter at the back. The patrons were almost entirely older men, and I didn’t miss the stares directed my way. Many of them were open, and I winced at the whistles I got. Screw off.

I took a seat at the bar and ordered an ale from whom I presumed was the tavern keeper: a thin, older man with a drooping mustache. If other people were drinking the stuff, a demon certainly wouldn’t be hurt by it.

Conversation didn’t wait until I had my ale to change course from the banter I’d heard walking in. Most of the new topics were about me, or rather parts of me, but some things weren’t. I didn’t hear any open plans, but I heard plenty of talk about “the Ordians” in a harsh tone. I got my ale and sipped it, listening and watching the stained wood in front of me with great feigned interest.

Truthfully, the ale wasn’t too bad. It didn’t taste particularly strong, though, which was admittedly fine by me. I caught wind of a particular group of patrons whose rhetoric was particularly vitriolic and tried to listen in more. They’d just mentioned the killings when someone approached me.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got enough leg to give a man rough ride. I bet you buck harder than a bull,” the man said, taking the seat next to me and bringing his drink along.

I couldn’t possibly have a reply to that. I took another sip of ale and ignored him, but he’d leaned in close. I smelled the alcohol on his breath, but it wasn’t even strong. Unfortunately, thanks to this asshole doing something I’d dreaded (but expected), I missed whatever that group I was listening in on had said next. Unfortunately, my annoyance wasn’t enough to dissuade him.

“Hey girl, I’m talkin’ to you! What’d your parents feed you to make those legs?” He leaned in closer, putting a hand on my shoulder.

Again, I missed what the group said, although I caught “plan” and “revenge.” Damn it.

I downed the last of my ale. On any other night, I’d have more patience. More than he deserved. I’d push the asshole’s hand off, and ask him to knock it off. Really, if I wanted to hear more about the group’s plans, I probably should have. Problem was I’d have to hear more of him.

He started again, taking my contemplation over how best to put him through a wall without causing excessive property damage as a different sort of thinking.

“The strong silent type?” he leered. “Strong girls are the best when you—”

I cut him off with my mug, breaking it across his face. He crashed to the floor and conversation immediately stopped. Setting the broken handle back down on the counter, I looked at the half-stunned bartender who was quickly recovering his composure. I had to guess what I’d done wasn’t terribly uncommon, but no one had expected it from me. I didn’t even bother looking at the guy, but I heard him struggling back up and coughing.

“I’ll take another ale,” I said as firmly as I could. “And I’ll pay for the broken mug too.”

“The fuck you think you’re doing, bitch,” the man I’d hit coughed out, standing.

His face was bleeding in places where shards of the ceramic mug had cut him, and I could taste his rage.

So I did.

He didn’t offer much resistance. Anger consumed, he stood there, confused for a moment, all eyes on him. Still, despite not feeling any anger, I couldn’t remove his attitude.

“You could’ve said something,” he snarked.

“Was ignoring you not enough?” I asked, my own fury building.

“All I did was compliment you, and you threw a fit,” he said matter-of-factly. “A bitch like you’ll never get a good guy.”

I stood up next to him and glared down at him. “Good thing I’m not into guys.”

“Hah. You just haven’t found a good one yet. You get a good dick in you and you’ll—”

I sucker punched him. Lightly. No more Miss Nice Demon. He collapsed into the floor coughing, and I sat back down again. “My ale?” I asked the bartender, unable to keep my voice level.

Unfortunately, this guy didn’t know when to quit. I felt his anger rising again, and even after ripping it out, he tried to touch me again. I’d barely gotten my second ale, too. This time, I didn’t have to do anything. One of the other patrons, someone from the group I was listening to, grabbed his shoulder.

“Don’t,” the newcomer said. He had a severe widow’s peak and the kind of body that suggested not all the muscle of his youth had gone to fat. He was also a head shorter than the man who accosted me, but he seemed larger.

The asshole grumbled, but complied, moving down to the other end of the bar, where he took a rag to wipe the worst of the blood off his face. I’d hoped he would leave, but good enough. More importantly, it gave me the chance to get an in with the group I was watching.

“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip of ale.

The man chuckled. “I wanted to see you knock his lights out. A man should know when he’s outmatched.”

I couldn’t help but read negatively into the meaning of what this guy was saying, but for the sake of the investigation (and to a lesser extent fairness) I kept the smile on my face. “I’m sure the tavern keeper’s happy you intervened.”

He nodded. “I do want to know what a pretty young woman is doing in a place like this, though.”

Stay polite Zarenna, I reminded myself. He might not be hitting on you, just awkward. Remember your mission.

“I’m new in town, up from Linthel,” I replied, hoping my accent carried me. “Looking for work and staying nearby for lack of coin. Stupid civil war and stupid Ordians cost my family everything.”

I slipped a big lie in at the end, hoping context would smoothly carry my awful ability to lie.

The man, somewhat predictably, looked at my arms and the corded muscle I was more or less purposefully showing off. “Linthel, you say,” he replied. “I might have some work for you, if you don’t mind the dirtier stuff.”

I tensed, but tried to hide it by tilting my head toward the man at the end of the bar. “Well, that guy’s still breathing because of you, so I’d say I don’t mind.”

“Great!” The man smiled darkly. “Name’s Richter. Finish your ale and we’ll head out.”

I picked up the mug and stared at the pale contents, dark only because of dim light and brown container. Whatever I was going into would be unpleasant, and a fair bit further in than I’d told the others I was going. Seyari would understand. Probably.

My decision made, I picked up the mug and downed it in one go. I set it back on the table, threw just enough coins down to pay for the ale, and turned back to Richter. “Let’s go.”