Part Three: The Mystery of the White Rose

8 Months Later…

The fog was light tonight, but that did little to put the man at ease as he came upon the murder scene.

He’d been forced to park his car a block down, the press of bodies blocking the streets too difficult to traverse in the dark. Which annoyed him, because he hated walking. Even when food had been plentiful, even with the hundred pounds he’d dropped in the last twelve months, there was nothing appealing about being forced on foot.

Worse than that, he knew exactly what he was walking in to and it was a shit show of epic proportions.

A voice called out, echoing through the fog.

“Detective Kramer? That you?”

He growled to himself, his annoyance cresting.

The pressing civilians turned to look. Voices accosted him.

“Detective! Was it the vampires?”

“Isn’t anyone gonna stop them!”

“The bloodsuckers are taking over this city! Are we even safe in Wichita anymore?”

He made a mental note to rip the beat cop a new one.

“Step aside, folks.” He avoided their questing gazes, bulling through the crowd. “Police business, move aside.”

Despite the heavy press, the faces gazing back at him were gaunt, emaciated. He shoved through them roughly, his bulk—however diminished it was—more than enough for the task.

When he reached the caution tape marking the scene, he glared at the patrolman. At least he had the good sense to look abashed.

“Sorry, detective.”

“Fuck you yelling out my name for, kid? Trying to start a riot?” The officer looked down, biting his lip. Kramer sighed, catching a glimpse of the scene over the patrolman’s shoulder. “York, was it?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded back over his shoulder. “Push out this scene another twenty yards.”

“Yes, sir!” He waved over more men and hopped to it.

As Kramer crouched under the tape, he called out to Officer York’s back. “And get me my lampers!” To himself, he added, “Gonna be a long night.”

The detective approached the scene, noting the surroundings with a casual glance.

Dark alley, streetlights long shattered, garbage stacked high enough to obscure the view from the street.

And behind the debris, a beautiful young woman, shredded and bloody, bits of flesh appearing to have been cut off—perhaps eaten.

“Ah, Kramer, thank the Emperor. This is a cluster of epic proportions.”

He looked up from the girl to see his lieutenant, a wad of gum smacking between his lips.

“Hey, Lieutenant. What’ve we got?”

Lieutenant Alvarez blew a bubble, popping it with irreverence as he leaned down over the body.

“Mid-twenties, Caucasian, filleted and evidence of premortem blood loss.” He shook his head, looking behind Kramer discreetly. “Ghoulies or the suckers, my guess.”

Kramer grunted. “Or someone wants us to think so, at least.”

Alvarez’s chewing intensified and he stood up. “What’d you need from me?”

The detective put on latex gloves and knelt by the body. He didn’t know why—nobody was fingerprinting anymore. They’d fallen out of the habit when their D-ranked Seer had joined the city forces. But Tunnel Vision had disappeared three months back and the force hadn’t responded well. Now, it was down to good ol’ detective work.

Or, more likely, murders just remained unsolved. It was hard to find the motivation when your stomach panged through the night—and mostly through the day, too.

He glanced up, his nose wrinkling at the smell.

“Priority?” It was a tasteless question, crass and completely inappropriate. But no one cared about decorum anymore. Class was a luxury for the full-bellied.

The lieutenant shrugged, a casual gesture belaying the seriousness of the topic.

“No rumblings from above either way. Which is odd.”

Kramer nodded. That was odd. A young, cute thing like this could only serve two purposes. One, a rallying cry to distract the hungry with anger. Or two…she was a message.

He dismissed the first option instantly; if she were meant to be a distraction, word would’ve come down to prioritize the case. Reporters would have been slipped beneath the caution tape. Headlines would’ve already been written—the articles, too.

Silence from the leadership meant option two. Her murder was a message to someone.

What Kramer wanted to know was, a message to whom?

He stood up with a grunt, his knees cracking painfully. “Lampers to start.” The lieutenant nodded; that was an easy enough request. His next, however… “A writ of passage into Blood Alley would be nice, too.”

The lieutenant snorted, not even wasting his breath to curse the man out.

Yeah, knew that was coming, but had to ask.

“I already sent for the boys.” The lieutenant spit his gum out against the alley wall. “There’s something else.”

Kramer didn’t like that tone; the lieutenant wasn’t one to worry.

“What is it, LT?”

The man pulled out a pocket knife and crouched down. Grabbing the girl’s arm, he angled the blade down into the skin. Kramer watched on, first, in confusion, then in dismay.

The blade didn’t depress the skin at first. More weight went behind the blade before it began to make headway. The lieutenant grunted as it finally penetrated her flesh, then looked up with arched brow, the conclusion unsaid.

Kramer looked up at the night sky, letting out a weary breath. “Fuuuuuck.”

“If we’re lucky, she’s a Duelist.” The lieutenant wiped the blade on her clothes before depositing it back into his pocket. “F or E…maybe. If not…we’re looking at a C-ranker, minimum. Possibly even B…”

God-fucking-dammit…

“Alright, alright. Affiliation?” A thought struck Kramer and he blanched. “Topeka?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “Doubtful. If she were Topekan, you and I wouldn’t be here.”

Kramer nodded. A Topekan spy would’ve been way above their paygrade.

“Shit!” He walked to the alley edge, scanning the nearby block. Police spotlights fought against the dark, but most of the block was obscured. People milled about with little lights on their shoulders or clipped to their bags, but flashlights were in short supply in Wichita.

Then, his eyes caught on light emanating from a building a few blocks down, yellow streams of illumination peeking from the windows. He narrowed his eyes skeptically, but turned back to address the lieutenant.

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His foot scuffed against something and he glanced down. In the light of the flood lamps, powder caught his eye. He leaned down, touching it, rubbing it between his fingers. Bringing it to his tongue, he tasted it delicately.

“What is it, Kramer?”

His heart rate was jacked, a foreboding feeling tickling at the back of his neck. Rather than answer, he approached casually, holding out his hand.

“Can I have a piece of that gum?”

The lieutenant frowned, but didn’t push. As he handed out a stick of gum, their hands brushed together, the coarse grains of salt passing between them. Kramer watched as the man’s eyes widened in surprise, his neck twitching as he prevented himself from looking around suspiciously.

Kramer cleared his throat to distract from the man’s shock, then bent back over the body. Now that he knew what to look for, the signs of scattered salt were everywhere.

All his theories dashed to the floor, the hairs on his neck standing up straight. They didn’t need to speak—they’d already drawn the same conclusion.

Someone had taken efforts to hide the crime from the Emperor’s wraiths. Salt. I’m sure there was obscuring magic involved as well.

Meaning, his theory that the Emperor had assassinated a hostile super was wrong…dead wrong. But this wasn’t a Topekan attack or one of the Emperor’s revenants would have been here. The blood suckers? But why hide it from the Emperor, then? They were vassals to the leader of Wichita, weren’t they? Or, at a minimum, honored guests.

Why hide this murder from their host, when all their other killings were executed with impunity.

And killing a potential B-ranker? Who was this dead super to them?

They couldn’t share their doubts or questions openly; the chances of a nearby super or blood sucker listening in from superhuman distances were nearly guaranteed. Being too competent and asking the right questions out loud had its dangers.

He stood and locked eyes with the lieutenant, neither of them daring to speak about the revelation. After a moment, the silence grew too heavy and the LT barked out toward the alley mouth.

“Where are my damn lampers!”

The sound of quiet swearing and running feet answered, followed shortly after by three young men carrying precious Artifacts that shined bright. One of them flicked up, blinding Kramer.

He growled, advancing on the boys. They took a step back and the light flicked down quickly.

“Point that in my eyes again and I’ll feed it to you. Clear?”

“Sorry, sir!”

He studied their faces with a frown. They looked everywhere but at him, their limbs trembling in the light cast from their lamps. Clicking his tongue, he turned back to the corpse.

“What’re you waiting for?” he barked. “Illuminate the damn crime scene.”

The three boys hastily moved past him, shining their magic lights in three separate directions.

As he approached the lieutenant, Kramer sighed. “They gettin’ younger or am I gettin’ older?” he groused.

He glanced over to see the three boys hurriedly look away as his attention fell upon them.

“It’s a resourcing issue.” The lieutenant snagged another piece of gum and popped it into his mouth. “Ghoulies ate the last batch.” He blew a bubble and let it snap against his lips. “And the suckers before that.”

Kramer watched the three boys carefully as the lieutenant wound them up. Which of the three held his nerve? They were each seventeen, maybe eighteen. One had pimples marring his face. The other with long hair pulled back into a ponytail. The third boy was small, not quite fitting into his frame; signs of a nutrient-deficient diet at the most critical stage of growth. Only the little one didn’t glance back at the alley mouth as if looking to escape.

He and the lieutenant shared a glance, spotting the same thing.

“How long you think these’ll last?” Kramer snapped his fingers, then pointed at the woman’s face to see which of the lampers reacted first.

That little one’s got nerve, he thought as the runt reacted instantly. His artifact lit up the girl’s face, highlighting her features.

She was beautiful, even in death. Strawberry blond hair, high cheekbones, full lips slightly parted, and a model-esque jawline.

The runt gasped, then quickly clamped his mouth shut, steeling his face.

“What?” Kramer growled. “Never seen a woman before, lampy?”

The boy stared back, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir, what? What’s got you interrupting my thoughts while I’m working a crime scene, hm?”

He cleared his throat, his eyes snapping to the lieutenant for the briefest moment and finding no ally there. “I recognize her, sir, is all.”

Kramer’s eyes widened and he glanced over to see the lieutenant’s lips pursed tight.

Shit, cat’s out of the bag on this one, then.

“Don’t just stand there holding your dick. Spill.”

The runt squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Fluorescent. B-Ranked Elementalist hailing from Richmond. She fled the authorities four years back when she accidentally blinded a dozen civilians fighting a villain. Been on the run ever since.”

Kramer hawked a wad of spit and launched it near the other two lampers’ feet. They both jumped back but didn’t say a word.

“And how the fuck you know all that, runt?”

The little one narrowed his eyes at the name, but otherwise didn’t let his anger show.

Good, Kramer thought. This one’s worth keeping on.

“I know this, sir, because she hands out food ten blocks west every Sunday.” Kramer shot the lieutenant a wide-eyed glance. The runt continued as if he hadn’t noticed the look. “I know this, because I snapped a picture of her and ran an image search two months ago. Her HeroWatch entry popped up immediately.”

Kramer raised his eyebrows toward the lieutenant, who returned a short nod.

“You two, fuck off.” He waved away pimple-face and pony tail. “Turn in your lamps by end of day.”

All three boys grew wide eyed, but Kramer ignored the reactions.

“What’s your name, runt?”

“Marcos, sir.”

“Marcos, flash your lamp on this scene and tell me what you see.”

The Artifact turned toward Fluorescent’s body as the boy bent down to take a closer look. The other two lampers were stuck frozen with shock.

Kramer turned to regard them, his face shadowing with anger.

“Should we add insubordination on top of incompetence, hm? If you’re still standing there by the time I finish this sentence—”

They bolted out of the alley, their Artifacts swinging wildly, casting odd shadows as they ran. Kramer noted Marcos glance up briefly and he growled back at the boy.

“Time’s up! You have ten seconds to impress me or you’ll be turning in your lamp with them.”

Most young men would have frozen in analysis paralysis or stuttered out incoherently as their minds lost the threads in a panic. But Marcos continued surveying the scene silently, demonstrating an admirable calm and precision as his lamp took in both the alley and the body.

Five seconds later, he spoke, a thoughtful look on his face.

“A dead B-ranker in Wichita can only mean a few things. Topekan, SPC, or one of the Emperor’s agents.”

Kramer sighed in disappointment. For a moment there, he’d thought he’d found a diamond in the—

“But that’s not the case here.” Marcos collected some of the salt lining the alley floor. “Salt means one of Wichita’s enemies were involved. Topekan or SPC, then.” The boy frowned, hesitation on his lips for the first time. “Except, it wasn’t either of them.”

Kramer didn’t let the smile touch his face, but he spotted the lieutenant’s out of the corner of his eye.

“What an idiot conclusion.” Kramer forced heat into his voice. “Of course this was one of our enemies, you fool.” He paused a moment, wondering how the boy would react to being called out, even when correct. To his credit, Marco simply stared back. “Fine, I’ll bite.”

The boy pointed at the alley floor, his lamp tracing splatters of blood.

“She wasn’t killed here. Obvious signs that she was dumped. Furthermore, the modality of her death is ambiguous. Half-hearted gnaw marks here, here, and here.” He lifted the body slightly, shining the lamp so Kramer could see. “Ah, as I suspected. They ignored the haunches.” He eased the body back. “Ghouls prefer thigh and butt meat. If this were them, she’d be filleted down to the bone. And the blood loss.” He shook his head. “Someone started to feed, but pulled themselves back. I’d guess they were instructed to stage this like a rotter did it, but couldn’t resist a taste.” Marcos stood up, angling his lamp away. “Then, there’s you and the lieutenant, sir.”

Kramer had followed everything the boy had said, pleased to recognize formal training in the lad. But now he felt lost for the first time.

“What about us, runt?”

Marcos frowned, looking between the two of them as if deciding what to say. After a moment, he shrugged.

“Apologies, sir. But if you and the lieutenant are the highest ranking members on the scene…then this wasn’t Topekan or SPC. If it were, I suspect none of us would be allowed within a hundred yards and this alley would be swarming with ghouls and revenants as we speak.”

Kramer felt the lieutenant’s eyes on him, waiting for him to congratulate the boy, tell him he’d passed with flying marks. And the detective had to admit, he was impressed with the runt. But something about the lad told him there was more water to be squeezed from the stone.

“Ridiculous presumptions built upon faulty premises. But okay, I’m listening. If it wasn’t hungry ghoulies, the Emperor himself, Topekan spies, or the SPC, then who killed this young lady?”

The lieutenant took a hasty step forward, a protest on his lips. But Kramer flashed him a subtle signal and his boss trusted him enough not to press. As for the boy, he couldn’t have missed the interaction and should have finally understood what this was.

If he didn’t recognize he was being tested yet, then he had already failed. But there were tests, and there were tests within tests. This, was the latter.

The boy took a moment to think and Kramer allowed it. After five steady breaths, he nodded. Kramer expected him to break the silence, but instead, he pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket—a notepad very similar to Kramer’s own.

Then, he began to write in it.

Kramer and the lieutenant shared a cryptic look, but then stared wide eyed as the boy hefted the notepad for them to read.

> Vampires. Listening. Body moved…sending message to someone. Emperor, maybe. Unclear. Going to lie now to throw them off.

“My guess…is that there are factions within the Emperor’s inner court. His revenants fighting each other in the shadows, perhaps. Maybe Prince James is pulling the strings from Topeka.” Marcos shrugged. “Not enough information to make a determination.”

Kramer allowed a tight smile on his face, flicking his brow up once in acknowledgment of the boy’s cunning.

“I see I’ve made a mistake with you.” Kramer laced his voice with fire. “But since I’ve sent off the others, guess I’m stuck carting around a dumb ass. You can at least point a lamp, yes?”

“Yes, sir!” Marcos kept his triumphant smile brief, steeling his face in moments.

Kramer grunted in faux annoyance. “It’ll have to do.” He turned to the lieutenant and nodded in Marcos’ direction. “Sure we don’t have anyone smarter?”

The lieutenant’s eyes twinkled at their double talk, a slight smile of his own lighting up briefly before he shoved it back down. “Can’t fill out another requisition unless this one dies.” He shrugged. “Shouldn’t be a problem—not for long, anyway.” He snapped another bubble with his gum. “Try to make him last the week, though. If possible.”

Kramer groaned. “Tall ask.” Turning to Marcos, he grunted. “Come on. Keep that lamp pointed at the ground unless I tell you otherwise. Clear?”

Marcos nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir!”

“Then let’s go.” He went to the alley, his eyes tracking to that lone building down the way, its yellow lights streaming out onto the road. “Might as well ask the neighbors what they saw.”