12th of Middle Summer, 1535

Oleander and Moira had veered off the main road to escape the direct summer heat; The last three days of traveling had been exhausting and miserable. Given Oleander’s lack of funds, the duo had to share the common lodging at the inns they visited. The bunks were lackluster, with stained blankets and hardly enough pillows to go around — not that you'd want to sleep on one. The meals ranged from passable meat pies to mediocre soups with moldy bread. Moira elected to catch the mice that scampered around the common room; the hunter had to distract their bunkmates so Moira could eat without drawing suspicion.

Their rough nights were behind them. As they rode over the next hill, the massive walls of Ravenhold came into view. The gates to the city were made entirely of metal, while the rest of the barricade was reinforced wood. The centerpiece design of the entrance was a black bird resting atop a set of scales with an arrow in its mouth. It was a sight to behold, but trouble appeared to be brewing ahead — a group of five police officers was forcing people coming in and out of the city to halt.

A pencil-thin officer with a scraggly beard approached the duo. His words were quick, “State your business.”

"Private matter with the Lord Mayor," Oleander said as he dug through his pockets for the letter.

The officer snatched the paper from Oleander’s hand; he called over two other police officers, one of whom did recognize and then validated the distinctive black seal on the letter.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Can’t be too careful these days.”

Oleander asked, “What’s going on out here? Got smugglers causing trouble?”

"We're looking for a rich bloke named Adrian Comstock; He's under suspicion for the murder of his wife, children, and housekeepers. It's been a week, and no one's seen hide nor hair of the man, but we have reason to believe that he might still be somewhere in the city. None of the horses on his property are missing, and after we sent word to neighboring towns, none of the police or city guards reported seeing anyone that fit Comstock's description.”

The guard handed Oleander a wanted poster, “If you see’em let us know. There’s a reward in it too, but be careful — this man is presumed armed and dangerous. Thank you for your cooperation; you’re free to go.”

Oleander and Moira passed through the gates, but the monster hunter’s focus remained on the poster; it wasn’t as much as what Massengale would pay him, but if he could find Comstock before leaving, he’d end this trip with a fat stack of banknotes. One thing that frustrated Oleander the more he looked at the poster was that Comstock looked utterly unremarkable, like any bureaucrat that spent too much time indoors. Even after a week of being on the run and possibly looking unkempt, picking him out of a crowd might be difficult. He folded up the poster and tucked it away. This wouldn’t be the first time he had to track down a suspected serial killer.

Moira's attention was taken up by the flocks of ravens muddling about the city wall's parapets. Some took off as soon as they made prolonged eye contact with her.

"Herr Swine, have you noticed all the birds? Is this normal?"

"What? Are you scared of birds or something? The city is called Ravenhold; I'd expect the place to be crawling with them." Oleander noted the way Moira shakingly scanned their vicinity. "Look, don't worry about them. You're a little too big to eat."

"If you say so," Moira answered. Her gaze lingered on a single white bird that hid amongst the others, seemingly unmoving.

The dirt path transitioned into a cobblestone road that widened into two separate lanes with trimmed juniper and holly trees lining the middle of the street. The city was undoubtedly an upgrade over Blackburn Hollow. Stores along the main thoroughfare were brick or stone and had an air of affluence; Moira also noticed that many shops sold silver products or referenced silver on their business signs. Carts and carriages had to pass around Oleander and Moira because of how slow they were going; the drivers and the monster hunter exchanged colorful remarks.

A bellowing whistle echoed down the street; it caught Moira off guard to the point that she almost pulled out the rifle stashed in her vestments.

"Calm down, that's just a locomotive—"

"—it is?!" Moira got to a standing position on the horse, which suddenly became more difficult as a subtle shaking passed along the ground. She scanned the horizon until she spotted the freight train approaching the town with its long tail of cars. "Wundervoll."

"I take it you've never seen a train before?"

Moira returned to a seated position, "No. I have only heard of them."

"You'll start seeing them more the further north we go. I think there's one or two that go all the way to the capital of Angstrom—"

"—Ursulaburg," Moira muttered.

"Yeah, what's your connection to that place exactly?"

"My parents were born there," Moira answered, "Could we go see the train?"

Oleander was taken aback by Moira's sudden enthusiasm and the brief mention of her potentially spider-like family living in Angstrom at some point. It, at the very least, explained Moira's accent.

“Lass, that’s a lot of money for both of us, including what it costs to board the horse."

Oleander saw Moira’s expression drop, but she understandingly nodded. Aside from weaponry, Moira seemed very invested in this, and Oleander did miss the days of traveling up north with the Red Wolves.

“Ehh... look, when business starts picking up, and we get a contract that takes us to Ursulaburg, then... maybe."

Moira perked up.

"Now that I think about it, Wilhelm's probably up in Tankersley, teaching at the college right now."

"Wilhelm?"

"He's another Red Wolves member — honestly, he's one of the two people I would love to have here for this exorcism."

"Who's the other?"

Oleander chuckled, "Well, he's a bit of an oddball. You'll meet him soon; he'll probably swing by the homestead at some point."

After asking around for a bit, the two were directed towards the Massengale estate; it sat atop a hill looming over the rest of the populace in the city's northwestern corner. Guards were crawling around the property's entrance; thankfully, a quick flash of Gabriel's letter got them a militia escort up the hill. The estate's butler was the first to greet them at the entrance. He seemed confused by the two strangers before him, even more so after he put on his spectacles.

"Are you the hunter?" He asked.

"Aye, came as quick as I could. Is the job still available?"

The man motioned for them to enter.

"My name is Waldon; If you need anything during your stay, do not hesitate to ask. I do appreciate you taking the Lord Mayor's request seriously — as opposed to the other group."

"Who was the first?"

"It was a group of three that showed up," Waldon answered, "A woman and two of her, I believe she called them, lieutenants."

"...Iron stags," Oleander said.

"Yes. Yes, that is what they called themselves."

The hunter's brow scrunched up. He knew of the Iron Stags Hunting Company, but none of the members personally. Oleander wasn't given much time to think as he and Moira were led into the den. Opulence was the first word that shot into the duo's minds. The room was furnished with half a dozen couches, each draped in embossed, velvet purple and blue blankets. The hardwood flooring had alternating chevron patterns that continued into the adjoining rooms. A small collection of silver blades hung above the stone fireplace — the likenesses of the king and queen were chiseled into the marble. Three walls were almost entirely bookcases overflowing with texts, journals, and old tomes.

"I shall go fetch the Lord Mayor Massengale," Waldon stated before leaving. "Please do have a seat."

The burly hunter dropped onto one of the couches; the wooden frame creaked loudly under his weight, and a thin layer of dust shot out from underneath the cushions. Oleander didn't mind, this was still one of the fanciest places he'd ever stepped into, and he hadn't been thrown out yet. Brandishing his cigar, he lounged back on the surprisingly stiff piece of furniture.

Moira preferred to stand; she took this opportunity to peruse the bookshelves; it didn't take long for this to annoy her as there was no rhyme or reason for the placement of the books. There were duplicates in the collection, with many books being purely ornamental. Just about every book was covered in a layer of dust. A display of silver swords caught her attention; they looked beautiful enough, although she had reservations. She grabbed the tip of one of the blades and bent it upward slightly; she assumed these were silver-plated, but they were made entirely of silver.

She sneered and mumbled, "Fragile, impractical rubbish."

Waldon returned with a spindly-looking man with dark, slicked-back hair clad in a crisp, black suit.

"Welcome to my abode, Mr. Swine. Excellent of you to show up," the Lord Mayor extended a hand to the hunter.

There wasn't much weight behind the man's handshake; Oleander worried that he might've crushed Gabriel's hand. The smartly dressed man feigned a smile at first while shaking out his wrist — his expression changed when he saw Moira.

"I... erm... was unaware that you had invited a member of the Church of Careena."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Seeing the look of concern on Gabriel's face, Oleander reassured him, "The local sect has no knowledge of this—"

"—Fantastic!" Gabriel's facial expression rapidly changed again. "That's all I needed to know."

Gabriel coughed in a particular way and glanced at Waldon; the dutiful butler went around the den shutting the windows and locking the doors.

The Lord Mayor reached into his suit jacket and pulled out some papers, "Now, before I go into the details, I would like a signature from you two. This legally binding contract states that you will not discuss the events that transpire on these premises with anyone. The embarrassment and harassment my family would endure if word about Maisie's spectral situation leaked to the presses would be immeasurable. I may even lose my position as Lord Mayor. So please sign his contract for the sake of me, my wife, and my children."

He bit down on his knuckles as he tried to hold back tears.

"The payment still stands at two hundred talons, right?" Oleander asked.

"I'm willing to push it up to two-hundred-and-fifty talons for the burden of secrecy."

Oleander signed his full name in a heartbeat, while Moira was more apprehensive.

“Please, miss, I just want what’s best for my daughter.”

She relented and signed as well.

“Before we start...” Oleander asked, “...who tipped you off about where to find me. Most people don’t even know Fawksden exists?”

"One of the Iron Stag members said they were a former Red Wolf; I think his name was Murdoch. He suggested you after their leader rejected my contract."

Oleander snorted and then mumbled, "Haven't heard from that bastard in a while. Peg-legged prick."

"I still don't understand why that woman didn't take my offer. Since I was hiring her and her lieutenants, I offered her four hundred talons, but she balked at signing my contract."

"Hypatia's a very prideful hunter; she always brags about her success in the newspaper," Oleander answered.

"Figures." Gabriel folded the contract and slotted it into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket, "Now, may we begin this exorcism?"

"One last thing — Why do you have soldiers outside the main gates?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes and let out a labored sigh.

"I thought dealing with my daughter's possession would be the end of my worries, but no, I have my former business partner losing his goddamned mind."

"Don't worry; once we take care of Maisie, we'll track down Comstock," Oleander replied.

“You have my thanks for that,” Gabriel said. “Now, let me introduce you to Maisie.”

Gabriel and Waldon let Oleander and Moira up the grand staircase to the second floor's west wing. The hunter felt like he needed a map to navigate the labyrinthine corridors and hallways of the manor. At the end of the branching pathways, they came across a door labeled "Maisie" with crayon drawings tacked to the door showing off a family of seven people. She appeared to be the second youngest child based on the order she drew everyone.

The air felt colder as the door opened. The child was tucked under three blankets with a warm rag on her head.

Gabriel spoke as he approached his wife, "Ophelia dear, the hunter I sent for is finally here."

The somber-looking woman with long, unkempt red hair just nodded as she tenderly rubbed Maisie's cheek; it looked like she hadn't slept soundly for a few days.

Oleander approached and motioned for the two parents to move aside, allowing the hunter a better chance to examine Maisie. Her skin was cold, with her nose, ears, and cheeks taking on a reddish color. Her eyes then caught his attention; Maisie's pupils had changed from black to an eerie blue shade, with her iris and sclera remaining unchanged. Only her left eye followed as Oleander moved one finger back and forth across Maisie's visual field.

"Can you say your name, lass?"

"Meh—meh..." her tone was pained and breathy.

"She hasn't spoken any words since she's been possessed," Ophelia said, "Every once and a while, she'll thrash about and start wailing and screaming. She only responds to her name, but not much else."

Oleander pulled back the covers to examine her hands; the tips of her fingers were red like her face.

Oleander said, "Well, the good news is she only has frostnip. The poor bastard at my first exorcism was practically a half-dead icicle—"

"—half dead?! Frostnip? What's been happening to my daughter?" Ophelia demanded.

"Alright, let's see — souls, with their consciousnesses, that don't pass on are what we call ghosts. Without a body, both the soul and consciousness break down. Souls hold a lot of power but are incredibly fragile. Ghosts find safety by possessing hosts; they also cannibalize the host's body, soul, and consciousness to heal the damage done to them."

Ophelia asked, "So, this ghost, if left unchecked, would consume person after person—"

"—until they passed on naturally, or if they're excised."

The mother asked again, "How will you do that?"

"White sage is one of the few plants that affect ghosts—" Oleander took in some of the smoke from his cigar and blew it in Maisie's face, "—it pacifies them, for the most part."

Instead of breathing it in, everyone watched as the smoke darted up Maisie's nose. She started fidgeting and squirming under her covers, and her pupils flickered from blue to black. She let out a painful screech as she nearly ripped her bedsheets apart with her fingernails.

Olivia yelled, "Pacify?! That didn't look like pacifying! What did you do to my baby—?!"

"—Mum?" A weak voice called out.

Maisie had suddenly stopped her thrashing and laid her arms out limply.

Ophelia's anger shifted to shock. Her daughter's voice almost brought her to tears; she answered, "Yes! Yes, mummy's here. Mum's here for you."

The frantic mother grabbed her daughter's hand to comfort her. Although she struggled initially, Maisie could sit up, the most she'd accomplished in the past week.

"Was? Was that it?" Gabriel asked, "Is she cured?"

"No, unfortunately. This will pass in a minute or two; this helps me gauge how far gone a host is. The fact that Maisie sat up at all is a good thing," Oleander answered. "The exorcism will require me to rip the ghost's soul out of Maisie's."

Ophelia turned to the hunter, "Will this hurt her?"

Oleander only nodded his head without giving any details. Ophelia clutched Maisie's hand harder.

"Maisie?" Her mother said, "This man will make you better, alright?"

Maisie slowly turned her head up to Oleander. Her stare was haunting as it felt empty. Maisie was barely conscious but could at least focus on the people around her. The blue color had returned to one of her eyes, but she remained sitting upright. Maisie looked Oleander up and down, and then, to his surprise, she hugged him. Her mumblings turned to fearful whimpers as it sounded like Maisie was about to start crying; the sounds tugged deeply at his heartstrings.

"Uh? There, there. You'll be good as new soon enough," Oleander said.

The sweet sentiments were interrupted by Maisie immediately vomiting on Oleander's shirt and pants.

"There it is..." Oleander muttered as he pulled himself away from her embrace. The possessed child curled up and started shaking like a leaf again.

Ophelia tucked her daughter under the mound of blankets. Her other eye returned to its blue color, with Maisie's mumblings becoming soft and incoherent.

Waldon was quick to retrieve a towel for Oleander.

The hunter quipped, "I still prefer this to what happened at the other exorcism."

Moira began to ask, "What happened—?"

"—You don't want to know."

After cleaning himself off, Oleander surveyed the room. This child's room was bigger than his kitchen and bedroom combined. It was plenty of space to work with, but he was missing one crucial ingredient.

"Any places in town sell salt? Preferably by the barrel."

"Hmm...there's a warehouse by the train yard that sells bulk raw materials; I'd search around there first," Gabriel answered.

Despite her mask and hood obscuring her face, Oleander could immediately tell Moira's anticipation by how she tapped her feet.

"Do you have a church in town? One for Careena would be preferable; I'm going to need all of that salt blessed."

Gabriel began, "Oh. Well, you see..."

"...It's been closed for a long time," Ophelia said as her gaze darted to and from her husband.

Oleander sharply inhaled.

"Alright, I can work around this. I'll be back soon; blessed or not, I need salt."

Ophelia got up from Maisie's bedside, "You're—you're leaving? But we can't leave Maisie like this!"

"Fifi, calm down. If he needs to go out and procure some more supplies, then let him be—" Gabriel's tone became a little curter when he turned to Oleander, "—This exorcism matter will be taken care of before the night's end, correct?

"Definitely," Oleander replied.

As Waldon was escorting Oleander and Moira back through the second floor, they came across the youngest of the Massengale family screaming at the maids.

"I wanna go play with Maisie now!"

The child had been crying for some time as his shirt was soaked with tears and snot. Two maids were trying to restrain the inconsolable child.

"Elijah, we keep telling you that Maisie's too sick to play," the exhausted and beleaguered maid firmly grasped the young boy's arm. Despite being only five years old, he was proving to be quite a handful.

Waldon cleared his throat, "Master Elijah, behave yourself. Your father has important guests over."

The butler's words fell on deaf ears as Elijah bit down on the maid's hand and freed himself from her embrace. He evaded capture as he reached the west wing doors before running into his father's legs.

"Now what..." Gabriel muttered as he looked down at his son.

"Dad! Lemme see Maisie—!" He screamed.

"—No! I've told you you'll have to wait, and I will not tell you again."

The father snapped back in a shrill tone, and Elijah recoiled. He looked at one of the maids clutching her hand and then back to his son, "I'm not above punishing you in front of the help or guests."

The child turned and ran off as Gabriel started to undo his belt. Elijah rushed past Waldon and had the maids chase after him. Gabriel readjusted his tie as he and the butler continued escorting Oleander and Moira out of the manor.