The ferry ride across the river proved a regrettable choice. Rosa’s fingers wrapped themselves around the railing in an attempt to reduce the jarring motion of the waves. The choppy waters did little to soothe her unsettled spirits or lessen her nausea.

Hil's morning radiance offered a scant blessing and compelled her to seek relief beneath the shade of the canopy amidship. She adjusted her dark glasses and tugged on the brim of her hat. She had waited until past noon before making the attempt at crossing the river, hoping that the morning’s activities, coupled with the time involved might have lessened the wooziness in her head. She had grossly miscalculated.

Amid her suffering of Hil's Grace upon the world, a stroke of fortune emerged: another ferry, bound for Wolfram South, crossed her path as she journeyed northward. Upon its deck stood none other than the bitch Inquisitor Yolanda Torres, accompanied by her brutish cohort Martinez. The pair wore expressions as sour as curdled milk, prompting Rosa to wonder whether they had gleaned new information, and why they were now retracing their steps toward Wolfram South.

Every Inquisitor Rosa had even encountered bore that same sour countenance. She often wondered if part of the induction ceremony into the ranks of Hil’s Most Faithful involved a dulling of one’s ability to smile, or if the selection process simply required them all to be assholes.

Her head pounded. She had no one to blame but herself … and the half bottle of tequila she had polished off the night before. The drink was often the only thing that kept the nightmares at bay. But last night she had not been so lucky. Exhaustion and hangover greeted her at first morning light. She regretted the evening’s choices as she chewed on the end of a willow twig, thankful she had found a growth of the pain-relieving plant along the riverbank this morning to help ease the discomfort. The candied ginger in her pocket should help with the nausea later. She needed to be clear-headed. There was work that needed doing.

Yearning for additional sleep or a bracing drink to ward off the pounding in her head, Rosa ruefully reflected on the night's fruitless endeavors. She spent half the night scouring warehouses on the south side of the river. Her efforts yielded a handful of coins won in a dice game while searching for information, and two brief skirmishes, unrelated to the game, which were swiftly quelled.

The night watchmen who discovered her had been merely fulfilling their duties, but Rosa could not afford to be discovered. She was well outside her assigned jurisdiction, as Torres had been quick to point out in Perdido, and the letter in her pocket confirmed. She had no badge of office to back up her actions here.

“Beyond your remit” the charges would say if she were taken up by the local constables. She might be able to talk her way out of it once or twice. However, someone in some town would eventually send a wire back to Puente and get the full story. About the death of her partner and how she’d been called back to her post with orders to take leave and had chosen to go rogue instead. Then they would send word up and down the river about the renegade Alguacila, and she would be slapped into irons in the next township. She had to be careful and not draw attention.

Rosa had taken extra care in last night’s altercations to ensure that the watchmen suffered nothing more than aching heads. It wasn’t their fault. They were just doing their jobs. But she needed to see the inside of the warehouses they had been guarding. She rubbed her left side and winced slightly. Headaches for them probably cracked ribs for her. They had put up a solid fight before she managed to knock them out.

Good work, men. She said to herself.

She watched as The boat carrying Torres and Martinez disappeared behind them. Had she overlooked a crucial detail? From the patterned activity over the past few months, she deduced that Tenebroso would be prowling Wolfram next. Yet the question lingered: which side of the river? Opting for the South, Rosa now second-guessed her decision. Were her instincts awry?

Or perhaps too pickled to see things straight anymore?

She grimaced at the possible truth in the thought.

Casting a glance toward Hil's Chosen Duo, she sighed inwardly. When they had met in Perdido, Rosa had given the Inquisitor a list of towns away from the river. The towns lay distant, yet not far enough away to prevent them from backtracking to Wolfram. She could only hope they stumbled upon a wild goose chase, diverting them further from her trail. Their unexpected appearance hinted at missed clues, but what had beckoned them back? If they had canvassed all three towns, they should have been utterly spent, yet here they stood. Each day she ventured westward brought her deeper into uncharted territory, inching closer to the capital with each passing mile.

She had to find whoever was doing this before they reached the Capital. Once there, she could very easily lose the trail among the thousands of people who made the Captial their home. While the Capital prided itself on maintaining order, murders still happened. How long would this person go undetected there, before they realized what had taken up residence within their secure walls? The local Militia would never let her assist with the investigation and would probably throw her in jail for leaving her post back in Puente against the orders of command.

And the Temple…

She shuddered at the thought of what the Temple of Hil might do if they suspected some creature had infiltrated the Capital. How many people would be arrested and questioned in their quest for “truth” and “purification”?

No, she had to find him and stop him before he reached the Gates.

Her boat came to rest on the north side of the river and its occupants debarked. Rosa surveyed her surroundings with a disappointed grimace. The proliferation of warehouses and dockside structures only served to compound her sense of lagging.

So many potential locations.

She shook her head gently to clear her thoughts. Now was not the time for self-pity. Ascending to street level, she embarked on a brisk walk along the thoroughfare, hopeful of detecting some trace of the elusive creature's passage. Fortune seemed to favor her then. Within minutes, she encountered a gathering outside a dockside building.

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“Move back, please.” A local Alguacila instructed a group of onlookers as he tied a red rope with colorful yellow triangle pennants up, establishing a perimeter.

His partner was speaking with what appeared to be a local dock worker who wanted access to the warehouse being sealed off.

“No, I’m sorry this area is closed off at the moment,” he said. Further dialog between the two continued, but it was not important at the moment.

Rosa’s eyes followed the local authorities as they endeavored to establish a perimeter. Their unease was evident. Several appeared nauseous, a sensation Rosa knew all too well. One of them openly used the sign of protection before entering the building. Whatever lurked within the warehouse disturbed them deeply.

This must be the place.

She eyed the warehouse once more. The main doors would not be an option. They were too heavily guarded. Her credentials would be easily noticed as not belonging to the local squad. She was not from Wolfram. They would notice her quickly. Rosa frowned. Torres may well have issued a detainment notice. Her apprehension would be just as swift as if she attempted to gain access here. She needed an alternative.

Keeping her hat lowered enough to shade her face, but not so low as to look like she was hiding, she did a quick walk down the street and past the scene. Passing by the scene; she retraced her steps to the waterfront, utilizing the onlookers as cover. Unobserved, she positioned herself at the street's edge, where concrete pillars and heavy chains delineated the boundary. Peering across the street, she examined the exterior of the warehouse, looking for alternate ways of entry. She noted the dockside windows on the second floor, substantial yet shuttered. Contemplating the prospect of scaling the building, Rosa scoffed at the notion.

It’s daylight, you have no kit, and your fat ass could never climb.

Her partner was always the more agile of the two.

Carlos…

His memory rose unbidden and with it a stream of unwanted emotions. She swallowed them down. Now was not the time.

Her musings were interrupted by a commotion to her left, along the dockside wall below. A deluge of water erupted from a sewer vent suddenly, disgorging fish parts into the river's murky depths. The sight and stench repelled her.

Never drink from the river around here. She told herself.

Yet, amidst the detritus, something caught her eye: the sewer vent covering was slightly ajar. That itself would not have been a curiosity. A sewer worker may have left it open while working. However, that same sewer entry was near the warehouse, being cordoned off.

Coincidence?

The loose cover piqued Rosa’s curiosity. It bore investigating. With the crowd engrossed in the spectacle, Rosa seized the opportunity and carefully lowering herself down to the shoreline below.

Navigating through the ankle-deep water, she approached the vent. There was no locking mechanism present. She frowned and pulled off her gloves to examine the cover. The cover was unremarkable, crafted from hammered metal. It was rusted along the lower edge. At the top of the cover, along the hinge was a slightly raised pattern. It was covered in moss and filth, but Rosa’s trained eye could still make out the design.

A hand clutching a closed eye.

The symbol of Sombra.

“Fucking Sombra!” Rosa spat.

Sombra was a criminal syndicate that she and Carlos had been tracking back in Puente. They had thought the group was nothing more than a local gang. They had been wrong.

Rosa pulled her gloves back on and, with renewed caution, carefully opened the heavy vent, gaining entry without arousing suspicion. The discovery of the Sombra symbol hinted at a deeper connection between Tenebroso and the criminal syndicate. Perhaps this was the connection she was looking for. Perhaps they were using the legend to generate fear of their group.

More questions and no answers. Shut up, Delgado. She chastised herself.

Drawing her knife, she advanced cautiously into the dark sewer passageway. She was not a tall woman, so the crouching here was minimal. She wondered how uncomfortable the tall Inquisitor might be having to navigate this area in her perfectly pressed uniform.

The dim light from the entry revealed a figure ahead. She stopped and pressed herself against the wall, waiting. The figure remained motionless. She narrowed her eyes and slowly advanced toward it.

The putrid smell of rot suddenly assailed her nose. She lifted her arm and covered her face and quickly reached for a kerchief. Holding the kerchief to her face with one hand and her knife in the other, she slowly advanced once more toward the stationary figure.

Part of Rosa wished for a lamp for better sight but was also happy not to have one at this moment. The figure was that of a man, frozen in a grotesque tableau of agony. He stood, not looking toward the exit vent, but back the way he came. His arms held out and up as if attempting to fend something off. One of his hands was missing. Rosa looked around in an attempt to find it. It lay at the figure’s feet. Discolored and broken.

The smell was from the figure.

It was the smell of meat as it defrosted in the heat.

Something had frozen him solid.

Rosa narrowed her eyes. “But … how?” she asked no one.

Voices and boot steps above her forced her back against the wall. She traded her knife for her pistol. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head to listen to the exchange.

.

"What kind of monster tears out a heart and takes a bite?"

The words chilled her. Her eyes flew open, and she stared at the frozen figure before her.

Tenebroso had been here. This is what she was looking for. But this frozen figure was something new.

Brujah. She whispered. She was dealing with a spell crafter.

That’s how they got you, wasn’t it, Carlos?

They used magic. That had to be it. She stared at the figure again. This was not the magic of the Voca of Hil. No, this was something different.

Forbidden.

The memory of Carlos Ortega came up again. His smiling face, his carefully groomed facial hair. The image quickly changed. His face was shocked and covered in blood. His heart neatly laid on his chest with a single bite taken out.

She felt her anger and grief mix once again. She would not let her partner down. “I’ll find him, Carlos. I swear to you I will find and kill him.”