In a mystery play, handguns come in two flavors: completely harmless, as someone empties all their bullets into a supernatural threat only for the threat to barely notice, or surprisingly useful, as even gods are taken aback by high velocity lead. It’s important to do one’s research as to what sort of Urban Fantasyland you’re about to enter, and thus the best means of self-defense. It may also be important to know whether the Mystery play is one with rules about magic interacting badly with technology.

(There’s actually a large middle ground where guns are useful against some enemies and not against others, but those who occupy said ground are usually walking arsenals and rather touchy. We do not recommend participating in said plays unless you are able to conceal at least 10 knives and two pistols on your person at all times without ruining the line of your formal wear.)

-Quote from an internally circulated employee email at Mystery Play LLC, presumably not for public consumption.

I thanked them both, and went back to the office to go over the list. As it turns out, whoever was asking Bonaparte for serpents had a pretty comprehensive list of magical ones he wanted, including some that could only be created with alchemy. Multiple varieties of basilisk, pocket-sided hydras, well worms, things I couldn’t even pronounce from New Guinea and Australia, and more. They were even offering a bonus on part-humans like Naga, and Yigspawn from the Southwest. That could be enough to get Bonaparte into real trouble, if he were greedy enough to try it. At least assuming the simulated authorities were anything like our own.

This wasn’t a guarantee- not every Mystery Play is set in something like our own little stratified Occulture- but given how much of this one seemed to be designed to feed back into the prejudices of a dead magical aristocrat, it was probably the way to bet.

As I was squinting at the list and trying to figure out what might be connected to how Delacourt had died, Lorraine came in as Friday. “Working late, boss? Aren’t you supposed to be over at the Widow Delacourt’s by now?”

I waved the list at her. “Got a possible lead I wanted to go over before I headed that way. And she had a guest earlier I didn’t particularly want to meet- Moran.”

Lorraine arched an eyebrow and took the list.. “The one who broke the door earlier?”

“They’re old friends, apparently. Mrs. Delacourt doesn’t seem to know about Moran’s side gig as enforcer for a crime lord, and I’d rather not get Moran angry by interfering in her personal life.”

“I can’t say as I blame you, boss. What is this list, anyway?”

“Some sort of shopping list of exotic snakes for a guy who really wants to complete the set. And since most of them are illegal to import or actually sapient beings, they’re going to Bonaparte to get them.

“I...see.” Lorraine went over the list. “I still have the numbers of some of our old friends in the act- they’d probably be able to identify likely suppliers for at least some of these and what they do- if any of them are the kind that might make a contract or cause someone to die kidneys first, well, they’d know. Want me to make the calls?”

“Please do. I’ll go ahead and head over to Maclaren’s. Should be back later.”

“Not spending the night again?”

“Not unless the car gets blown up again, and I doubt they’d really try to kill me the same way twice, right?”

In reality, of course, Lorraine wouldn’t be making any calls, but would be following along to lurk around and play bodyguard from the shadows. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be necessary.

I called ahead again, just to be on the safe side, though I was heading over anyway.

“Mrs. Delacourt?”

“Ahh. Mr. Criss!” She sounded odd, though in a slightly different way than before- faintly out of breath. “Are you coming over now?”

“I had been planning to, Should I not?”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just…” She paused. “I’ll be waiting. Remember, you’re allowed to come in the front this time, I’ve already alerted the gate guard so don’t let him be rude to you.”

She was right- the gate guard was at least polite when I got there- he even smiled when he waved me through. As directed, I went through the front entrance, and rang the bell.

Moira answered the door herself, instead of sending one of the servants to do it.. She...hadn’t actually gotten dressed that day, still in the same short robe from that morning...or perhaps she changed back into it, but now it was hanging open in the front. Wardrobe had apparently decided that dark purple and lace were the order of the day, based on what I tried not to directly look at.

She smiled brightly, and I noticed her face was a bit flushed. It gave me something to focus on. “Mr. Criss. I’m so glad to see you.”

“Likewise, Mrs. Delacourt. May I come in?” I was actually wondering if I’d fallen asleep and the Mara had come for a visit. Or maybe this was another glamour and she’d been replaced by the assassin. But if she had been, I’m pretty sure Lorraine would already have acted.

Moira answered by grabbing me by the arm and all but pulling me inside. “Of course. And please, feel free to call me Laura.“ She closed the door behind us, and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek again. I had to duck down to allow it. She whispered into my ear, ”Mr. And Mrs. Sanders have already retired for the evening. We can speak in the drawing room.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

The room she led me to was straight out of an earlier age- meant for multiple people to sit around and talk, no TV, just an restored antique radio, which was probably just for decoration. It didn’t even have an FM band. There were three armchairs and a loveseat crowded around a small table, suitable for holding a seance- and given the givens, it may have been used for just that before.

But it did show signs of having been used recently- the table had a few bottles- wine and harder booze, most of which were empty, as well as a pile of glasses that hadn’t yet been removed by staff. Apparently, she and Simone had been drinking most of the afternoon, which made a few things become clearer, at least.

Moira sat on the loveseat, and patted the seat next to her. I eyed the approach. Under the glamour, I was large enough that it was going to be an extremely tight fit, but Moira was small enough that I could manage. I sat down, and made the mistake I was expected to make. Given the proximity, she wound up pressed against me. I tried not to think about it, even as she squirmed to get more comfortable.

“Mrs Del-” She glared, I restated. “...Laura. Found a few things out in my initial investigation that I figured you should know.”

She looked up at me, eyes half-lidded. “Oh? Do go on, Mr. Criss…” and paused. “Since you’re calling me Laura, can I call you Derek?”

“If you prefer.” I sighed. “So I reviewed the autopsy report- it does look like something magical was done to your husband, but what exactly, I can’t say yet. One is that he had been dying for some time already and had been using magic to stay alive. Another is that he made a deal with something supernatural- a Bargain, they call it in the trade, and in exchange for the damage he suffered to his internal organs that eventually killed him, it gave him...something. And there’s a third possibility that he may have been attacked by something- there’s apparently someone looking to traffic in exotic magical snakes, and some of the things they’re trying to bring in could cause what happened. Does any of that-” she shifted around, and how she was pressing against me changed. I coughed. “Sound familiar? I’m going to just...move over there. This’d be a lot easier to talk about if we can look at each other directly.” I started to stand, and moved over to the chair facing the loveseat instead.

Moira took this opportunity to lounge on it instead of sitting upright, running a hand down her side as she did. I really wanted a look at her stage directions. Possibly to burn them. “Hugo and I..Hugo and I were an arranged marriage, you know. He wanted a legitimate heir, and my family wanted money and had a spare daughter who’d been brought up to be a good wife. But we never did manage to have a child. I went in for so many fertility tests, and experimental drugs and magical treatments. It couldn’t be his fault, of course. So I can see my husband making a deal of some kind for that.”

I considered what to say- the dead man I was pretending to be would just think of this as normal, but I wasn’t him. “I’m sorry. I mean, I can’t imagine going through that.”

She smiled again. “The rich really are different, I suppose, Derek.” She eyed the booze on the table. Oh, I shouldn’t have listened to Bastienne. We talked about you, you know, this afternoon. I made some idle remark about finding you attractive, and she said that I was a free woman now and could do what I liked. And who I liked. And then we were drinking and she kept going on about it and that got me thinking and…I should shut up now.”

I coughed. “Despite the sort of thing you see in novels and old noir films, I generally don’t...uh. Try to sleep with clients. It’s bad business, at least while I’m still on a case.” And given that we were actually co-workers, it seemed like an even worse idea, even if the Mara would intervene before things got too far.

“So maybe, once this is over…” She picked up one of the empty glasses, running a finger around te rim contemplatively.

“Maybe, depending on if you’re still interested. This sort of situation can lead people to make rash decisions, and I don’t want to be one. I’d rather be carefully considered.”

She eyed me over the top of the glass. “Well, I’ll have a few days to consider things, I imagine.”

And that, of course, is when I noticed the red dot jittering across the surface of the glass, glanced towards a nearby window for the source, and jumped up to cover her. “Look out!” I wasn’t sure if this was part of the script or the actual assassin- if it was Lorraine would probably take care of them, depending on where she was lurking. Glass shattered, and I felt a sharp pain blooming in my shoulder.

Moira screamed as I winced. “DEREK!”

I pulled her out of her chair, trying to keep us both out of line of sight and keeping her under cover from the window. “I’ll be fine. I’m tougher than I look.” As near as I can tell, the bullet hadn’t penetrated, which meant they weren’t using anti-troll rounds, but were using real bullets. Which meant the shooter might be our real assassin, or else the boss had told someone they were allowed to go hard, but he did usually warn me first.

I looked back over my shoulder, and there was a shape outside the window. I recognized Lorraine’s silhouette, and she’d caught the killer’s scent by the looks of things, as she almost immediately vanished.

No further shots were forthcoming, but I stayed hunched protectively over Moira for the moment. “Are you okay, Laura? I wasn’t sure who they were aiming at.”

She nodded, now sobered up. “I’m fine now, I think. I...suppose I do feel a bit prescient now, asking you to be my bodyguard for the funeral.”

There was a series of three more shots in quick succession. None came into the room. I looked at Moira, and said, “Stay down. I’m going to check the window. It doesn’t look like they’re shooting at us now. She looked alarmed, but crawled behind the loveseat.

I don’t have the nightvision of my grandmother, who was adapted to the lightless depths of the Ironwood, but I do alright. I could make out Lorraine in the distance, holding a rifle of some kind. The set of her shoulders said she was irritated, and there was no one else in sight, so our invisible sniper had apparently gotten away.

The boss confirmed this a moment later through the subvocal coms.

“Lorraine’s reporting he got away. “He’s a fast little shit,” or so she’s saying. “We’re going to need more script rewrites for this.”

“Is keeping this covered up really worth it? I mean…”

“His family is almost certainly monitoring the feed, so for now we need to maintain the illusion, and the killer is still loose and doesn’t seem to know yet. Speaking of, we’re sending the police over. You’ll go with them and get Lawson to check that bullet out.”

“Fine. But I think we need to at least get some of the rest of the cast in the loop since they’re in the line of fire.” I glanced back towards Moira, still huddling behind the couch.

“You’re probably right.” He sighed. “Okay, fine. We’re doing a staff meeting of the main cast, but we can’t let it spread too far in case our killer finds out.”

“Fair enough. When?”

“Tomorrow, before the funeral scene. It’ll let us all go over script changes this asshole’s forcing us into too.”

“Got it.”

The boss sighed. "At least tonight’s stream will be exciting.”

I hear sirens in the distance, and stepped over to talk to Moira. “Looks like he’s gone. But we should move to a different room, for now.” I offered a hand to help her to her feet, and she stood smoothly, leaning up against me as we left to wait for the cops to arrive.