Veronica’s search for Jones was starting to frustrate her. Frankfort was breathing down her neck and demanding results, but Jones was nowhere to be found. Veronica searched every safehouse that she was privy to, and some of the ones she wasn’t meant to be, yet Jones was wise enough to stay away from WISA property while a wanted man. Her contacts and fellow agents weren’t any help either.

Veronica wondered why she was being assigned this task in the first place. Jones was likely to make a break for the other side of Walser, or maybe even another country, and there wasn’t much she could do about it when he had such a big head-start over her.

Maria was hogging too much of her headspace. That was the problem. Veronica was in her office, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the next step to come to her as if by magic. Dozens of discarded documents lay on her desk, all of them dedicated to the sole purpose of figuring out what WISA knew about Maria.

Not much – it seemed. The only records on Maria were entirely normal. She was designated as a VIP by the WISA threat assessment protocol, being the daughter of an extremely rich and powerful man. The other record was her entry in the mage registry. Grade five, even though both she and Damian didn’t know their arse from their elbow when it came to magic.

There was little that Veronica could do but look through those papers and keep her head down when it came to her work. She didn’t have the luxury of time to worry about Maria. Her services were always in demand and what little free time she had resulted in no real progress towards solving the mystery.

Veronica reminded herself to focus on the job at hand. The consequences for failure could be severe, though not as severe as the ‘good old days’ when insubordination or critical errors would hand you a burn notice and a shallow grave. She found it difficult to believe that some older agents like her thought the organization was too soft now.

The blood, the body – those were the keys to opening up the case. Jones and his masters wanted the body out of the police’s hands. The blood was unusual and gave the killer the strength and endurance to kill an entire armed gang in a street-side massacre. It also gave him the magical strength to half-destroy a home just outside of Church Walk, a skill he showed no signs of having before.

She reconstructed the scene, standing in the morgue with John by her side. There was a faint familiarity in her head. It was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t quite figure out what was causing it. She recalled the conversation, the smell, and the unique way that light reflected from the blood on the table. It was like oil.

It was then and there that Veronica felt the white-hot bolt of revelation shooting through her skull.

She had seen that kind of viscous, tar-coloured blood before.

She’d seen it seeping from the crushed body of a recently summoned Horrcath.

The very same Horrcath that her daughter had killed at the railyard.

Revulsion. Veronica swung her legs over the edge of the bench and stared at the blank wall opposite. It couldn’t be. There was no way that someone could be so foolish and inject themselves with the blood of a demon. The demon’s physical body stuck around unlike the larger one that was summoned at the fort, it was possible.

Yet at the same time – that body was kept at a top-secret location that even Veronica didn’t know about. It would have been under constant armed guard and the information would be kept on a strictly need-to-know basis. If someone were to use that body for this purpose, it would mean that the conspiracy spiralled to the very top of the chain of command.

Veronica leapt from her seat and jogged through the building until she reached Frankfort’s office. She knocked twice as a courtesy before pushing through anyway without waiting for a response. Frankfort almost fell out of her chair at the surprise visit.

“Frankfort! I thought of something!”

Frankfort was taken aback by Veronica’s sudden appearance through her door; “What is it?”

“I believe that I have seen the black blood the coroner talked about once before.”

“Where?”

“The small Horrcath I killed during the mission to retrieve Cambry. When it was crushed by the rail carriage, the blood that came out of it looked a lot like the sort that John found in the killer’s body.”

Frankfort’s reaction to the information was delayed as she thought long and hard about whether it was possible. It never occurred to her. The possibility of someone unqualified entering the containment area and somehow making away with it was extremely low. But if they didn’t need to steal the body itself – then it would be a lot easier.

“You know that information about where that body is kept is top secret. It’s entirely on a need-to-know basis.”

“I understand that; but if Jones is being deployed to run interference by the army ministers, it may suggest that they were the ones who organized this offensive. They would have the clearance to access the body.”

Frankfort exhaled through her nose and narrowed her eyes, “It’s a bold accusation. How would you suggest we support it?”

“Comparing the blood sample taken from the killer’s body against the Horrcath’s would be a start. It may also be prudent to investigate the Horrcath’s body and check how much blood has been drawn from it too.”

“I’ll have to pull a lot of strings to make that happen. I might land us in hot water if your hunch turns out to be incorrect.”

It was a stupid idea, but Veronica had a lot of familiarity with fools of all stripes. She wanted to believe that nobody would be that self-destructive. Reality was happy to hand her a long series of incidents that proved otherwise. If someone thought that there was a benefit to be derived from potentially risking their lives and ingesting demon’s blood – then they’d do it.

“I’m not having any luck finding where Jones went to. I feel like this lead might be our only chance to get ahead.”

Frankfort nodded, “You’re rarely mistaken about these things. I’ll have a frank discussion with one of the interior ministers about the possibility. We have a meeting planned with the civil cabinet later.”

If it did turn out that someone charged with protecting that body was siphoning blood from it, heads would certainly roll and security protocols would need to be updated. The issue was that the ministers would likely play dumb if they were involved, and the military men who ran roughshod over the civilian government would spurn any inquiries by WISA without forceful action.

Frankfort quickly changed the topic; “No luck finding Jones then?”

“No. None at all.”

“Well, if even you can’t find him then none of our other field agents will have a chance. Do you reckon that he’s fled the city?”

“If he’s smart – yes. He could be anywhere in the country by now assuming he decides to take a train.”

“I have watchmen at the station but they haven’t reported back with any sightings. We may have to put finding Bernard off into the future and focus on the other elements of the incident. He can hardly utilise any of our resources or enter the office now that we know he’s working for an outside organization.”

That outside organization being Walser’s very own military command. It wasn’t the first time that they had acted in their self-interest, and it wouldn’t be the last. WISA and the Military had butted heads before. They were willing to justify some very odd projects so long as they felt it advanced the national defence.

What stood out this time was the petty nature of the initial act. Would they dispatch one of their men to kill a handful of gang members in Church Walk? It seemed unlikely. The alternative explanation was that they knew about the man who did it and wanted to have his body to themselves so they could copy the techniques used to empower him. They did have their own intelligence gatherers, some of them were even embedded into WISA...

Another unannounced visitor knocked on the door and opened it without waiting. Veronica turned around in her seat to see what the commotion was about. A breathless field agent named Davis was peeking into the room.

“Frankfort, Gladwell – I just had a police officer run into the lobby and tell me that a gang of miscreants are trying to force their way into the morgue. Gang members, I think.”

Veronica was already standing and ready before Frankfort gave her the order.

“Davis, go with Veronica.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

Davis dipped into his room before they departed, grabbing a shotgun from the rack in his office. All armed and ready to go, they hurried down into the lobby where one of the officers was waiting anxiously for them. Veronica recognized him as one of the people she interviewed about Bernard.

“Take us there. We’ll sort it out,” David ordered.

The officer nodded and led them through the winding streets until they reached the morgue building a few blocks away. Veronica could hear the chaos unfolding before she witnessed it. A large mob of concerned residents were on the road outside of the building. At the front of the push was a group of Church Street gang members wearing their characteristic white clothes.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“When did this start?” Veronica asked.

“They showed up ten minutes ago and started making demands. It was pretty calm until one of them tried to push through the front door. A warning shot made him back off, but they’re riled up now!”

It was likely that at least a few of the gang members were armed with sharp instruments or firearms of their own. They could be equally devastating during a chaotic situation. A small number of the civilians who’d gathered to observe the confrontation backed well away when they noticed the pair of armed WISA agents marching towards the morgue with intent.

Veronica whispered to Davis; “Keep that elephant gun pointing up. Let’s see what’s going on first.”

With that said, Veronica made sure to draw her pistol before making her presence known. They needed to quickly establish control over the area and prevent the mob from escalating the violence to anything more than petty vandalism. Veronica opened her mouth wide and demonstrated why very few of the other agents liked stepping on her toes.

“Alright, you lot! Back away from the steps before I blow another breathing hole into you!”

The citizens were first to heed the order, scattering to the four corners of the block before they joined the other bodies in the morgue. The gang members were naturally more resistant to such threats – but it was simply a way for Veronica to weed them out and keep the agitators out of the way. What she was left with was a group of two dozen burly men, all wearing white sheets beneath their belts or hats made from undyed cotton.

Veronica, Davis and the officer squeezed between a gap and mounted the stairs, taking over the stage and ensuring that her already deafening voice would be heard by all. It wasn’t an ideal place to start a fight, but keeping the doors firmly closed was the main priority.

“Screw off, coppers!”

“Give us the bodies!”

It was an outpouring of misplaced outrage from the assembled group. They wanted the bodies of their fellow gangsters and didn’t care about the consequences. Veronica could feel her mask starting to slip. This was profoundly irritating. Why was she asked to babysit people like this?

“I already told your boss that the bodies were going to be released. Do you think that trying to break into this place is the best solution? I would have thought that the warning shot would be illustrative enough to make you all scram.”

Robert Van Gervan was nowhere to be seen. Either he was keeping an arm’s length from the chaos like a craven joke, or his calls for patience back at Church Walk were falling on deaf ears. The outcome was the same. She had to deal with the crisis as it was and keep them out.

The mob shouted back. It was too muddled for Veronica to hear out any one of them.

“And I made it extremely bloody clear to him that anyone who entered the building would be dead to rights!”

“Piss off, you nosy cow!” the ringleader yelled, “It’s always one rule for you lot, but another rule for us.”

“The rule is the same for everyone,” Veronica replied matter-of-factly, “Trespassing into the morgue building while a criminal investigation is utilising the area is a criminal offence that can earn you four years in jail. Would any of you like to step forward and claim your complimentary spot at the nearest prison?”

“Funny. Real funny.”

“Would you rather that, or simply wait until tomorrow when they’re due to be released?”

His eye darted from the door to the shotgun being held in Davis’ hands, and then back to the door, and then to Veronica – who was putting up a strong front no matter the numeric disadvantage she was forced into.

“Does Van Gervan know that you’re here?” she asked.

He shook his head, “No. This is all us.”

“You think it’s prudent to all gather in one place like this after the incident? Wearing your gang colours, no less.”

The leader scoffed, “I’m not letting a single bloke blemish my pride, woman. Being a Walker means living it for every moment of the day. Ditching our cause is exactly what they want us to do.”

Some cause that was, Veronica murmured internally. Getting into street fights, forcing protection money out of local businesses and robbing others was hardly a noble banner to gather under. The Church Street gang could at least claim that they weren’t involved in selling illegal substances like the others.

The crowd started to condense back towards the building, backing up the gang members with a solid wall of human bodies. Veronica shook her head disapprovingly. The standoff was going to continue like this unless she could convince them to move away from the morgue.

She looked out across the sea of faces and studied them carefully. There was obvious anxiety driving their actions, and a sense of community-based solidarity that made them come out in numbers. Veronica wished that they’d use that will for something more constructive than breaking into a protected area to hold a funeral earlier than they would otherwise be able to.

A figure emerging from the alleyway directly across from the crowd caught her eye. They lingered on the back edge of the chaos, hovering there and keeping their face hidden from sight. What alarmed Veronica was the paleness of their squalid skin. It was just like the body that was recovered from the scene of the crime.

“Hey! Let’s break this up!” Davis yelled, “Disperse! Stop blocking the road!”

Frustrated carriage drivers were starting to back up and clog up the streets next to the morgue. Some of them were hopping down and confronting the people in the way, and those arguments were starting to get increasingly violent, in both words and body language.

A small number of the onlookers did as he asked and backed up onto the sidewalk on either side. The gang members continued to stand stubbornly dead centre on the thoroughfare. Veronica felt anxiety building. The cloaked figure was still waiting, and once they spotted a gap for them to slip through and get close to the Walkers, they did so.

Veronica leapt into action. She descended the steps and approached that same opening to block their way, but it was too late. As she approached a powerful concussive blast knocked her clean from her feet and sent her flying backwards into the stone steps. She grunted as the hard edge dug into her back with enough to force put stress on her spine.

Several other onlookers were sent flying in a similar manner. Helpless bodies were flung to the four corners of the street, and the gang members who previously obstructed the way scattered and tried to run to safety. The figure turned to face them and held out their hand. Davis released the safety on his shotgun and pulled the trigger. A spread of pellets ripped through their cloak and the flesh beneath, knocking them off balance and preventing them from launching a second magical attack.

Veronica willed her battered body to get back up and into the fight. It was painful, but she wasn’t going to sit back and let another attacker kill on her watch. The cloaked figure staggered away, sensing that the situation wasn’t to their advantage – before turning tail and trying to run. All hell broke loose as the civilians tried to flee the area through the congested road.

Davis chambered another round and fired at their back, but besides the new holes torn into the shawl they were wearing, there was no visible sign of it even hitting the target. Veronica finally got her gun’s sights on the attacker, just as they ducked around the corner and out of sight.

“They’re getting away! I put two shots into them!”

“We’re chasing them. Come on!”

Veronica broke out into a sprint, hopping over the curb on the other side of the street and into the alleyway. Davis stuck close as they weaved between the obstacles that had been placed there by the residents and business owners. They broke out onto the other end and checked both sides, but much to Veronica’s astonishment there was no sign of the attacker.

“Where did they go?” she murmured.

David acted fast and approached one of the people who was frozen still by the riotous noise, “Did you see someone in a cloak fleeing?”

They nodded and pointed to the East. Veronica and Davis took off again in search of the criminal, but it was readily apparent to both of them that the window to capture them was narrowing by the second. The trail soon went cold, and they were left to stand on the corner of the block and catch their breath.

“There’s no way they ran that fast,” Davis gasped, “No way. I shot them twice, once in the back. It looked like it didn’t even phase them.”

The shells he was using weren’t dummies or low-power. They were strong enough to take down a wild animal.

“They must have had something to do with our original suspect,” Veronica theorized, “I’m going to report this to Frankfort. Can you go back to the scene and try to find a blood sample on the road?”

“Sure. I’ll keep an eye on the morgue too, and help get those people some medical attention.”

Veronica stretched out and cracked her back with an undignified groan. She was going to have a difficult time sleeping tonight...

----------------------------------------

At that time - across the city in the backroom of a small gentleman’s club, Cedric and Ferrand were once again discussing the particulars of the Church Walk redevelopment project.

“I’m telling you – we’ve made no major progress on any front since last month. Now the local activists are trying to stop us from demolishing certain buildings because they’re ‘historic’ and need preserving. What a load of nonsense. They didn’t care one bit about them before!”

“That’s what those busybodies are like. They pretend to care only when it’s under threat, they get a rush from getting in the way.”

Ferrand was smoking a cigar, as he always did, and filling the member’s only room with a thick cloud of smoke.

Cedric picked at the corner of his eyes and grumbled, “Nothing seems to be going my way lately. Even your moves to be rid of the Church Street gang have fallen flat.”

“I’m not the one making the decisions on that front, and besides, they haven’t started the plan in earnest yet.”

Cedric disagreed. Stabbing a dozen men to death in broad daylight was about as explosive of a start as they could have concocted. The entire city was held in the rapturous grip of the front-page gossip news cycle because of it.

“You told me that it wouldn’t attract any attention. You said it would just be another gang killing like all of the ones that came before it. Not only are the police investigating, but now even WISA is breathing down the back of our necks!” Cedric exclaimed.

Ferrand tried to calm the neurotic noble down; “There’s nothing at all to link any one of us back to those grisly incidents, Cedric.”

Though in truth – Ferrand had been shocked by the sudden onset of violence despite being the one who was supposedly in the know. It was a far bolder act than he was assured would occur originally. Eight or nine men were slain in a single quarter-hour.

“The principle is always the same no matter what we do. We keep our hands clean of it, and allow the pawns to shoulder all of the risk.”

Cedric scowled, “I’m starting to feel like something of a pawn myself. I only wanted a hand in securing this property deal, and you promised a quick and easy way to solve the gang problem. What’s easy or quick about this?”

Ferrand shrugged impassively, “And they told me that they were doing it in return for testing a new method of ‘solving problems.’ Were you expecting a peaceful solution when it came to dealing with a gang of violent thugs? Dare I say that violence is the only language they understand.”

“You weren’t even expecting it. Don’t try to sell me that story of being on board from the start.”

Ferrand averted his eyes and took another puff of his cigar.

“Gerard Verner Welt is the one leading the charge on this. There are a lot of handshake deals going on behind the scenes. He was the one who proposed using his new... project, to deal with the property issue.”

“Welt? That red-faced monarchist?”

“Yes.”

“He’d better not be angling to use this to launch his own little revolution. I can’t think of a faster way for all of us to get marched to the gallows.”

Ferrand refrained from commenting on the company that Cedric chose to keep. He always bristled at the prospect of his friends in the monarchist parties making any movement towards restoring the rightful monarchy.

“Welt is... somewhat unreasonable. He was dead set on finding a way to field test his new scheme, whether it involved you or not. He sees it as a good way to repay you for the information you gave us before, even if Lady Rentree squandered it in strange circumstances.”

“I was considering trying to bribe the idiot in charge.”

“Didn’t you already put an offer on his house?”

“Yes, but raising the offer is only going to make the market more chaotic than it already is. I need to do it under the table and keep the other property owners from knowing.”

“I see. Perhaps a purely punitive strategy isn’t the way to go.”

“Punitive it understating it, by a lot.”

“It is, but you never know who might be listening.”

“Welt won’t listen – but try to make him take a subtler approach to this. I get the feeling that it’s going to cause more harm than good for the project.”

“I’ll relay that to him when next we meet.”

Ferrand snubbed his cigar in the ashtray and smiled with yellowed teeth.