The demon slipped out of the wall at nightfall, sliding slowly toward its obsession without much sound. There was the whispering though, it was always whispering sweet nothings in a low, raspy voice to its obsession as she slept. 

“What a pleasant sight you are,” it hovered over its obsession, gazing at her sleeping face, “So beautifully designed.” Clawed fingers reached to caress her skin but a silver Star of David flashed with light and the demon’s touch was repelled. It snarled its frustration and its obsession began to stir so the demon fled into the space beneath the bed, whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” all the way. Its obsession heard the voice and woke, clutching her sheets tightly as the demon began scratching against the metal frame of the bed.

Its obsession clutched her necklace and prayed. 

She needed help.

#

Former FBI Alienist Dr. Josefine Wolfe left her apartment that day expecting it to pass like every other day had since she’d lost her job, but instead, she found herself a case to feed into her severe addiction to puzzles at her usual cafe. 

Josefine arrived at the cafe—a little Jewish place called Zaftigs Deli located conveniently between her place and the local Bureau office—in time to beat the lunch rush, the collar of her long coat turned up against the wind and the rain and the rim of her hat pulled low over her eyes. In hindsight, Josefine supposed it didn’t matter how close Zaftigs was to the local Bureau office considering they’d politely requested she never come back and she was only there because it was habit by now.

The door closed behind her and Josefine paused to fold the collar of her long coat back down—it was well-worn army green wool but still kept her plenty warm even after years of use—and removed her hat now that she was out of the rain. There was music playing, smooth jazz from a record player somewhere behind the counter almost lost in the sound of rain hitting the windows and the low hum of chatter in the sparsely populated seating area—Josefine supposed the rain had either deterred or slowed all except the most adventurous patrons that day. 

    “Oh, Doc, my favorite customer,” Dubicki waved excitedly from behind the counter before returning his large hands to change out the coffee, “I have beans from Brazil today.” Josefine inhaled quietly, the scent registering as fresh grounds before she returned his smile with a very convincing one of her own; Dubicki’s love of coffee meant Josefine had a good supplier for her addiction to the stuff. “How are you today? It has been a while, yes?”

    “Good, good,” she approached the counter in two long strides, “better now I get to have your coffee,” she spoke with the same charming lilt to her words she always used when she cared about appearing normal. Dubicki laughed, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his belly; it was almost enough to distract Josefine from the dark chuckle in the back of her mind. 

    “Your regular then?” She nodded slightly, taking in his collection of coffee presses on the shelf behind him while she waited for him to finish up so that she could hand him the dime for her first cup of coffee and a refill later. His customer service smile never wavered and the coin quickly disappeared into the register. “I’ll send Maggie right over with it.”

    “Thank you,” Josefine turned her attention toward the chairs and tables arranged almost haphazardly across the open space, resisting the impulse to straighten them with her hands deep in her coat pockets as she made her way to her usual table by the window in the corner.

People watching, she’d always called it when her overactive sense of paranoia made her hypersensitive to the movements and voices of the people around. 

Wolf—the Monster in her head—usually laughed when she got like that as if it found her amusing.

Josefine continued to ignore it as the dark thing chuckled in the back of her head while she surveyed the other patrons with an analytical eye. Then Margaret “Maggie” Bates approached with a steaming mug of Dubicki’s latest experimental blend black as night. Josefine took the mug and napkin with a quiet thanks and Bates hurried on, uncharacteristically quiet and rushed despite the lack of customers, as if working to keep her mind off something, but that suited Josefine just fine; she wasn’t exactly in the mood to listen to idle chatter when she was too busy itching for a complex puzzle or some other way to distract herself from Wolf’s more violent inclinations. 

To Wolf, normal humans were little more than fragile playthings.

Josefine started to set the mug down on the napkin after the first sip of too-hot coffee, but neat handwriting scrawled stark on the paper made her pause. Please help me, it read in familiar, normally bubbly handwriting full of fear now, so she turned it over, looking for more information and finding none before her brow furrowed and she looked again at Bates. Josefine watched her, tucking the napkin into an inside coat pocket with her notepad before taking another sip of the coffee and studying Bates in a way she usually didn’t bother with unless it was for a case.

#

    An extra 15¢ of coffee later and it was midafternoon as Bates’s shift came to an end. At that point, Josefine had come to the conclusion Bates was incredibly sleep-deprived—forgetting orders she’d just written down, stifling yawns, occasionally stumbling around chairs and the like—and terrified of something—someone dropped a plate in the kitchen earlier in the day and Bates had looked about to go through the roof. She said her goodbyes to Dubicki and the rest of the staff but lingered as if she wasn’t keen on going home. Then she saw Josefine still at her table and approached slowly.

    “You’re still here?” Bates sounded legitimately surprised as if she’d expected her plea for help to be ignored.

    “Of course I am,” Josefine schooled her mask into her best impression of concern as Bates took the seat across from her, “you asked me for help.” She set the napkin on the table between them, tapping a finger on the writing while Wolf chuckled at the display. 

    “You just want to know what the puzzle is.” She took another sip of her coffee and ignored the Monster as she watched Bates swallow hard on whatever was bothering her. Bates wrung her hands a moment before she met Josefine’s gaze; it was an admirable attempt, Josefine tapped out two whole seconds before Bates had to look away again. 

It didn’t matter much to her, Josefine was used to no one holding her gaze by now as if some subconscious, instinctual part of them could see Wolf there in the grey fog.

    “There…” Bates took a deep breath as Josefine returned the note to her inside coat pocket again, waiting to see whether Bates would win her struggle to speak the problem aloud, “There is something under my bed every night.” She’d already had her curiosity, but those words and the way she’d phrased them had Josefine sitting up straighter in her chair and leaning forward with rapt interest. “I went to the police, but the coppers just accused me of hysterics and that it was just in my head.”

Josefine swallowed hard on the rather vivid memory of nearly drowning while sealed into a tub of ice water and the involuntary chill that settled into her bones.

“But it’s real, I swear.” Bates’s oath sounded rather a lot like her own, one she’d screamed until her voice was raw so many times she’d rather not count, so she shook out of the memories in favor of analyzing Bates’s sincerity, reading her while she weighed the possibilities. 

Josefine knew far more about hallucinations than she usually cared to consider. 

There were dark circles beneath Bates’s blue eyes; the light makeup where she’d no doubt tried to hide them, and wringing her hands together didn’t hide the evidence she’d been picking at her nails so Josefine swallowed down her skepticism and leaned forward to rest her arms on the table because, at the very least, Bates was convinced there was something and it’d cost Josefine nothing but the time of which she’d recently found herself with a surplus to at least look into it. 

Wolf scoffed at the excuse.

    “How do you know?” Bates flinched, her expression twisting into frustration and disappointment for a moment so Josefine considered how to soften the question; she’d never been good about abandoning puzzles once she knew about them and her curiosity had been piqued, she wanted answers now maybe as much as Bates did.

That’d been one of her other problems at the Bureau.

“Details, I mean, things you can’t write off as coincidence,” Josefine clarified.

    “Som—Sometimes I get home and…” Bates squeezed her hands tight as if to stop the tremors as she swallowed; her blue eyes were a little wet and red-tinged and briefly, Josefine hoped she wouldn’t start crying, “And things are missing, private things, like jewelry, brushes, makeup, or…” she leaned close enough to whisper, short curled blonde hair falling forward in an uncharacteristically disheveled look, “or undergarments.” She sat back in her chair again, taking a moment to look out the window and watch the rain run down the glass. “At night I hear it whispering to me,” a dry, humorless laugh escaped her lips, “it is a mercy I can never quite make out the words, I think.” Josefine tented her fingers together, gaze slipping out of focus as she internally reviewed what Bates had told her and compared it to cases she’d handled or at least studied in the past, looking for similarities and statistics, patterns of habit that might help her determine how to proceed. Her fingers drummed for a moment before she decided she wanted a better idea of what the scene looked like.

    “Would you mind if I came home with you to take a look?” Relief flooded her face at the question and, finally, Bates seemed to relax even if it was only a little.

    “Would you really?” A bright smile broke over her face so Josefine finished off her coffee, “Oh, that would be just berries.” They rose from their seats and Josefine gestured for her to lead the way as she pulled her long coat back on and returned her hat to her head. 

#

    Bates’s apartment was small, just enough space for a kitchenette with her bed and a dresser tucked behind a screen and a closet-sized bathroom off one side, but Josefine could guess the place was cheap enough Bates got it all to herself, which wasn’t all that common there in the island city of Otsha even with the smaller population compared to other cities. Josefine paused in the doorway to study the lock, looking for the telltale signs of a break-in, her head cocked almost unconsciously to one side in thought when she found a lock and deadbolt that looked almost new.

    “When did you get the locks changed?” Bates looked back to where she’d paused, wringing her hands together again in what Josefine was starting to think was a nervous habit, though she couldn’t quite be sure if it was at her presence or at being in the apartment.

    “About a week ago, one of the officers recommended it,” she paused, “that older Irishman you meet for coffee sometimes,” Bates trailed off, trying to remember the name. “Finn something—he did the work for me.”

    “Finnén MacNéill?” Her eyes lit up. 

    “Yeah, that’s right. He was real nice about it too.” Considering Finn made his living breaking locks and cracking safes for the Irish mob, Josefine suspected he probably made a copy of the key for “safe keeping” and made a mental note to get it from him tomorrow.

    “So this started more than a week ago?” Bates nodded slightly, relaxing slightly when Josefine finally came inside and closed the door behind her, though she remained tense; Josefine supposed it was the apartment making her skittish, then.     

    “Such a naive little creature,” Wolf’s voice echoed in her head with a twisted sort of amusement to its tone, “can she not see how much blood there is staining your hands? To trust a killer like you.” Josefine didn’t look down at her hands despite its coaxing, she already knew she’d find them stained with blood that wasn’t there, it’d shown her that image enough times she sometimes thought the doctors were right.

    “‘Better the devil you know’,” Josefine quoted the words back to it under her breath, earning a deranged laugh from the darkness that faded into a low chuckle as she continued further inside to crouch beside the bed. The bed was low enough that it’d be a tight squeeze for most adults if they could get down there in the first place, especially as they got older, so that put a rough cap on the age range for whoever it might be. Could be a ghost of some sort, the thought flickered through the back of her mind quickly, would explain how it got in even after the locks had been changed. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time Josefine had determined a stalker to be of the restless dead variety, though it was a bit out of her wheelhouse. 

She dropped down, shifting her long coat out of the way as she lay flat on the floor to peer into the dark beneath the bed. 

No holes, no loose floorboards when she reached out to check.

Scuff marks though.

Black, from the rubber sole of a shoe.

Josefine shifted to look at Bates’s shoes—black oxfords with black rubber soles.

Scuff marks were probably from her then.

She looked back under, pressing her hand to the underside of the bed and making a mental note of what felt like scratches in the rough iron frame and shredded fabric on the underside of the mattress. 

A shiver, like cold fingers, ran down her spine. 

    “What’s wrong?” Bates asked, a mix of anxiety and hope in her expression when Josefine climbed to her feet.

    “Just collecting information,” Josefine spoke as she dusted herself off, glancing out the skylight at the quickly fading daylight, “Would you mind if I stayed here for the night? I can sleep in one of the chairs,” she gestured toward the solid wooden chairs at the small table in the kitchenette; there would be no sleep in such chairs, but considering the situation, that was for the best, “then you can stay with me until we get this figured out for you, we can head there in the morning.” Bates looked like she might start crying at the suggestion and Josefine swallowed hard as she found herself praying she didn’t; she wasn’t religious but she didn’t know how to deal with people crying, that level of emotion was far beyond her understanding.

    “Thank you, Doc,” Bates instead did one of the handfuls of other things she doubted she would ever understand, rushing forward to wrap her in a hug, “I was so frightened.” Josefine stiffened under the contact, a small, instinctual part of her still expecting pain to come with it even after so many years. Bates seemed far less tense now that she’d been offered a solution, it was basic psychology when she thought about it; given the situation, Bates was bound to be relieved—and likely equally as trusting—around anyone who offered her hope. 

Maybe it was good she’d asked her, Josefine had nothing to gain from ripping her off regardless of how easy a mark she’d be.

    “She offered a puzzle,” Wolf laughed as Josefine extracted herself from Bates’s grip, “you would not trade a puzzle for anything.” Josefine ignored its voice, focusing instead on the night ahead. 

#

It was dark that night, storm clouds still hanging over Otsha even if the rain had died down to a drizzle for the time being. Josefine sat wrapped in her coat with her hands stuffed into the pockets and legs crossed at the ankles still wide awake thanks to years of long nights and Wolf’s near-constant chatter; she’d started humming Gjendines Bånsull at some point to distract it. There was a sound from beyond one of the walls, enough for Josefine to pause in her humming, but not clear enough for her to quite recognize what or where even as she listened closely. Whatever it was didn’t move again for a long time, long enough that she suspected it might have simply been someone shifting in their sleep in one of the apartments on either side. 

The walls were thin there, after all, she could break into either side with little more necessary than a penknife.

A shadowy figure crossed her line of sight and Josefine went very still and very quiet, almost holding her breath.

Then the scratching started, like nails against rough iron and fabric. The room felt colder, and she shivered as she hunkered down in her coat debating whether or not to investigate the sound; she hadn’t seen anything come in but the space beneath the bed seemed impossibly dark then, life there was something under there made of darkness. 

“How can you abandon our future together?” Josefine heard the whispering Bates had mentioned as well, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” she couldn’t make out all of it, “Such beautiful eyes, so blue. Can I pluck out your eyes?” but the snippets she caught left her unsettled. She exhaled through her teeth as she realized she’d been holding her breath. She’d have to pay a visit to Raven’s Roost in the morning.

#

    It was quiet the next morning despite Bates’s hurry to leave once she had packed a few necessities. Josefine was quick to move out into the hall, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the wall beside the door to wait. It was still early when she checked her watch, enough so there was a part of her trying to tell her she needed to be getting ready for work. 

Another part of her—the still relatively fresh scar on the side of her abdomen that seemed to itch with the still stormy weather—remembered quite keenly that regardless of how she felt on the matter, this was the closest she had to work for the time being. 

Wolf snickered as Josefine exhaled smoke and folded an arm across herself to press that hand firmly to her abdomen over the scar too high on that side to be comfortable, but at least the itch was dulled somewhat with the pressure. 

An odd feeling washed over her as she continued waiting—the kind that sent a chill down her spine and set the hairs at the back of her neck standing on end.

—the kind that had Wolf on high alert in the dark.

    “Watching,” its voice came as a low growl, barely recognizable as Josefine’s still as the other voices distorted and echoed the word in the cavernous void of its home and Josefine felt herself tense, lingering on the edge of fight or flight as she listened closely to her surroundings. She was waiting, trying to pinpoint the source of the feeling without giving away that she knew they were there. Floorboards creaked on all sides, various tenants moving inside their apartments to prepare for the day, but that was all Josefine heard for a long while, long enough she was starting to relax—to hush Wolf and her own paranoia. 

The door to 2C shifted in the corner of her eye, the hinges groaning just loud enough in the quiet and she looked toward it to find a young man hidden mostly behind the door. He stared at Josefine with curiosity and something else she couldn’t quite place in his expression when she met his gaze. 

Another low, rumbling growl echoed from the dark in her head and Josefine almost agreed with it as his gaze shifted pointedly to her nose; he’d seen Wolf it seemed. 

He was suntanned and likely younger than his weathered skin made him look from what she could tell through the gap in the door. 

Another door opened and closed behind her, the one at the end of the hall marked 2E, as Josefine took another drag on her cigarette. A short, mousy man with thick glasses entered her peripheral vision and stopped when he saw her face. 

    “Morning Doc.” Josefine glanced in his direction and realized how they knew each other. 

    “Calabrese.” Calabrese was a bookie for the Italians, small-time but she’d had to haul him in a handful of times before she’d moved over to violent crimes.

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“It—It’s a bit early for a raid today, right?” Apparently, Josefine still scared him because he didn’t even try to meet her gaze. 

“Maggie asked me to come by.” That was enough to coax 2C out of his apartment into the hall with them and Calabrese seemed almost to deflate as he exhaled his relief. 

“Is she—Is everything alright?” 2C’s voice came low and thick with something Finnish. Josefine eyed him, taking a drag on her cigarette to by herself some time to look him over again now that he wasn’t hiding behind the door; he was lean but well-muscled with thick calluses on his hands—hard labor in all likelihood, smuggling, maybe—would explain his relief that she wasn’t there in an official capacity. 

“She’s fine,” Josefine exhaled smoke and ignored Wolf’s snicker at the blatant lie, “she’s coming to stay with me for a while.”

“Why?” 2C asked, showing more interest than Josefine felt was normal for neighbors. 

“How long have you been in the building…?” She answered his question with one of her own.

“Klaus Bernstein.” Josefine nodded, filing the information away while still fully intending to never use the name. “I moved in a few weeks ago, why?” She made another mental note because the timelines matched.

“You seemed to really care about her,” too much, she kept to herself, “so I thought I’d ask.” 

“I’m surprised she asked you,” Calabrese broke his silence, Italian lilting over his words, and Josefine almost flinched as she realized he was still standing there, “normally she asks that boyfriend of hers if she needs help,” Calabrese nodded toward Bates’s door. 

“She’s told me about him a few times,” Josefine tapped her index finger against her side as she took a moment to recall the information when she’d only been half-listening at the time, “Eugene Żukowski, right?” He nodded, snapping his fingers in recognition. 

“That’s right. I haven’t seen him around in a while though.” Josefine hummed in thought at the comment. 

“They split up a few weeks ago.” Calabrese and Josefine looked at 2C in surprise when he spoke up, “They were arguing the day I moved in, I remember because he bumped into me when he stormed off.” He pulled a face, “He seemed a bit obsessive, she’s probably better off without him.” Josefine made a note to ask Bates about the breakup and to get in touch with Żukowski for his side of the story.

“Thank you for your time,” she bid them both farewell as she heard Bates approach the door. 

#

    Josefine’s apartment was once part of the offices on an old factory floor, with two little offices off one larger space with a desk in one corner and a kitchenette in the one across. She’d been using the second office mostly as storage while Neirin Elisedd—her self-proclaimed older brother—was out of town, which was most of the time. She asked Bates about the break with Żukowski while the two of them moved the table and a couple of mostly empty filing cabinets out into the open space near her desk so that Bates could get settled in.

    “Oh, we stopped seeing each other a few weeks ago,” Bates flashed a strained smile, “I think perhaps, we knew each other too well, there was no… magic left.” If not knowing a person was the source of ‘magic’, Josefine doubted she’d ever be in a relationship, but rather than dwell on that too long, she kept her focus on the case at hand.

    “Would you make a list of the things that have gone missing from your apartment recently?” She paused as she straightened out the last filing cabinet so that it was lined up with the others, “Once you get settled, of course.”

    “Yes, anything you need,” Bates sounded distant, so Josefine looked up again to find her checking her watch. “Are you alright for time or am I making you late for work?” Josefine looked away, humming quietly to herself as if thinking it over as her fresh scar ached. 

She remembered coming back from medical leave “too soon”—after the same amount of time that would’ve been assigned for a male agent with the same stab wound, an injury that takes the same amount of time for her to heal from as it would a man regardless of her being of “the fairer sex” and regardless of her supervisor’s opinion on the matter. 

In hindsight, “breeze off, buttons,” was probably the wrong thing to say to him when he told her to make him some coffee instead of doing her research on cult practices, but Josefine was beginning to think they were never going to get along no matter how good she was at her job. 

    “I’ll give you a ride to work,” she shook off the thought and reached for her long coat as she changed the subject, “I’d like to speak with Dubicki.” It was a lie, but she’d think of something to speak with him about on the way to Zaftigs Deli. The worry didn’t leave Bates’s face but she pulled on her coat and got ready to leave anyway. 

#

    Another storm was rolling in just as Bates and Josefine reached Zaftigs Deli, the rain just beginning to fall as Josefine opened the door for her. Dubicki looked up from checking the register as the bell over the door rang, a bright smile on his face.

    “Ah, good morning Maggie,” the Polish was thicker in his accent now—Josefine suspected he deliberately toned it down around customers, “and Doc, what brings you so early?” She waited, keeping grey eyes trained on Bates as Bates eyed her on her way around the counter before she disappeared into the back. 

    “Bates’s staying with me at the moment while I look into something for her,” she leaned on the counter and lowered her voice, keeping an eye on the doorway into the kitchen just in case, I need to ask if you’ve seen anyone loitering around the shop or the street outside lately?” Josefine figured it was good information to have before she went to Raven’s Roost to ask about what the thing under Maggie’s bed was. “It probably would’ve started a few weeks ago.” Worry robbed the smile from his lips as he studied her as if gauging how serious the question was. 

    “No, not that I’ve noticed,” he paused, setting the money he’d been counting aside, “Is everything alright?” Josefine hesitated; it wasn’t her place to say what was going on.

    “Since when did you care where your place is?” Wolf shifted in the dark and she closed her eyes for a moment against the impending headache its renewed pressure would bring before she looked up at Dubicki again. 

    “Everything will be fine, I’m probably just being overcautious,” she glanced up as Bates came out again and went to straighten out tables and chairs for the day, waiting until she was out of earshot again to continue, “keep an eye on her for me while she’s here?” Dubicki nodded his agreement without hesitation. 

“That girl is like my own blood, you don’t have to worry while she’s here.” A con artist’s smile spread across her lips as Josefine straightened up. 

“Thank you,” she flipped her collar up against what looked like driving rain outside, “I’ll be back when her shift is over.”

#

Raven’s Roost bookstore was closed that day, as it usually was when storms rolled through, but Josefine let herself in with the key she’d been given a long time ago for just such occasions. She locked the door again behind her before passing the shelves overstuffed with books to climb the stairs up into the living space above the shop. The floors and walls were painted with various seals and sigils he’d once tried to explain to Josefine, though she didn’t quite understand most of it even as she remembered. Then she went up the roof access and found herself inside a greenhouse built with runes in the metal frame and magic in the glass panes. Emilius Solomon sat on a bench a few feet away, among the healthy plants growing on the tables that filled the space. 

“Solomon.” Emil tore his blue eyes away from the storm to meet her gaze. 

The eyes, they say, are the windows to the soul. 

This held especially true for those with talents in divination magics—those like Emil. The talent made him different from any other in Josefine’s small circle of those she might, on a good day, call friends; while others might glimpse Wolf in her eyes and know something was off about her on instinct alone, Emil could look inside and see Wolf and know there really was something inhuman living in her head.

He still didn’t hold her gaze for long, not since he’d first seen the Monster in her head, a void black lupine creature with too many eyes and a too-wide curling mouth filled with too many teeth like razors; he’d heard Wolf laugh once and that’d been enough for him.

He didn’t question Josefine’s methods for keeping the Monster quiet either, not when she was so very careful and methodical about who she picked; Emil grew up in post-Great War Germany where things were desperate and his family valued strength of magic over rights or ethics. 

His grandfather had instilled in him from a very early age that some people, the world is simply better off without and Emil had learned that lesson well even if his criteria differed from what he’d been taught.

“‘Solomon’.” He repeated, a soft German accent lilting over his words, “this is about work then?” Josefine shrugged.

“Sort of?” She paused, debating, “I’m doing a favor for someone.” Emil raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t question it. 

“What brings you to me?” Josefine moved to sit beside him on the bench, taking note of the static field coming off of him at the moment; storms made his magic a little haywire whenever they passed through and she could feel it coming off him in waves. 

“Demon, I think,” she flashed a grim smile, “it’s not my area of expertise so I thought I’d come see you.” Emil exhaled through his teeth.

“You sure?”

“Almost certain.” 

“Describe it.” Josefine thought back on what she’d heard that night at Bates’s and shivered.

“I only saw a shadow, but I heard it scratching at the underside of the bed and whispering… sweet nothings,” the way she said it made it clear the whispers hadn’t been sweet at all. He rubbed at the scruff along his jaw as he thought it over.

“I’d have to check my books to be certain, but it sounds like a demon of obsession.” He said after a moment. 

“Do you know how to get rid of it?” 

“Break the contract,” he paused, flexing his fingers as lightning laced overhead and static crackled across his scarred hands, “whoever summoned it will have a mark of some kind.” A dry laugh escaped Emil’s lips, “The problem with demons is everyone learns how to summon them, they don’t learn how to banish them and demons don’t listen to anyone for long.” Josefine made a note in her little notepad about the mark.

“And in the meantime? Is there a way to keep it away from her while I look for whoever summoned it?” She paused, thinking back on some of the things she’d read recently, “Would salt work? Or sage?” A grin split across Emil’s face as he glanced in her direction again, waiting while thunder and lightning crashed overhead before he replied.

“You’ve been studying,” the delight was clear in his voice, “how did that go over at work?” Josefine’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“It didn’t, I had a… falling out with my supervisor.”

“‘A falling out’?” He sounded like he didn’t quite believe her.

“He told me to make him some coffee,” she shrugged, “so I told him to breeze off.” Emil started laughing then, taking a moment before it’d died down enough he could reply. 

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” He didn’t question her further. “Your… client is staying where?” 

“Neirin’s room,” Josefine raked her fingers through her hair, “well, I guess it’s Bates’s room at the moment.”

“I’ll come by later and set up protection for her room, that should keep it away from her long enough for you to figure out who summoned it.”

“Thank you,” she smiled briefly, “I know you don’t like coming out during storms.” Emil waved her off as she stood to leave. 

#

    Eugene Żukowski worked as a manager at Epsom Shipping last Josefine had heard from Bates, so her next stop of the day was their headquarters near the docks to get his side of the story on their breakup. She stopped at a door marked Żukowski and raised a fist to knock when the woman at the desk nearby called out to her.

    “Are you here to see Mr. Żukowski?” Josefine lowered her hand.

    “Yes, I don’t have an appointment, but it’s an important matter,” she trailed off as the secretary waved dismissively at the thought.

    “We’re not so busy we need appointments, it’s just that Mr. Żukowski is out of town on business at the moment.” A frown flickered across Josefine’s lips. 

    “How long has he been gone?” The woman hummed in thought before reaching out to flip back through the event planner at the corner of her desk.

    “A few weeks now it looks like. It’s taken longer than it usually does this time, but then he was in a pretty foul mood before he left.” Josefine approached the desk.

    “Do you have any idea why?”

    “Well,” the woman leaned forward and glanced around for anyone listening in, “the rumor is his girl left him right when he proposed.” Josefine nodded slightly; if the office gossip was right, then Bates had probably downplayed their breakup.   

“Thank you,” Josefine scribbled out her name and phone number on a page in her notepad and tore it out to pass over, “Would you please have Żukowski contact me once he’s back in town?” The secretary scanned over the page and tucked it into the event planner.

#

    Finnén MacNéill was Josefine’s next stop of the day. It took some asking around in the right circles but eventually, someone was able to point the way for her. Pluto’s was one of the Irish’s places, a speakeasy underneath Pluto’s Hardware and Accessories where the ‘Accessories’ referred to the liquor. Josefine approached the underground bar as if she belonged, and maybe part of her did considering how much time she’d spent growing up working back rooms at places just like it. 

“Little early, but what can I getcha?” The bartender barely looked up from wiping glasses down before open when she leaned on the glossy wood.

“I’m looking for Uncle Finn.” That got his attention but based on the confusion twisted across his face, not the way Josefine had intended.

“You lost your uncle here? Sorry lass, I cannae help you with that one.” She nodded slowly as she realized where the problem lay.

“His name is Finnén MacNéill,” she pressed the matter despite the wary look he wore now, “I’m in need of a locksmith, see?”

“I thought I told you to call me Uncle Finn.” Josefine turned at the voice just in time for Finnén MacNéill—a solid man with a rough goatee—to sweep her up into a tight hug. “How’s my favorite niece doing?” The brogue was thick in his accent and his voice warm—this, she’s been told, is what family is meant to feel like, so she at least managed a believable laugh and a soft smile.

“I thought I was your only niece,” there was a teasing lilt to her words as he set her back on her feet and she earned a hearty laugh.

“Manhattan’s in today, did you want to come say hello?”

“No, I’m here on business I’m afraid. I heard you changed the lock for one Margaret Bates a couple of weeks ago, wanted to come and thank you for helping out a friend of mine.” Uncle Finn raised an eyebrow at the words; he’d known Josefine since she was a kid—he probably knew she wasn’t just there to say thanks and she didn’t exactly have much in the way of friends.

“You’re here about the spare, aren’t you?” she nodded slightly and he sighed, shaking his head, but the smile never left his face, “A’ight little lass, you know me too well. I’ll get your friend’s key for you.”

“Thank you very much.”

#

Emil let himself into Josefine’s apartment with a quick spell to unlock the four deadbolts on the door, static shocking across his ring in the process. He rounded the partition into the main part of the apartment and came to an abrupt halt; Josefine always wore her sleeves down to her wrists no matter how hot the weather got and now he couldn't help but suspect he knew why. She leaned over the table that took up most of the room, long sleeves rolled up for once to reveal pale skin patterned by far too many scars like someone had carved into her flesh with purpose, faded some with age, but still clear even from where he stood. 

Josefine seemed to feel his eyes on her because she paused in her sorting through papers, seeming to hesitate a moment before she took a deep breath. 

“They’re gifts from my mother…” her voice was soft and matter of fact despite the bitterness one might expect from her words and she spoke without looking up at him, “My father’s are mostly on my back.” Emilius swallowed hard as he realized this little piece of information explained a lot about her including, he suspected, her severe aversion to physical contact. She said nothing more on the matter and he expected she would appreciate no further questions. 

“I’ve come to set up protections.” Josefine finally looked up when Emil broke his silence, grey eyes skating over the wooden briefcase in his hand.

“What happened to the keys I gave you?” He flinched, Josefine was one of the few people with the innate ability to read magic, so she probably knew how he’d gotten in and had already come to the conclusion he’d lost his keys to her place.

“They’re around,” he began slowly, soft German lilting over the words, “I’m just not sure where.” Josefine hummed quietly as if to say she didn’t really believe him but let it go anyway. “Which room is Miss Bates staying in?” She pointed to the room on the right as she took a sip of her coffee. Emil didn’t actually care which room was which, he planned to place protections in both because even if Josefine wasn’t the target, he didn’t want to risk the demon taking it out in her when it couldn’t reach Bates.

#

Josefine looked up from her notes—the papers spread neatly across the table—when she smelled sage. Emil was just finishing up in Bates’s room and started to open hers with his tool kit still in hand.

“Emil,” she broke the silence and he flinched, though his hand still lingered near the knob, “that’s my room.” He turned to face her, taking a deep breath before meeting her gaze.

“I’d like to do your room too.” He held her gaze, even when Josefine had started her unconscious tapping—counting the seconds, “Demons can be unpredictable and I'd rather not risk it taking it out on you when it can't get to Miss Bates.” He made a good point, or at least it sounded like a good point when Emil was the expert in that field.

“Alright,” Josefine said after thinking it over for a moment, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” and with that, he turned the handle and went inside. He was back a moment later with one of her shirts, distinctive red staining the fabric. “Is this blood?” She looked up from her coffee to see what he meant.

“It’s not mine.” Emil looked down at the shirt.

“Oh you're right, the stain is all wrong,” he breathed a sigh of what Josefine assumed was relief, “I saw the blood and thought you'd been stabbed again.” She took the shirt from him, setting her coffee aside.

“I’ll deal with this while you work.” Emil started to return to his task but paused, checking his watch—an antique pocket watch in silver, harder for haywire magic to break it that way.

“Would you like to have lunch with me once we're both finished?”

“Dubicki’s?” Emil smiled.

“That would be fine.”

“Alright, I'll be quick,” Josefine set about treating the bloody shirt with peroxide and scrubbing it clean.

#

Still smelling of sage and peroxide, Josefine and Emil ducked into Zaftigs Deli out of the rain. Dubicki looked up from ringing up another customer and his smile bloomed from customer service to delight.

“Doc,” he said as the other patron left and Josefine approached the counter, “I get to see you twice today? And you brought your friend,” he turned to Emil, “Your name was Emilius, yes?”

“Emil is fine,” Emil said, a little on edge now that he knew Dubicki remembered him from his last visit.

“Go ahead and choose a table, I'll send Maggie over with menus.”

“Thank you,” Josefine said before taking off her has as they made their way to her usual table in the corner.

“I didn't think he'd remember me,” Emil said as they pulled out their chairs, hanging his overcoat and scarf over the back of his. His sleeves were rolled up beneath the coat and almost in a mirror of Josefine, pale scars patterned his skin like lightning burns up from his palms. Josefine could feel the static of dormant magic even across the table. 

“He’s good with names,” she paused, “Are you going to be alright?” Emil started to ask with what so she raised her fingers and brushed along the edge of the worst of the static.

Emil shivered.

“Don’t do that again and I'll be fine.” Josefine flashed an innocent smile and sat back, folding her hands together.

“Oh, Doc,” Bates sounded cheery as she approached the table with menus, “Did you come for lunch? Who's your friend?” Josefine’s smile vanished without a trace as she straightened up in her chair.

“Maggie, this is Solomon, he's helping me with your problem.” Bates beamed at the words.

“Really? Thank you so much Mr. Solomon.” Emil for his part looked a little overwhelmed by her energy.

“N—No, it's alright.” He shrank a little in his chair and tucked his hands under the table as if to hide.

“I’ll give you two a couple of minutes to look over the menu but while I have you, my shift ends in an hour, would you mind giving me a lift home, Doc?” Josefine was focused on the menu in her hands and barely looked up at Bates’s question.

“We walked,” she spoke distantly, “but yes, I planned to walk home with you.” Bates looked mildly disappointed for a brief moment—it was a long walk from Zaftigs Deli to Josefine's apartment, especially in the rain—but she recovered quickly.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” and Bates took off back to work, leaving them to their menus.

#

Josefine stood against the wall by the arch into the kitchen of Zaftigs Deli waiting for Bates to finish up closing. She heard Bates humming in the back and looked, stopping when something caught her eye in Dubicki’s office.

“Shiny,” Wolf whispered from the dark and Josefine straightened up, glancing toward the kitchen to make sure no one would see before she crept inside. One wall was lined with shelves packed with various coffee presses, grinders, and brewers in an eclectic collection. The light shined off of various metals but what had drawn Josefine's interest was a small earring—gold petals around a pearl center—that matched one of the items on Bates’s list of missing things.

Dubicki was a good man.

But then, people said that about Josefine, too.

“Doc?” Josefine didn't get to think much more on it before Dubicki was there at the door, “What are you doing in here?” She lifted the earring, spinning it between her fingers.

“Why do you have one of Bates’s earrings?” His brow furrowed and he looked at the earring.

“Is that who it belongs to? I found it on the floor one day, it looked expensive so I hung onto it in case someone came back for it.” If Dubicki was lying, he was quite impressive at it because as far she could tell, he was telling the truth.

“Oh, Doc,” Bates stopped outside the office door, “what are you and the boss talking about?”

“Nothing,” Josefine held out the earring, “he found this here.” Just to be sure, she watched Dubicki as Bates thanked him and came to get the earring from her—he looked at Bates with affection, but it seemed more like normal parent and child affection than anything touching on obsession.

Josefine hoped she had an accurate read of the relationship.

Wolf laughed at her.

#

A couple of days passed and Emil’s protections held up well. Josefine had been attacked only once when she’d come home late from Żukowski’s place only to end up with three deep scratches down her back. To be fair, when she checked in her broken mirror, they blended in with the scarred welts from a leather belt. The next day she and Bates returned to the apartment to find scratches around both doors and on the floor in front of them like something had dug in with sharp claws. There was a knock at the door and Bates let out a tiny shriek before Josefine went to answer, her hand lingering near the pistol in her shoulder holster. When she looked, it was one of her neighbors so she released the pistol before opening the door. 

“Hiya Jo,” he lifted a hand in a wave, “I got a message for you from Epsom Shipping. Little lady said Mr. Żukowski is back in town.” Josefine took the note he offered her, glancing it over.

“Thank you.”

“You went to talk with Eugene?” Bates joined her at the door as she closed it. 

“To get his side of the story, yes.” Bates looked a little insulted at that, but it was the truth. “I’m going to visit his office again now that he's back.” Josefine was gone before Bates could protest.

#

Josefine was at Bates’s place. She'd spoken with the secretary at Epsom Shipping and visited Żukowski's house with no luck so she'd followed a hunch to Bates's door. The spare key from Finn got her in the door and she stopped dead in her tracks. Under the bed bent and broken in the too-small space was a man matching the description of Eugene Żukowski. His limbs were bent at odd angles, the skin peeled up in places where he'd been forced against the bed's frame, and his expression was frozen in a look of horror and pain.

Josefine closed the door behind her and approached the body, careful not to step in any blood. Then she followed the trail to where it disappeared into the middle of the wall and felt around. Her hand brushed a cold spot roughly in the middle so she pulled her penknife from her pocket and started cutting. Jewelry, brushes, and undergarments came pouring out of the wall from a small cache on the other side—all matching items on Bates's list of missing items. Josefine exhaled through her teeth and went to find the phone.

#

Detective Andries was one of the rare few members of law enforcement Josefine got on alright with so she’d called him. Now they sat on a bench, each with a cup of coffee and Andries looking like he’d spent the last 48 hours on the job. 

“Your boy had this on him,” he pulled a ring box out of a blazer pocket, “think it should end up with your client.” Josefine took the box and pocketed it.

“What’s the word on the body?” He let out a low whistle.

“You must attract the weird ones, Jo.” He raked his fingers through his hair, “Coroner says his best guess is that Żukowski died because he was forced into that gap regardless of whether he fit. Said he's got a weird brand on his back too.” Josefine let out a silent 'oh' as Andries confirmed her theory about the summoner and he straightened up. “You know what did it.” It wasn't a question the way he put it.

“You won't believe me,” she said as she stood, dusting herself off with her free hand. 

“Anybody else and I'd agree with you.” She took a long sip of her coffee, thinking it over.

“Demon,” she answered simply. Andries nearly choked on his coffee and studied her for a moment as if trying to judge her seriousness.

“Bugger me,” he exhaled through his teeth, “You’re serious?” Josefine nodded slightly.

“Solomon called it a demon of obsession.” She paused to finish her coffee, “Alright, I’m off.”

“Don’t forget you owe me for this,” Andries called after her as she got on her motorcycle.

“I know,” and she was gone on the way to give the bad news to Bates.