The first telegram home: “Found him. Named Davie, connected to N. V. Possibly a warlock of Marduk. Details at Smith’s.”

I filled out the form but hesitated to sign it, rereading the text over and over again. I understood that I had stirred the local swamp too much, and all the devils had risen to the surface. And while Lindemann found me useful, Valentine would have shown no mercy. That’s why I marked him as “N. V.” To avoid any overly zealous locals deciding to curry favor with the bloodsucker by reporting a telegram mentioning his name. The place of dispatch would be included in the message anyway.

It seemed like I had done everything correctly, yet it still felt like by signing the telegram, I was admitting my own helplessness. Damn pride!

Pressing the pen harder, I put a bold “K” there and added a sharp flourish after.

That did the trick.

I handed the form to the clerk behind the window, tossed in some coins, and waited for the receipt. I left the post office building with an almost peaceful mind, though a faint sadness lingered. Knuckles noticed it immediately.

“You don’t look very happy,” he said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “Home?”

“Home.” An unexpected surge of emotion compelled me to confess. “I wanted to find that bastard myself.”

Knuckles confidently steered onto the road and headed for The Anvil.

“Mind if I ask who? I’d get it if you kept everything a secret, but half the conversations happen in Harry’s office, and the other half over breakfast. It’s frustrating. I take it his name is Simon?”

“Here, he goes by the name Davie. Arrogant bastard and sadist, a hired killer connected to the vampires. That’s all I’ve managed to find out. As for the reason, you’ll have to forgive me…”

“You know,” Knuckles said, glancing in the mirror, “that sounds an awful lot like Davie Pain. He used to call himself that. We called him the Sick Bastard. He loved to torture people.”

Knuckles kept talking, occasionally checking the mirror. I was watching it too. On one of the turns, alongside the driver’s face, a familiar car flashed in the reflection. I turned to look – it seemed to be Martin, the car Kate Lindemann drives. Was it just my imagination?

“Go on,” I urged Knuckles.

“He always tried to show he was better than everyone around him – clean suits, expensive cologne, jewelry. And this was in the slums, where people try not to stand out.”

“Was he part of a gang?”

“In a year, he put together the biggest one in the slums and started doing business with the old thieves. He was at The Noose every night. Who do you think the Hunchback learned his tricks from?”

“The Hunchback worked under him?”

“Kind of a servant and court jester rolled into one. But when Davie left, the gang fell apart, and the Hunchback managed to grab his own piece of the pie.”

Well, luck was on my side with the Hunchback. Better to talk with him than to start forging connections in a den of thieves.

“And what about your word?” Knuckles teased me. “You promised Harry…”

“Remember, all I did was raise my hands in surrender.”

“You sly fox!” Knuckles laughed.

“And we’ll stop by the pastry shop.”

“For what?”

At the pastry shop, I picked up a few bottles of cherry cola and a basket of almond cookies. Mainly, I wanted to throw the Hunchback off balance. Knuckles parked the car right in the courtyard of the building occupied by the gang, grabbed his submachine gun, and sat gloomily on the hood, sipping cola.

Meanwhile, I picked up the bottles in one hand, the basket in the other, and knocked on the door with the toe of my shoe. The same gap-toothed kid who had served as my guide last time opened the door.

“W-what do you want?” he asked, trying to hide his fear behind a cocky tone.

“Want a cookie?” I asked, holding out the basket.

“U-uhh…”

“Go ahead, take one. Don’t be shy.”

The boy hesitantly took a cookie, looked at me suspiciously, and mumbled, “Thanks.”

“I need to talk to the Hunchback. A proper talk – no shooting, no posturing. Just some drinks and cookies.”

“U-uhh… okay, hang on.”

“Go on, I’ll wait.”

The gap-toothed kid shoved the cookie into his mouth and shut the door. Moments later, the sound of something resembling a horse galloping across old wooden boards echoed from behind it.

This time, the meeting was set up on the first floor. There was a carpet on the floor – one that didn’t sag this time. Moreover, a decent table and proper chairs stood on it.

The Hunchback sprawled in one of the chairs, trying to look relaxed. He wasn’t pulling it off. Behind him was a group of teenage thieves, who looked even more awkward.

“Gentlemen,” I said, placing the bottles, the basket of cookies, and my hat on the table.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” the Hunchback asked grimly.

I hadn’t been invited to sit, and I wasn’t in a hurry to act presumptuous. So, I leaned against the back of the chair and smiled.

“We need to talk. Privately.”

The Hunchback’s cheek twitched.

“Get out,” he ordered his gang.

The kids left the room with great enthusiasm. I glanced around, looking for a bottle opener, and decided to use my dagger. The Hunchback tensed when I pulled it out but relaxed when I simply pried off a cap and handed him a bottle.

“Didn’t have anything stronger?” the gang leader asked but still took the bottle.

The invitation to sit never came, so after opening a second bottle, I sat down myself, took a sip, and wet my throat.

“Alcohol’s bad for your memory,” I said.

“I don’t have that problem,” the Hunchback smirked. He seemed to feel more confident now, relaxed, and took a big gulp of cola.

“Then it’ll be easy for you to remember who you’ve been talking to about me.”

The cola went down the wrong pipe, and the Hunchback started coughing.

“Need me to pat your back?”

“N-no, thanks. I’m fine. I didn’t… I didn’t tell anyone…”

“Stop,” I interrupted, shaking the bottle in my hand and gesturing toward the cookies. “I come in peace. But I will get the information one way or another. There’s no point lying – I understand there are people you couldn’t refuse.”

The Hunchback cleared his throat, squinted suspiciously, and took another sip.

“I really didn’t say anything. It’s probably Dick.”

The Hunchback nodded as if to convince himself.

“And why do you think that?”

“He disappeared.”

“How convenient.”

“Ask anyone you want – nobody knows what happened to him. So it’s either him or just rumors. Nobody’s been asking me about you.”

“All right, sounds convincing. I heard you were part of Davie the Sick Bastard’s gang.”

“I was.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Strong and fast as hell. Fought well, and he had a knack for inflicting pain.”

“Appearance,” I clarified.

“Tall, broad-shouldered, sharp cheekbones. Always dressed sharp, and he slicked his hair back with pomade.”

It matched. Matched exactly what I had seen.

“What happened to him?”

“Why are you interested? The Sick Bastard loved attention, sure, but I don’t think he’d appreciate yours.”

“He tried to kill me. A few days ago. At least, I think it was him.”

“Shit!” The Hunchback leaned back in his chair. “Cola and cookies, seriously? The Sick Bastard would snap a neck for the wrong word! I wouldn’t talk for less than a grand!”

“A grand?” I smiled and shook my head. “Quite the appetite. I’m not going to touch you, and I’ll even thank you on my way out. But do you really think Davie will believe you didn’t talk?”

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“Then what’s the difference? Dead either way.”

“I plan to kill him.”

The Hunchback thought about it. I didn’t rush him and instead gnawed on another cookie.

“The Sick Bastard started doing business with the old thieves, then he began taking jobs from moneybags. After that, he got tied up with the bloodsuckers.”

“Valentine’s vampires?”

“Valentine himself. The bloodsucker taught him magic.”

“How do you know?”

“I felt it on my own skin. We were looking for him after he disappeared – with the band stash. We found him in Heavy Bay. He’d rented an apartment from some old lady there. Played the gentleman, the son of a bitch. Liked to take walks in the park. Anyway, we cornered him in that park, laid out our grievances, and he just laughed. Stuck out his hand…” The Hunchback demonstrated the same gesture – with his fingers wiggling – that I had seen in the chapel back home. “My head almost split open. When I came to, I was lying on the ground, my partners had bolted, and the Sick Bastard told me he’d kill me next time. We haven’t touched him since.”

“Interesting story. Do you remember the exact address?”

“Hazel Road, forty-one. But it’s been three years…”

“Think he’s moved?”

“The bastard always aspired to the upper world,” the Hunchback replied neutrally. “Heavy Bay is a working-class area.”

“Anyone else who might know his business?”

“Only people you don’t want to be asking.”

I nodded.

“Then don’t ask. But if anything comes up, drop me a note. Tie it to a rock and toss it over the Anvil’s fence. You know where that is?”

The Hunchback shook his head.

“Rapsy, Longhead Road, seventeen. The wizard’s mansion.”

“For an extra fee.”

“I’m not promising a grand, but if the information’s useful, you’ll get a tenner or two. A hundred for something special. Take care.”

Outside, Knuckles was finishing off his cola and lovingly wiping down his submachine gun with a cloth. Today, he’d definitely risen in the eyes of his former rivals. I stifled a smile to avoid breaking his act and simply said:

“Let’s go.”

Knuckles unexpectedly leaped over the car hood, sliding across it on his rear – clearly, he’d practiced this at home – and opened the door for me. I raised an eyebrow in silent question, and he winked in response.

“At your service, my lord.”

I allowed him to shut the door, waited as he repeated his maneuver with the hood, and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Show-off,” I teased.

“You should’ve seen their faces,” Knuckles replied, steering onto the road. Only then did he ask, “Where to?”

“Hazel Road, forty-one.” I figured the trip would be completely safe and just as pointless. I had to keep myself busy while waiting for reinforcements, which would arrive, at best, tomorrow morning.

“No idea where that is,” Knuckles admitted.

“Looks like I’ll need to buy you a map of the city. Somewhere in Heavy Bay.”

The nicest part of the district bordered Castle Rock, so I decided to start my search there. It turned out to be the right call; the street I needed ended right at the border of the districts.

House forty-one was tucked behind a small square with a fountain and about a dozen trees. Maybe this was the “park” the Hunchback had mentioned?

The area was densely built, with all the houses in the block standing wall-to-wall. Living space here was expanded vertically, not horizontally. House forty-one was only three stories tall, wedged between its five-story neighbors, and stood out only because of the lush flowering plants in long pots under the windows.

I used my concealment-revealing ointment, pulled my hat low over my face, and strolled down the street. I spotted a few amulets on passersby, protective charms on doorsteps, windows, and, strangely enough, on those very flower pots. Something based on swamp and blood magic, if I wasn’t mistaken.

Wiping the ointment from my forehead, I rang the bell for number forty-one. The door opened to reveal a tiny old woman who looked like the years had been eroding her away, grain by grain. She stood no taller than about four feet six, with a bony shawl-draped frame, gray hair twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck, and held in place by two bone pins adorned with tiny blood-red gemstones that shimmered with a greenish hue. Strange amulet. A pendant would’ve been better for health and longevity.

“Lizzy isn’t home,” the old woman croaked irritably.

“Sorry, madam, I’m not here for Lizzy.”

“Oh… for that lazybones Franklin, then…”

“No, madam, sorry,” I interrupted her. “I’m looking for an old friend. We grew up together, and the last I heard, he was renting a place here. Davie...”

“Davie Pain!” The old woman lit up. “Such a delightful young man, though with such a silly surname. It doesn’t suit him at all. A proper young gentleman, unlike these…” She waved her hand dismissively at the house behind her.

“Yes, yes,” I nodded. Clearly, the old woman was a bit… off. Those pins in her hair must be holding back the progression of her dementia. Simon – a saint in disguise. What a creative fantasy.

“He never once missed rent, not like these.”

“So, I take it he moved out?”

“Unfortunately… Such a good tenant…”

“Not like these,” I echoed.

“You know them too?” The old woman looked at me in surprise.

What a waste of time. Time to wrap this up.

“Only from your words. You wouldn’t happen to know where he moved, would you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Wait, really?

“I’d be grateful if you could tell me.”

“He asked me not to say,” the old woman said, squinting suspiciously.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!

“Why?” I asked, putting on a surprised expression. “Could someone as refined as Davie possibly have a reason to hide? Could he have gotten into trouble?”

“He had problems with hooligans,” the old woman admitted. “Those devils wouldn’t leave the poor boy alone. Once, they almost beat him up in the park!”

“What… scoundrels! Madam, I hope you don’t take me for one of those hooligans?”

“No, not you! You’re clearly a decent young man, not like these…” She waved her hand at the house behind her.

“Then perhaps you could tell me where Davie moved?”

The old woman hesitated. I should’ve brought the cookie basket here instead of to the slums. Then again, with her crumbling teeth, who knows if she could even eat them? I should’ve brought a cake.

“All right… I’ll tell you.”

Then just spit it out already and stop dragging this out!

“I’m listening carefully.”

“He’s moved away from there anyway.”

God, I’m so thankful that my grandfather kept his sharp mind and good memory to the very end.

“He was living with my sister in Castle Rock. Her house is bigger – more space, five floors. She married well, didn’t work a day in her life, the old hag. Just got lucky. And her husband? Lazy as hell...”

I gritted my teeth and politely nodded. Once, twice, ten times – until the litany about her sister’s grandchildren finally ended.

“Life can be quite unfair at times. You wouldn’t happen to know your sister’s address, would you? Maybe Davie left her his contact information?”

“Adams Terrace, twenty-six.”

“Thank you very much!” I quickly doffed my hat and bowed before she could start rambling again. “Apologies, I must be on my way.”

Spinning sharply on my heels, I caught sight of the familiar roadster again. This time, it was parked at the end of the street. Holding my gaze on it for only a moment, I returned to my Cooper.

“You didn’t notice anyone tailing us?” I asked Knuckles.

“Who?”

“The vampire woman from yesterday. Do you remember her Martin?”

Knuckles nodded.

“Haven’t seen anything like that today.”

“I think she’s keeping her distance. Maybe your eyes just missed it.”

“What do we do?”

If we were being followed, then Lindemann already knew I’d spoken with the Hunchback. The thug had given me up on Davie, and he could just as easily give me up to the bloodsuckers. In other words, Lucas might already know who I was looking for and could use that knowledge to his advantage. Damn it.

“Adams Terrace, twenty-six,” I said. “You don’t know where that is, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Castle Rock. Try to make as many turns as possible. Don’t stop even when you find it – just let me know.”

Knuckles drove while I kept a close watch on the rear window. Seven turns later, he said, “Adams Terrace.”

I hadn’t spotted Lindemann’s roadster again. Maybe it was just paranoia.

“Stop by number twenty-six.”

This house was indeed better – detached, with its own courtyard, and no shared walls with neighbors. Moreover, instead of a single doorbell, there were eight different buttons, each with a glass nameplate next to it. The oldest and most faded one read “Talbot,” so I pressed the corresponding button.

About two minutes later, a younger version of the old woman from Heavy Bay opened the door. Instead of a bun held by pins, she had soft gray curls, but her face was identical to her sister’s.

“Mrs. Talbot?”

“Yes, young man.”

The previous old hag didn’t give me a chance to introduce myself, but this one paused long enough to make it clear she was waiting. I decided there was no point in hiding my name.

“Duncan Kinkaid…”

“One moment,” she said, wagging a gnarled finger at me. “Wait here.” Mrs. Talbot shut the door in my face and locked it with a click.

What was that? Did she go to call Simon? A faint sense of unease made me reapply the ointment to my forehead and look around. Martin, Kate Lindemann’s chauffeur, was standing at the end of the street. Glance away! Idiot, she’s a master vampire. She could make an entire truck disappear in an open field. Damn it! Lucas knows all my movements, and by evening, I’m more than certain he’ll know exactly who I’m looking for.

The door unlocked again, and I instinctively moved to the side, slipping my hand under my jacket toward my pistol. But it was just the same old woman, looking around curiously. I had to pretend I was inspecting the wall.

“Here!” The old lady thrust an envelope at me. “Next time, use the post office! And wipe your forehead – you’ve got some sort of… dirt on it.”

“Madam, excuse me, but what is this?”

“A letter.”

“For me?”

“Young man, I may not have all my faculties anymore, but I’m not as far gone as my sister, the old goat. Half an hour ago, Davie himself showed up and left you this letter.”

Half an hour ago?!

“Thank you kindly.”

The old crone snorted and shut the door. I quickly placed the envelope on the porch. No magical aura. I cautiously turned it over. Still nothing. Could it be poison? My fingers were clean, the envelope was dry. Just in case, I pulled out a jar of thick ointment from my satchel, rubbed some on my hands, and waited until it clumped up and fell away, leaving my fingers completely clean. Now there was definitely nothing on my hands. But what the hell was I supposed to do with this thing? And then there’s Lind… Oh, that’s an idea.

I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket, folded it four times, and spent a full minute carefully hooking the corner of the envelope. Even then, I held it with two fingers at arm’s length, the way Aunt Mary handled a dead rat caught in a mousetrap.

Once on the street, I took off my hat and waved toward Kate. Knuckles didn’t understand, got out of the car, and threw his arms up as if to say, “What?” I pointed with my hat to the roadster at the end of the street.

Kate stopped hiding and stepped out of the car. Today, her outfit was red again, but she had swapped the hat for a scarf and the skirt for loose trousers.

“Lady,” I greeted as she approached.

“Lord,” she nodded, then gestured to the letter. “What’s that?”

“Possibly something enchanted, possibly poisoned, or maybe just some other nasty trick. Care to open it?”

“What an enticing offer.”

“Otherwise, I’ll have to do it myself. I’m all out of last-resort elixirs.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve brought a few. You can open it without hesitation.”

Huh… I wasn’t expecting that response.

“And what price will I owe if I end up needing them?”

“You can cover the market value, or you can simply replace them. They’re produced by the Bremor clan.”

“Well, at least I can be sure the product’s high quality.” Unless, of course, Simon brewed a poison specifically designed to counteract those elixirs. No, that’s not realistic.

I placed the envelope on Martin’s hood, drew my dagger, sliced the top open, and used the tip to pull out a thick card inside. Written in elegant handwriting, it read:

“Say hello to your grandfather.”