At headquarters, the wall of the chief’s office was lined with framed portraits—headshots of the members of the Two Great Noble Houses. Every one of them had golden eyes. The images on the wall were creepy as a cat in the night, but the staff wasn’t allowed to take them down.
“Congratulations, Rogue. You owe me!” said his boss, Velladonna Villard, the moment he stepped inside.
Elayl was the capital city, and Velladonna was the chief of the Elayl branch…and rather prone to making sudden pronouncements.
“Thank you!” Rogue said, saluting—a formality.
Velladonna brushed back her wavy blond hair, flaunting it.
“I recommended you for this myself. No matter how good your record, promotions are not usually this smooth. The Drakenias have very high standards.”
Her voice was syrupy and cloying.
She had left the top two buttons of her blouse undone, letting her fancy bra peek out. Bureau scuttlebutt claimed she’d slept her way to the top, but this was hardly a position one kept just by being good in bed.
The Two Great Noble Houses—the Ligton and Drakenia families. The Magic Crimes Bureau was controlled by the latter, and they were a rigorous meritocracy—even within their own ranks. Corrupt officers were frequently sent to the tundra.
“Mm-hmm,” he said, nodding. No smile.
“Not nearly grateful enough!”
“Thank you!”
“More!” she cried.
He shifted his gaze slightly away from his boss, hoping he’d kept the sour look off his face.
“……Thank you.”
“Ohhh, I could just eat you right up,” she said, cupping her cheek.
Rogue was apparently her type. Her position had played in his favor before, including this promotion. It was best not to spurn her.
His gaze turned to the window as she took a seat at her desk. His reflection looked back at him from the glass.
He had long, narrow eyes and bit of a baby face—especially around the lips. He was short enough to have been teased relentlessly at officer training school. Few people would pick him out on the street and take him for a cop. The fur-lined coat he wore was an attempt to make himself look a bit more intimidating.
“You want me to eat you, right, Rogue? Rawr.” Velladonna struck a pose like she was a pouncing predator.
“Hardly the time for jests, Chief,” Rogue said flatly.
“It isn’t?”
“No.”
“But a part of you longs to be gobbled up, surely.”
“Nothing ‘surely’ about it, Chief. There is no such part of me, so let’s get to the point.”
“Oh, don’t be like that. Men are all starving beasts. Let me dangle some bait over your head while you hop around trying to sink your teeth into it. You’re far too diligent for your own good.”
“Did you say something?” he asked. The last part of her statement had been an inaudible mutter.
“No, never mind,” Velladonna said, pouting. It wasn’t a good look for her.
He pretended not to notice. Then her phone rang.
“Yes, it’s Vella… Why, helloooo,” she purred. “Oh dear. Another victim?”
She was nodding. Must be a call from her boss. Too high a rank for a mere detective to ever see in person, so this was none of Rogue’s business. He simply stood there like a statue.
“Okay, Vella out. Yes, bye-bye!” Here, she switched to a growl. “Dumping your bullshit in my lap again, asshat.”
Rogue flinched and asked, “Something wrong?”
“Nothing! At least, it’s not your problem, Rogue.”
With that, Velladonna put her chin in her hand, dejectedly playing with a pen. That call must have been very bad news. He could hear her grumbling, “Ugh, this is so annoying,” under her breath. She was clearly fleeing reality.
Rogue stood there, poker-faced…until his eye caught a light in the windowpane. The monitor on the desk was showing some investigation reports. It was only reflected for a moment, but he knew which case that was.
Ah, so it’s about the Lifetaker……
This was the most recent unsolved case, and word about it had reached his ears.
Two months prior, a strange body had been found in the commercial district, Dillo. There was an ID on the corpse, so the victim was immediately identified.
Jim Foley, twenty-five years old, businessman. No criminal record. Apparently a person of fine character—questioning those who knew him turned up no grudges against him. He had no history of serious illness; he’d been in perfect health.
Yet he’d died in a back alley…of old age.
All the moisture had been drained from his skin, mummifying him. His limbs were thin and twiggy. His face was twisted in a rictus of fear and pain. Even his family had not been able to recognize him.
No traces of mana had been found at the scene, but it was put down as a homicide anyway. Only magic could explain a twenty-five-year-old dying of such a cause.
The assailant had a spell that could rapidly age someone, so they were dubbed the Lifetaker.
But no suspects had been determined, and no progress had been made.
“If you say so, Chief.”
As of the next day, Rogue would no longer be working cases. If he did get involved, it would be through his subordinates. There was no need to worry about it now.
Then he realized Velladonna had stopped groaning. She was giving him a long look.
“…What?”
He did not like the smile that question elicited.
“Rogue, you thought you were free from this mess?”
“…Well…”
“Maybe it does have something to do with you, hmm?” Velladonna purred, unable to stop herself from giggling, “Hee-hee.”
Rogue didn’t find it amusing.
“Chief, how am I involved?”
“Oh? Do you reeeally want to know?”
“……No. Never mind.”
He wasn’t about to let her trick him into asking more. He tried to change the subject, but her head went down. Her shoulders were shaking. She was unable to disguise her glee. Rather, she was rubbing it in his face.
Clearly, she was up to no good.
And whatever sinister plan she was cooking up was already in action. This was the sort of maniacal laughter that came before she revealed how she’d pulled the rug out from under him.
No sooner had he braced himself than Velladonna dramatically swept back her hair, rising to her feet.
“You’re going to Nabaco Island! Congratulations, Detective Rogue!”
She started clapping.
“Huh?!” A rude noise slipped out of him, but she didn’t bat an eye.
“Nabaco is a lovely place. Good liquor, and the liquor’s also good. Oh, and they have great liquor!”
______Nabaco Island?
The blood drained from his face.
Nabaco was a pastoral island with only five hundred residents. It was a half hour by boat from the mainland. He wasn’t sure what crimes might happen there, but this wasn’t how he’d hoped to avoid interacting with criminals. He was clearly being relegated.
He tried imagining himself working there.
Helping old folks who’d thrown out their backs, sitting around from morning until night with only the occasional free donut to break up the monotony. Days so empty that, over time, he’d come to accept that as a good thing.
The more he thought about it, the more of a nightmare it became. When he spoke again, his voice cracked.
“Chief, I can’t accept this. What did I do—?”
“Oh, you’ll soon be right at home there. I mean, they have murders almost every night.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’m kidding, of course.” Velladonna cut him off with a smile. Like a mother watching an excited child.
Rogue knew then his protests were futile.
“……You’re not changing your mind?” he groaned.
She put a finger to her tinted lips.
“Well, you look so sad. It does make me want to reconsider.”
Her eyes ran up and down his body, ogling every inch of him, soaking him in. She even licked her lips. Then she drew close to him, her soft breath tickling his ear.
The ashen look on his face made her grin broaden.
“We could play it that way…but I do have a second option.”
“……Which is?” he struggled to ask.
“Ever heard of the Sixth Precinct?”
“The sixth?” he parroted. Elayl only had five precincts. He’d never heard of a sixth. “Chief, are you being serious?”
“How rude! Of course I am.”
“Then where is this coming from?”
“The rank and file aren’t told about it. Only important people. Like me! But it does exist.”
This felt wrong.