On screen was John Brown—before the explosion. Wearing a guard uniform, standing against the wall in the first-floor lobby.
The footage was on fast-forward, but the trio was watching all video recordings of John Brown from his arrival at work until the time of the incident. They’d already gone from three to five, but he hadn’t moved an inch. Just like the other guards, he was standing on lookout.
“Nothing’s happening,” Catherine said.
“Did anyone sense anything amiss that day?” Rogue asked.
The curator shook his head. “Not really, no.”
“Any detail might help. His work attitude…”
“John was a diligent man. Never late, never absent without cause. I don’t think he so much as had an argument with his colleagues.”
With no workplace grudges, it was more likely that terrorism was the goal. Seeing Rogue’s scowl, the curator added, “He did apply for time off a week ago.”
“……He did?”
“Yeah. Not long, just two or three days.”
“Any idea what he did with that time?” Rogue asked.
“I’m afraid not. Dicky might know. He hung out with John a lot.”
“Can we get in touch with him?” he asked.
“Certainly,” the curator asked, looking anxious. “But you don’t think he was involved?”
“We’d have to talk to him to say either way,” Rogue answered.
“Oh, ah. Hold on a minute.”
The curator got up and left the screens. They could hear his phone ringing.
He soon returned.
“All arranged, Detective. He was close by and is headed over… Oh, we’re almost there,” he said, spotting the screen.
It was still on fast-forward. John Brown was moving to the second floor. The time display read 8:39 PM—only a minute before the explosion.
The human bomb was now standing by the railing above exhibit three. From this angle, they couldn’t see his face. He was muttering something. Below him was a statue, about to be blown to pieces.
“The Ferrywoman,” the curator said, sadly. “How many more times must I watch it be destroyed?”
And…
…as the clock hit 8:40, John Brown vaulted the rail.
“—tion!”
He shouted something as he fell—and detonated just before he touched the ground.
A flash of light. Screams.
And the rest was a sight that would make anyone flinch.
“……Can we go back to the jump?”
The curator looked grim but rewound.
“—salvation!”
The sound was muffled, hard to properly hear. Rogue had the curator rewind it again, and only then did he finally make it out.
“Grant me the key to salvation!”
The man’s last words.
They made no sense.
A message to somebody? Maybe?
They paused the tape, thinking.
Key certainly suggested safes and doors…but not when salvation was involved. What could that mean? If he was part of a terrorist group, it would make sense if they were demanding the release of their members. But this was hardly clear enough to accomplish that goal.
“Detective, look.”
Catherine pointed to the first-floor camera. The man was paused in midair, his face turned slightly upward—affording them a view of what lay above his nose.
It looked like a whole cluster of fuses sprouting from his face, hiding his eyes and forehead. Sparks flew from the fuses, lighting the rest of his face.
Dammit.
No matter the motive, this spell sucked.
“Do spells like this all work that way?” he asked.
“No,” Catherine said. “Cast on yourself, you’d ordinarily only get one or two fuses. I’ve never seen this many.”
There were easily fifty. It was downright unnatural. If Catherine was right, this would require a lot of mana.
As they studied the human bomb, the curator spoke up.
“Oh, Dicky, over here.”
Rogue turned away from the monitor and found a young man at the office door. He had a plain face.
But he was acting funny.
He was just standing in the doorway, arms dangling at his sides.
“Dicky?” the curator asked, but the man didn’t budge.
He was staring impassively at the curator, muttering:
“……Grant me the key to salvation that the ages of witches may arrive. The key……”
_____The age of witches.
Rogue had heard that phrase before.
A certain nobleman had been trying to restore it—to bring back the days of legend, when witches ran amok, terrorizing the populace.
Why is this man saying it?
“……What do you know?”
The man didn’t answer. He just covered his face with his hands.
And something shot out from between his fingers. Ropes with sparks on the end—realizing what that meant, Rogue yelled, “Diaz, get down! He’s a bomb!”
The man lunged forward.
His hands came away from his face, revealing the extent of his transformation. There was an absurd number of fuses—just like John Brown on the security feed. His running form was lousy, but his speed was downright freakish. He made no attempt to dodge the chairs in his way, sending them flying. Only his mouth was free of fuses, shouting, “Grant me the key! The key to salvation!”
“Fairy!” Catherine called, holding out her hands. Sparks rained down on the man, but he was still running. The fuses were shrinking faster.
A look of disbelief appeared on Catherine’s face. “I—I can’t dispel it! He’s melded with the spell!”
The man’s body split apart, and blinding light poured out.
Followed by a deafening boom.
Rogue’s ears rang.
Five full seconds passed before he could spot anything, even squinting. And what he saw was a translucent wall before him, reaching both ends of the room, as well as the floor and ceiling which divided the room in two. Rogue glanced back quickly, and Catherine and the curator were unharmed.
“I got the barrier up in time,” Catherine said, relieved. The wall faded out. The red bits plastered to it fell to the floor.
All the desks and chairs beyond it had been blown away. A third of the ceiling and walls had been torn off. Just like in the exhibit room.
“Oh…my god…” The curator crumpled.
They heard footsteps from the hall. The police. They’d heard the boom.
_____They let him through?
No, they hadn’t noticed. Even Catherine hadn’t—until the fuses appeared.
Avoiding the blood pools, he picked his way to source of the burning flesh stench just as the cops poured into the room.
Clearly, this man wasn’t coming back.
“Yes?” said the voice on the line.
“We tried to talk to John Brown’s friend, and he blew himself up right in front of us,” Rogue said, glancing at Catherine. “No one present was harmed, but the walls and ceiling of the back office are done for. Also some chairs, desks, and light fixtures.”
They were in their car in the parking lot after briefing the other cops and then getting the curator into an ambulance just in case.
On the other end of the line, Velladonna said, “That sounds awful. I’m so glad you’re not hurt!”
“It’s no laughing matter. And I need you to come clean, Chief. What else do you know about this case?”
“Hmm. What makes you think I know anything?”
“We ran into the Headtaker Corps at the museum. Seems like they work for the other Great House—the Ligtons. Why are they sticking their noses into this? And…” Rogue paused. “…the bomb guy mentioned the ‘age of witches.’ Chief, you’re keeping secrets again.”
“And you’re not letting me fool you twice?” She sighed. That sounded like confirmation. “Very well, they told me not to say anything, but if you stopped one bomb, then the Saint is already aware. I’ll come clean! Rogue, make sure the Saint can hear me.”
Rogue pulled the phone from his ear, holding it at chest height. Catherine leaned in.
“You called it—the Two Great Houses are involved. And this time, the Ligtons couldn’t stay out of it. They’ve got their own corps in the game, searching for a certain escapee.”
“And that would be?” Rogue asked, getting a bad feeling about this.
“Your old friend! He escaped from a prison run by the Ligtons, and recapturing him is your real mission.”
Rogue only had one acquaintance from the Two Great Houses. The Lifetaker—who’d murdered multiple people by altering the flow of time in their bodies.
“…Chronos Drakenia?”
“Got it in one!”
But Rogue wasn’t sold on the idea.
“……Are you serious right now? Why is a guy we caught out again?”
“That’s the real issue here, isn’t it?” Velladonna said, her tone unwavering. “He escaped during an incident just like the museum case. Three guards turned into bombs! Saint, better brief Rogue on what’s going on with this spell.”
At this, Catherine straightened up and looked at him. She didn’t seem rattled by the mention of the Lifetaker’s name.
“Detective, Bloom was completely melded with the man. I only worked that out when I tried to dispel it. I’m a witch; I can easily dispel anything cast normally. But I couldn’t even get a handle on it.”
“There you have it,” Velladonna chimed in. “They tried to dispel the guards before they went off but failed. It’s not all bad news; Chronos was in a VIP block. If other prisoners had escaped with him, this would have been an even bigger disaster.”
“Before he blew, John Brown was yelling about the ‘key to salvation.’ Weird choice for a message—what’s Chronos up to?” Rogue asked.
“That depends on what his goal is now. Why escape? Why not hit the road out of town once he did? Why turn back to a life of crime? But if the man insists on leaving hints for us, we’ll just have to turn them against him. Rogue, the Two Great Houses are both positively livid. They’re insisting we bring him in alive. Please do.”
She hung up.
Rogue scowled at his phone. That piece of shit is out already? Why did they let that happen?
“Miseria could have stopped it,” Catherine said.
His eyes snapped to her face. She looked like she was just voicing an idle thought.
“The spell was only just melded. She could have reached down into his psyche and pried it loose.”
Careful not to let anything show, Rogue said, “…But she’s dead.”
“That’s true. I’m sorry.”
Catherine looked genuinely remorseful.