They wound up returning to the Sixth Precinct.
Not without anything to show for it—before he left, the curator told them Dicky had taken days off at the same time as John Brown. It was clear that was when the spell had been cast. At the briefing that evening, he asked the witches to follow up on that angle. Where John and Dicky had gone, how they got there, who their friends were—there was no shortage of things to look into.
The witches went back to their cells, and Rogue to the nap room.
This was on a different floor from the witches’ living space. It also had Rico’s room, a kitchen, a laundry room, and the air conditioning control room. The nap room itself was big enough to relax in, and he had no complaints.
He flopped down on the bed, thinking.
What happened to him?
He found it hard to believe Chronos had been in any condition to escape.
It was certainly possible the Two Great Houses’ “secret spells” had left some lingering influence on the man. He was out there making human bombs right and left. But what the hell is this “key”? It wasn’t exactly the key to the locker room.
_____Does it have anything to do with my dream?
No, that wasn’t real.
Rogue repeated that like a mantra.
Do I really think she’d help Chronos go on a killing spree?
No way. He shook off that thought. She’d said and done some vicious things but never crossed that line. Miseria had principles. She’d proved that by stopping Catherine and keeping Rogue alive.
She lived by her own rules.
And Rogue had to trust them.
And she must know the risk involved in staying here, where the other witches lived. She finally had the collar off; she wouldn’t want it back on.
Rogue closed his eyes but couldn’t sleep. And when he did, he had that dream again. That dream of witches and blood. The pain of scissors at his throat woke him up.
“Ugh…”
He was mad at himself.
Fretting over shit that wasn’t even happening.
He looked at the clock and realized he still had four hours before he was back on the case. He should probably rest up, but he felt wide awake.
He stretched, then left the nap room.
A noise echoed down the hall.
Chop, chop.
There was a light from the kitchen.
He peeked in and found Rico working. Her sleeves were rolled up, and she was bustling around.
Meal prep?
It made sense she’d have to start this early. She had eleven witches to feed. And she was also on cleaning duty—quite a hefty workload.
What surprised Rogue was that Rico was not alone in the kitchen.
There was a blond girl sitting cross-legged on a folding chair. She was in white pajamas and didn’t have her usual sunglasses with her.
This girl was nodding off, mumbling, “Mrahh, Rico, don’t…”
Sleepless—a nickname earned because she was cursed to be unable to sleep if she hadn’t murdered anyone that day. This left her perpetually sleep-deprived.
“I told you not to put shrooms in it…mmph…”
“They’re nutritious. They’re going in.”
“Wait, think twice! That’s far too many…”
She seemed ready to cry, but Rico dumped the whole platter of chopped mushrooms into the pot.
“I’m terribly sorry.”
“Then don’t ruin it!”
“Mm-hmm.”
“‘Mm-hmm,’ my ass! Urgh, they’re all mixed in now…”
Losing track of why he was here, Rogue watched—until Humafu’s eyes moved. A knife on the counter wafted into the air and sailed across the room, shooting toward Rogue.
“……Oh, it’s just you.”
A bead of sweat ran down his brow.
The knife had stopped just inches from him.
Humafu’s voice made Rico look up. She stopped working and turned his way.
“Detective Rogue, may I help you?”
“……I was on my way to the reference room and saw a light on.”
“I see.”
“Pfft,” Humafu said. The knife went back where it came from.
She was a very violent girl. Strike first, ask questions later.
And yet—for reasons that escaped him—Humafu was grumpily beckoning him in.
If he refused that invite, he might well be on the receiving end of another flying kitchen knife. Or maybe just the ones she always carried around. Rogue figured it was best to step inside.
It was fairly roomy. Likely accommodating the witches’ demands, it had basically everything you could want in a kitchen. An industrial fridge and freezer, a grill, an oven—all spotless. As he passed Rico, he noticed she was preparing some fish. That pot did have a lot of mushrooms in it. He reached Humafu, and she uncrossed her legs, planting them on the floor.
“Forget everything you saw and heard, buster,” she growled.
“……I wasn’t planning on sharing.”
“Hmph.” She snorted. “At least it happened after that menace died. She can’t sneak a peek in your memories now! If she was still alive, you wouldn’t be.”
“Menace” was clearly Miseria. Humafu was frowning at the very thought of her.
“Would only make her even worse than usual. Ugh, just imagining it gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“You come here often?”
“Huh?” She opened one eye, disgruntled. “What’s it to you? You keeping tabs on me now?”
“Not the plan, no. I was just curious.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she snorted again.
“I get bored.”
She rapped a knuckle on the folding chair.
“Ain’t shit to do in my room. The others are all snoozing. But the maid here’s always up and about. Best way to kill time.”
Rico glanced back. “You come here to pass the time?” she asked earnestly.
“Why else? I thought you knew that.”
“No,” Rico said. “I thought you were here for me.”
“Huh?” Humafu blinked at her.
“Were you not here to help?” Rico asked.
“Wh-where’s this coming from?” Humafu seemed genuinely rattled.
“I mean,” Rico said, picking up a seasoning and shaking it over the pot. “You know how it works; I have to pile plates onto a cart to bring them to the dining room. That requires several trips to accommodate all residents, and several of them prefer their meals sent to their rooms. It’s rather time-consuming. But your magic curtails the delivery time considerably. This arrangement is extremely beneficial to me, but I supposed that was all just you ‘killing time.’ Understood.”
Humafu was gaping at her.
Rogue was, too. He’d thought the maid was a bit ditzy, but it ran deeper than he’d imagined.
“R-Rico, how could you?!”
Humafu’s face was stuck halfway between rage and a sob. She started to her feet, advancing on Rico, who locked up a few seconds, then tapped her palm.
“I do apologize, Humafu. You didn’t want the others knowing how much you help.”
“Too late now!” Humafu shrieked.
“I could make your favorite dish to make up for it?”
“You can’t bait me that easy! Augh, goddamn it!”
Humafu spun around, facing Rogue again. Biting her lower lip hard, she fixed him with her best glare.