“We’re told he took a few days off last week. Did he come home during that time?”
“No, I didn’t see him.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Not a clue.”
“Any signs he was in financial trouble?”
“Well, he never once forgot to pay his rent. But I can’t say he was living a life of luxury, either.”
“Any idea how his parents passed?”
“He said it was a car accident. While he was at the church college.”
“He volunteered that information?”
“When he moved in.”
“……Okay, one last question—did anyone visit him the day before his vacation?”
“Dicky,” the landlord said. “He was a cheerful boy. Always said hi to me. I don’t know how this could have happened.”
Once that interview was over, they canvased the neighbors.
No leads on Chronos.
Everyone had seen Dicky, though. But given the existence of disguise spells, none of that testimony would hold up. They had no real evidence.
It was now half past noon.
Throngs were pouring out of the subway entrance. They were pushing against the flow, headed to a street beyond the station. It was a tree-lined lane and there were lots of schools in the area.
They turned right onto a side street that had fences and walls on both sides. Rogue was blinking from the glare from the pavement.
“Didn’t you sleep?” Catherine asked.
“……Not really.”
He’d downed some caffeine before they left and woken himself up, but clearly, it was still showing on his face. Rogue kicked himself.
“You have to get a good night’s sleep. Your body is your greatest resource.”
Couldn’t argue there.
“I know, it just happened.”
He was making excuses, like a little kid getting scolded. Disgraceful.
“I slept like a baby!” Catherine said.
“Good for you.”
He glanced to his left.
There was a basketball court behind the chain-link fence. He didn’t have fond memories of such places. He’d spent his childhood running, kicking, and punching but had been no good at basketball. He had no talent for it. If he tried to run after that huge ball, he’d trip over his own feet. It was a popular sport in the empire, but by this point, he was prepared to turn down any invitation to play.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, something appeared in front of him.
“—!”
He shielded his face with his arms, and an object hit the wall, bounced off the fence, then rolled to his feet.
The basketball bumped his toe.
“Sorry, man!” called a voice across the fence.
There were three of them, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. They were in street clothes.
As Rogue was wondering what to do about this ball, Catherine bent down and picked it up.
“Here goes! Catch!” she called, then tossed the ball.
What the—?
As easy a toss as a putting a can in the garbage. Or at least, the motion was anyway. But the ball itself sailed higher than any building around, tracing a gentle parabola right through the hoop.
“Holy shit!”
“Was that real?”
“She scored from that far out?!”
The kids were all pointing and shouting.
Catherine had a shifty expression, like she’d blown it.
“Catherine?” Rogue said.
“Um…,” she said, looking away, looking at him, and looking back again.
“Thanks!” someone called, and she turned toward them.
“Careful next time!” she replied, using her hands to amplify her voice.
Then she turned and walked quickly off. “This way!” she yelled.
Rogue glanced once at the kids, who were playing again, and then followed the nun.
“You shoot a lot of hoops?” he had to ask.
“Um, not really.”
“Other sporting experience?”
“Well, not exactly…”
Catherine stopped, clutching the ribbon at her chest.
“I usually try not to overdo things.”
“Huh? What for?”
“Th-that’s more Saint-like?” she said.
It was a vague sort of rationale.
“……Define ‘Saint-like.’”
“I-it just is! It’s better not to crush apples barehanded even if you can!”
“I feel like it is very you to not care about these things…”
“F-fine, I’ll do that, then! I don’t care! I’ll crush all the apples!”
“Please don’t.” Rogue sighed, hanging his head. “Let’s get some lunch. It’s about that time.”
“G-good idea! It is lunchtime!”
“……”
Once seated, Catherine ordered the berry pie, Rogue bought a hamburger, and they each got coffee. Their food arrived soon enough, and they dug in. Seated across the table, he could see the girl—no, the witch’s every move. A smile in her eyes, enjoying her pie, big bites, but not too big. The crisis of a moment before already forgotten.
Even witches weren’t always witches.
Rogue was reminded of that again.
No one came into this world a witch. At some point in their lives, they became one, obtaining immortality and overflowing mana. Even if that instance was a long, long time ago, the life before that didn’t go away.
And that was true for this Saint as well.
“Um, Detective? Is there something on my face?”
“Nah…”
How could he put it? As he wondered, Catherine set down her pie, half eaten.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, smiling. “My berry pie has your full attention. Do you want some?”
“Completely wrong.”
“Oh? Okay.”
There was an awkward silence.
Rogue folded first, looking around the diner. It was always a busy place. How many people here even knew witches were real? Even less had ever been directly harmed by them.
As he mulled on these idle thoughts, his hand slipped. He’d meant to take a bite, but the beef and bun hit his cheek instead.
There was a wet splotch.
Grease and condiments smeared across his skin. It was deeply unpleasant.
Dammit.
He was really out of it today. Catherine was right; sleep was important.
“May I, Detective?”
“Sure…”
Catherine reached out and wiped his cheek with a paper napkin.
“All better.”
_____Hmm?
He felt like something very odd had just happened. He looked at Catherine, and the pie was no longer on her plate. Not wanting to make her wait, he wolfed down the rest of his burger. Then he checked his watch. It was high time they hit the road.
The witches’ expenses were handled by the Sixth Precinct—in other words, the Magic Crimes Bureau. They were given enough money to party all night long. For now, Rogue took out his wallet and made sure to get a receipt.