His throat had been burned out—but his voice worked. What the—? He got up, patting his face. It was still there. He could see. There was nothing wrong with his arms, legs, or skin.
The girl with white hair was smirking at him.
“I had no idea you were so fond of your face.”
“……I should be dead.”
“Sounds like you had a very bad dream,” she said.
No way that was a dream. Unable to believe he was alive, Rogue kept rubbing his arms and legs. Eventually, she let out a dramatic sigh and held out her hand.
“Honestly, I’m telling the truth! Did you forget me already? I can’t even get you to say my name?”
Rogue hesitated, then shook that hand.
He had gloves on, but even through them, he could tell how cold her hands were. His pulse raced. He bit his lip, trying to hide the blood rushing to his face.
Of course he remembered her.
“You’re a witch,” he said, answering the white-haired lady. “Your name’s Miseria. Good enough for you?”
With her help, he made it to his feet, and their eyes met.
Deep-blue irises.
Eyes that could control minds.
The witch offered a dramatic head tilt.
“I wasn’t complaining. Just concerned! Have you taken the burgeoning bond between us and thrown it out with yesterday’s trash?”
“I see you haven’t stopped running your mouth off.”
Miseria rolled up his left sleeve.
“How rude. My lips speak only true with the purest of intents. See? Proof our connection endures, right here upon your person! I’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter.”
She flicked the collar on his left wrist.
That’s what he got for letting her speak.
“Our connection, is it?”
“If you have a better word for it, I’m all ears. What would you call it?”
She was pretending to take this seriously, but if he let her steer the conversation, they’d never get anywhere. He hid the collar beneath his sleeve again.
“……I guess I should start with ‘thank you.’”
“Hmm? I did nothing to earn your gratitude. I simply found you asleep on the sidewalk and didn’t really put myself out.”
That was clearly not the case.
He had hardly been taking a nap.
This witch had melded with a number of mental interference spells, so he had to assume she’d employed some of them. She could make him see things and rewrite his memories—but in that case, where had the other man gone? If she’d given him a “dream,” that wouldn’t result in the disappearance of an entire person.
Rogue gave her a look. Her merry smile betrayed nothing.
“……I dunno where the spell began, but there was another man here.”
“Oh, him?” The witch pointed down the road. “He blew himself up that way. Such a violent world we live in.”
“Your doing?”
“I simply tweaked his orders.”
“Why are you even here?”
Unless she could predict the future, she couldn’t have figured out Rogue would be at Dicky’s apartment, much less been aware of the Bloom bomber. What did she know?
The witch held up her palms.
“I’ve lived here a while. Even free of the collar, I find myself coming back. Pure luck that I was in the right place to rescue you. I was just passing by and found you locked in a mortal struggle.”
That was deeply dubious.
“Suuure,” he said.
Her smirk got wider.
“Cross my heart and hope to die! You’re an untrusting soul.”
“If you want trust, wipe that smirk off your face.”
“Quite a riposte. I must endeavor to look trustwor…”
She trailed off, looking down the street.
There were sirens approaching. A local must have called in the blast.
“We’re out of time. I would have loved to chat a while longer.” Miseria shrugged.
“What are you planning…?”
“I’ll be in the wind,” Miseria said. “We’ll meet up where no unwanted guests can poke in their heads.”
With that, she tossed something at him. He caught it before it hit his face.
“You could just hand it to…”
Rogue trailed off.
The witch in front of him had vanished into thin air. He looked around and saw no trace of her. Clearly, she couldn’t resist making her exit as shocking as her arrival.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. The bruise was still there. He had fought the man and been flung out the window, then. As he considered that, he heard yelling and turned.
A girl in a nun’s habit was running toward him.
There was an emergency briefing.
Rogue glanced around at the assembled faces.
Humafu the Sleepless was nodding off in a seat down the table. Catherine the Saint was perched next to her, shaking her awake. Angene the Professional was with him by the whiteboard.
This dry-erase board was covered in photos, all showing victims of the Bloom spell. John Brown and Dicky from the museum, and now the new guy, Willy Martinez.
“Tee-hee, he had a clean record, too,” Angene said, tapping his driver’s license photo with a long finger. “He’s been working for a year at an insurance agency called Keeper’s House. And he was the top seller last month! They gave him an award, and he took his first-ever vacation this month. He lived by the shore in the Sixth Ward.”
“Any family residing with him?” Rogue asked.
“Tee-hee-hee. Humafu?” Angene asked.
“Nope, not a one,” Sleepless said, rocking. “Didn’t even have a dog. Lonely dude.”
“It seems like our killer’s targeting those with no dependents. We haven’t combed through Dicky yet, but John Brown was in the same boat.”
Even as he spoke, Rogue thought it seemed likely. He wasn’t sure how the arrest had affected Chronos, but those without ties were likely easier to work with.
He wrote this on the whiteboard and glanced at Angene.
“……Any leads on this ‘key’ thing?”
“No. There was no such exhibit at the museum.”
“Any underground areas or hidden doors?”
“Of course not, tee-hee.”
“And ‘the far side’?”
Angene merely let out a sinister laugh, her shoulders quivering.
Rogue turned back to the table.
“Anyone else?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“No clue.”
Catherine and Humafu were both shaking their heads.
If immortals didn’t know, this was unlikely to be ancient lore.