Like the first go-around, Chronos was hung up on restoring the age of witches. A time when witches regularly ran wild, slaughtering countless people.
“Yo, Detective,” Humafu yelled.
“What?” he asked, turning toward her.
The sunglasses on her head caught the light, reflecting it. She had her elbows on the table.
“There a point digging into this ‘message’? Kinda seems like this asshole just wants you dead.”
When he blinked at her, she rested her cheek on one hand.
“Why’s that a shock? If I knew the dude who kicked my ass was still out there, I’d have it in for him. And you just came this close to getting yourself blown up.”
“……I hardly think it’s that simple. Chronos was big on elaborate schemes and flaunting those crimes in front of people.”
“Tch, what a douche. This would all have been over if you’d killed him the first fucking time.”
“Language,” Catherine said.
“Huh?” Humafu wheeled round to glare at her. “Why do witches have to be all hoity-toity? Our whole thing is id unleashed!”
She sure seemed ready to let hers fly.
“Is it?”
“Ack, d-don’t, stop!”
Humafu’s hostility didn’t last long. Catherine had put her arms round her and was patting her back, like she was comforting a fussy child.
“Good night, Humafu.”
“I—I can’t sleep, you know that… Yaaaaaawn……”
She put up a good fight, but no sooner did that yawn escape her than Humafu’s head landed on Catherine’s shoulder. She swung her arms a few times like a toddler throwing a tantrum, but none of those swings connected.
“She’s so hotheaded.”
Rogue tore his eyes away, refocusing on Angene.
“One other thing bugging me. This is our third victim who’s been melded with the spell. Any risk of them turning out like witches?”
“None,” she said.
“But you lot turned out fine…if that’s the word for it. You didn’t end up like these victims, at least. What’s the discrepancy?”
The towering witch seemed to find this very droll.
“Tee-hee-hee. Many people have asked the same question. They were all people who wanted to become witches themselves. Rulers of tiny kingdoms. Soldiers. Historians. Doctors—but alas. Not one of them ever pulled it off. Their minds collapsed instead. Tee-hee.”
“……How many?”
“Tee-hee. Do you really want to know?”
Rogue shook his head.
It was all too easy to imagine how cheap human lives would be with the prospect of immortality on the line. None of those stories would be pleasant.
“Fine, so melding with spells, no matter who tries it, nearly always fails?”
“That’s the gist of it. Tee-hee-hee. Doomed by their own ambitions.”
He considered this. Did Chronos know that? If so, then he was just melding these victims to serve as suicide bombers. Did he have any other goals?
Catherine caught his gaze. She smiled over Humafu’s head, which was cradled in her arms.
“I am glad you’re safe,” she said.
“Yeah…”
He’d told everyone he and Willy Martinez had fallen out the fifth-story window, and then the other man had blown himself up. That was the truth.
But he felt guilty about it anyway.
Catherine had apologized profusely for not making it in time. But in his mind, he’d made the choice to go in alone and was now hiding the full story.
Rogue shook his head. That line of thinking was no good. He knew it was better not to dwell on the past.
Addressing the witches around the table, he said, “Odds are high he made contact with each of the victims before last week. We need to figure out where all three of them went. Let’s dig into their movements tomorrow—for today, you’re free to go. Get some rest.”
It was ten PM.
Certain the witches were back in their rooms, Rogue left the precinct alone.
He was headed for the commercial district—the Fifth Ward, Dillo. There were lots of cars cruising the night streets. People were all dressed up, parading around, heading for bars or clubs. A few plainclothes officers were mixed in, maintaining order. Rogue parked in the lot of a bar with an old-fashioned exterior. This was where they’d agreed to meet.
He stepped through the doorway.
There were maybe ten seats in total. Only one person sat on the middle stool; there were no other customers. He’d just seen her flowing white hair a few hours ago. She was talking to the elderly bartender but turned at the sound of the door closing.
“My, you’re awfully late,” Miseria said.
“I’m right on time.”
He settled in next to her, and she waggled an empty glass.
“What are you having, Rogue?” she asked.
“I’m driving.”
“Hmm, then have some milk. This place has excellent milk. Right, sir?”
The elderly bartender merely shot her a look. Holding his tongue was a wise decision. A moment later, there was a glass of milk in front of Rogue.
“I showed up, like you asked,” he began. “Are you actually talking?”
“But of course. I never lie!”
Her tone was airy, so he put a hint of anger in his.
“Any funny business, and I will run you through.”
“My, my!” she cried, clearly amused. “Here I was, convinced I’m still your partner. Yet I’m met with such hostility. You’ve shattered my delicate spirit.”
“Listen to yourself,” he scoffed.
“Delicacy is my middle name,” Miseria said with the utmost confidence.
Dammit.
He alone was all wound up.
Rogue roughly scratched his head.
“If I go running around on my own, someone’s bound to notice.”
“Hmm, that would cause a fuss. But not to worry. As long as I hide these white locks, nobody will realize it’s me. Human eyes are so imprecise. Remove a single distinctive feature, and you blend right into the background. And—”
Miseria grabbed a strand of hair, holding it up before her. Rogue frowned, baffled by this gesture, and was not at all prepared for what she did next.
“Sir, what color is this?”
“Black.”
The bartender’s answer left Rogue blinking.
“See? The bartender here will let any inconvenience slide. I don’t even need to wear a disguise.”
“…Is he under your spell?”
“Nothing major. Just a little sleight of hand. Oh, are you concerned about side effects? There won’t be any. It’s not that significant.”
“Even so…”
He shifted uncomfortably, and she chuckled.
“Do you want me arrested?”
“……”