He drank his milk.
Her smile grew even wider.
“Who knows what would happen to me if I did get arrested? My head might fly without waiting for my deferred beheading. Oh, I wouldn’t even dream of blaming you for it. Nobody will ever find me as long as you keep your lips sealed. As long as you do.”
She made that point twice.
“Part of me thinks the world would be a lot safer with you behind bars,” Rogue growled.
The witch leaned in, whispering, “I feel like someone saved you from an explosive death just today. What a close call!”
A born manipulator. Give her an inch, and she’d take a mile. Her tone made it clear she knew she’d won.
“……You’d deserve it.”
“Rogue, that’s just sour grapes.”
He couldn’t stand her whispering in his ear.
“Shush. Why were you even there?”
When he changed the subject, she finally moved away.
“Hmm. Well, it’s true I was there for a reason.”
“And that reason was?”
Miseria turned on her stool, facing him. Her blue eyes bore into Rogue’s.
“I heard Chronos escaped.”
“How’d you find that out?” he said, appalled.
“I have good ears. If he’d been a common criminal, I’d have let it pass. But we’ve got a lot of bad blood, yes? If I do nothing, it’ll go to his head.”
He studied her face, unable to tell how much of that was true. She might as well be discussing the next day’s weather.
“You intend to help crack the case?”
“I just might do that.” The witch grinned. “Would you like me pilfer the memories of everyone connected to it? That could be a thousand, or even ten thousand— Oh, and I simply must punish Chronos himself. What do you say?”
She’d asked him something like this before.
Rogue held his tongue. He had to balance the risks against the rewards. Even if his dreams were just dreams, they were only barely keeping collared witches under control. He didn’t want a single death coming out of this. Even if it was that son of a bitch.
He knew his fear lay beneath this, but it felt like ignoring that would be a fatal mistake.
“……If you’re gonna hurt people, I don’t need your help,” he growled.
“I’m kidding,” Miseria said. “Don’t take it seriously.”
An easy retraction.
He sighed. It was hard to tell how much she meant anything.
“That crease in your brow is more like a ridge.”
“……And whose fault is that?”
“Tell me what you know so far. You aren’t that obstinate, are you?”
The witch held up her hand, crooking her index finger at him. He had his hand on his phone in his pocket but didn’t care for this. She’d called him obstinate, and that felt like she had him wrapped around her finger.
“Go on,” he said, doing his best to look indifferent. It was all the resistance he could muster.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
The witch took the phone and started reading through the file. The facts of the case, what the victims had said, the links between them—she skimmed it all so fast, it was hard to believe she’d processed any of it. If anyone else had done this, he’d have taken issue with it, but—
“I get the gist. I know what Chronos’s message is, at any rate,” she said.
“You do?”
He raised a brow at that.
“Naturally. Who do you think am?”
She gave him a very fishy smile.
“Then what is it?” he asked.
The witch demanded a glass of milk, really milking the moment.
She took a sip, then said, “First, let me ask this: How much do you know about ‘melding’ with a spell?”
“I’m told most attempts end in failure. Otherwise…”
He trailed off, embarrassed to admit he didn’t know jack shit.
“Excellent,” the witch said. “It’s an issue even witches don’t wish to dwell on. Why exactly did we gain these powers? After his previous failure, Chronos is now focused on that concern. And the reason he’s sending messages is to make that point clear.”
“Okay…so?”
“One clear advantage we have is sheer volume of mana. We never run out—so much mana, it’s practically infinite. If I was inclined to cast spells on every single person alive, I have the capacity to pull that off. But, Rogue, where do you think that mana comes from? If you humans use up your mana, you must absorb more from the outside to recover from it.”
That much he knew. He was Voiceless, so he had never really been affected by it, but energy sources were finite. Mana was hardly an exception to that. If it was, then…
“Do you generate it yourselves? Like plants?”
“That would be fascinating, if true. But plants use photosynthesis, which is still converting the light shining on them.”
“Maybe, but…what’s your theory?”
The witch swirled her glass.
“I believe witches are constantly taking mana from somewhere else. That’s why they seemingly never run out.”
“And where is this somewhere?”
“Presumably the source of magic itself. Which is likely not of this world. I cannot begin to fathom the scale of it.”
Rogue’s frown was deepening.
“You’re losing me fast, but functionally speaking—you witches are linked to this source?”
The witch snapped her fingers.
“Exactly! You’re quick on the uptake. I believe there is a ‘gate’ connecting witches to this other place. Therein lies Chronos’s message. The key to the far side. By ‘far side,’ he means the source of magic. The ‘key’ is the means to becoming a witch. This ‘usher’ is likely Chronos himself.”
Rogue groaned, sipping his milk.
He followed it, but a place not of this world was too wild for his tastes. This was outside the lines of detective work. And the fact that Chronos was after it proved he’d gone around the bend.
He chugged the last of the milk as the witch spoke again.
“Before you head back to the Sixth Precinct, can I ask a favor?”
“What?” he said, giving her a look.
“Let’s take a drive.”
In the passenger seat, the witch hid her long white hair beneath a hat and a black wig. Even her clothes were different. She had color contacts on, hiding her distinctive blue eyes.