The pedestrian underpass was not exactly a pleasant location. Dirty words and graffiti were scrawled on the walls, and worse, it was cold. Rogue sighed to himself.
It was now day five of the investigation.
The daily bombings had subsided, at least. Out of ammo? Up to something else? Rogue would have preferred the former but wasn’t hopeful. They’d found no insight into the message beyond the witch’s speculation. They’d looked into the nobility and legends related to ruins in and out of the city, but there was nothing related to magic melding. All dead ends. Then on the morning of the fifth day, Velladonna gave them a call.
“Rogue, how goes things?”
“What do you want, Chief?”
“You’re a big grouch. Well, no use doing a song and dance, so let me tell you, the nobles are hopping mad.”
“Breathing down your neck, are they?” Rogue asked.
“More or less, yes. Not much I can do about it—but it has been a while since they were this emotional.”
“Their reps are on the line.”
“Their pride is in shatters.”
“But pissy nobles don’t give us new evidence.”
“Agreed. I’ll fend them off, so don’t you worry about how much time you’re taking.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Well, not especially. But a word of warning—beware of that doggy.”
“Doggy?” He frowned.
“Auroch, from the Headtaker Corps,” Velladonna said. “She’s got a reputation among my superiors. The youngest ever corps commander, mows down anyone who means the Ligtons harm. Obeys any and all orders. Assassinations, torture, you name it. Rumor has it she eliminated a reporter who dared to criticize the Ligtons. And since the Ligtons and Drakenias are at each other’s throats to begin with, I’d advise not even sharing information with her.”
“……I never intended to, but thanks for the heads-up.”
The call ended there.
He wasn’t spooked by threats from the aristocracy, but clearly, he should use what means he had available to him. For that reason, Rogue got in touch with the Puppeteer again.
At ten PM—ten minutes after Rogue arrived—he heard footsteps on the tunnel stairs. He turned to find the witch halfway down.
“You’re late.”
“Don’t be picky, this is well within the margin of error,” she said, beckoning to him. “Now, take me to your car! Donuts are calling my name.”
“……”
They quickly went from below ground to above it. Even this late, there was a ton of foot traffic. Miseria’s long white hair was hidden beneath that hat and black wig, but her beauty still earned a lot of looks. Especially when she was walking next to a man with a permanent scowl on his face. He hoped they wouldn’t run into anyone he knew.
They reached his parking spot and got in—and only then did he relax.
“……Here,” he said, handing Miseria a box with a half dozen colorful donuts inside.
“Package received, Rogue.”
Miseria pored over the donuts like she was verifying the contents of a wallet, resting the box on her knees. She soon made her choice and plucked it out of the box with a paper napkin.
“……You’re pigging out.”
“You wouldn’t buy me any last time,” she said, waving the half ring at him.
“We were on duty. You gonna eat the whole box?”
“It’s my reward. You can’t have any.”
“Wasn’t asking.”
He started the car and pulled out onto the main drag.
“Now then, Rogue, you had a question for me,” Miseria said, once she’d polished off her second donut. “‘How is he controlling people melded with a spell?’ was it?”
That was what he needed to know.
The victims clearly had no minds of their own; how was he making them do what he wanted?
As the car sped up, Miseria reached for a third donut.
“Mental interference would be the simplest approach. You’ve seen that in action.”
“Yeah, well…I guess. But I assumed that was something only you could do.”
Miseria shot him a loaded smirk.
“Well, other people aren’t as good at it, but it’s not exactly my exclusive providence. The mastermind would have preprogrammed victims with specific actions they’re meant to take. Not just sending them to a target destination, but letting them handle simple, everyday conversations.”
“So Chronos gave his victims a list of…conditions to blow themselves up?”
“Essentially. Which suggests he has a purpose beyond getting in your way.”
“How would you be different?”
“It would be far, far worse. You remember my nickname??”
She waggled a finger, biting into her pastry.
“Those under my spell are not nearly as wooden. No one can tell they’ve been brainwashed. No one can undo the brainwashing. By the time anyone knows something’s wrong, it’s all over.”
Rogue made a face. Should he really be letting her roam free?
“……Fine, that helped. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Rogue.”
She swallowed the last bit of donut, then abruptly cast off her hat and wig.
“This takes me back! Remember how we had such a good time solving crime together?” she asked.
He wasn’t sure how to respond.
“……I guess?”
Hands on the wheel, he stole a look at her. The witch was grinning. He could take that for an off-the-cuff remark—or he could take it as a means to an end.
She crooked her head at him.
“How are things? I didn’t get a chance to ask before, but the other witches haven’t killed you in my absence, right?”
“…Not so far…”
This was clearly pulling teeth, and Miseria raised a brow at him.
“So you’ve mastered the art of manipulating witches!”
“……It just worked out that way.”
“No need for modesty. I’ve been rather bored myself. No one to play with. Things got so dull, I started talking to a random stranger at the station.”
“Why would you do that?” He deflated. How much time did she have on her hands? “Don’t blame me if someone takes a swing at you.”
“I will happy accept any blows that come my way!” Miseria said. “Oh, open wide.”
He gave her a sidelong look but did as he was told.
“Say ‘ahh’!” the witch said and tried to push a half-eaten donut into his mouth.
“……Miseria.”
“Hmm? What, you intend to reject my benevolent gift to the donut-deprived youth? My show of mercy?”
“……Not the point, and I paid for them,” he protested.
“My, my. I never imagined a police detective would have such an overdeveloped sense of shame. You never change. Eyes on the road, or you’ll hit someone.”
He had to admit it wasn’t very detectivelike. He took a bite of the proffered donut. It was far too sweet. Bits of sugar clung to the corners of his mouth.
Dammit.
He saw the park up ahead and slowed down. There was no driving inside, so he pulled over and stopped.
“The wind’s picking up,” Miseria said.
The trees around the park were swaying. Rogue realized the smile had left her lips.
Her expression reminded him of a doll left sitting in the dark.
But he blinked once, and her smile was back. She turned toward him and raised a brow—did she know he’d seen that? Without another word, she pushed the door open and walked off into the park.
Oh…
Unconsciously, he reached after her.
He could almost see that gate behind her.
“I merely wish to know what we are not meant to know.”
That pool of blood. That mound of corpses.
He had not actually seen either. In reality, there was no red to be found, not a single body present. The “gate” was simply the entrance to the park itself. And yet it had brought that dream back to him with a vengeance.
Well aware he was overthinking it, he got out of the car. This was all in his head. Why was he dragging it around like this? His fist balled up, his nails digging into his skin. It hurt. See? That’s real. Banish all this nonsense from your mind. Stop being so hung up on this ridiculous bullshit.
He saw that white hair swaying.
The witch was waving, waiting for Rogue.
Think.
She’d helped him out. Not like helping with his homework, either. She’d saved his life. Would someone truly rotten even bother? Same with her motive for ditching the collar. Was searching for someone actually evil? He remembered how relieved he’d been. I know better. I know I can trust her. Stop hurting your own palm and forget that dream. That’s best for me and for the witch. Just—
“Forget all about it, huh?”
The wind swept his whisper away, and it did not reach the witch’s ears. She watched him approach the gate with a smile on her lips.