“Joining me for a little post-dinner aerobic exercise, Rogue—?”
“So,” he said, cutting her off, “I’ve got a favor to ask.”
She didn’t seem to mind the abrupt change of subject.
“Depends on the favor.”
Rogue took a short breath, then said it.
“Don’t rack up any more sins.”
Miseria cocked her head again, grinning.
“That is a vague request. How do you define sin? Do you mean murder specifically? And for how long does this favor last? I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“I don’t want to put a collar on you.”
Her blue eyes searched his face.
He could feel her old collar on his wrist. Perhaps this was wishful thinking. She was a former partner he’d trusted—and he didn’t want to see her backslide.
A juvenile sentiment. And yet…
He held her gaze. In time, her lips moved.
“Very well,” she said, readily agreeing. “Even I can’t guarantee things forever, but I’ll bear that in mind for the next century or so. I swear to commit no sins within that time frame.”
Her vow was awfully carefree.
“……You’re sure?”
“Since you’re asking, Rogue. Must you insist?”
She had a mocking glint in her eye.
“……I thought you’d refuse outright.”
“Am I that untrustworthy?”
“You aren’t the kinda gal who does what other people want.”
“Well, I certainly consider it sometimes,” the witch said. “Is my word not enough?”
He shook his head to indicate that wasn’t the case.
“Then you have my word.”
“……I’ll hold you to it.”
“So little faith! You’re making me weep.”
She clearly didn’t mean a word of that.
They were walking around the pond in the park, on a path frequently used by joggers during daylight hours. The witch was out ahead, almost dancing along.
“When you were a child, were you ever pursued by furious grown-ups?” Miseria asked.
“Nope.”
“Worth trying once! Golly, I really had my back to the cliff’s edge. Even my own mother turned on me! The whole mansion was full of enemies.”
By “mansion”—this must be a story from before she was a witch. He’d heard she came from a big-name family, with lots of servants.
Putting on airs like a tragic heroine, she continued.
“I thought making the portraits grow whiskers would be a minor, adorable prank, but my father went and fetched the ax. Honestly, if I’d failed to dodge, what would he have done?”
“Probably swung again.”
“Ah-ha! I never thought of that.”
She sounded like she genuinely hadn’t.
“Well, anyway, my legs proved a match for all of them, and I wound up only going without dinner,” she said, patting her thigh. “Fancy taking them on?”
“Those donuts will come right back up.”
“You are underestimating my digestive system. Those donuts are no more!”
“I’m not in the mood for a run.”
“Ready! Start!”
She spun around and dashed off. She was astonishingly fast. She might lie like she breathed, but this one thing alone proved true.
He gave chase but failed to close the gap. She didn’t look like she was in better shape than the average officer, but he couldn’t catch up at all.
At last, they reached the bridge across the pond. The witch stopped in the middle, tapping her foot on the boards with a satisfying plonk.
“I win.”
Gasping for air, Rogue had to rest his hands on his knees. “We didn’t pick a finish line…”
“Oh? I thought you didn’t fancy a run.”
The witch wasn’t even out of breath.
Completely unfair.
“Once we start, that changes things. And you had a three-meter lead from the get-go!”
“My, my, I never took you for a sore loser.”
“It’s a legitimate grievance.”
He straightened up.
The wind had died down.
The pond’s surface reflected the trees and the lights of the city. Next to him, the witch’s face peered in, grinning when he caught her looking.
“Nice here, isn’t it?”
Rogue nodded.
“One thousand two hundred years ago, there was nothing like this. Of course not. It’s truly magnificent. I want nothing more than for you all to carry on, just the way you are.”
“Even you have thoughts about the future?”
“Well, yes. We all share the same world. If a spider made a web in your garden, would you not be concerned about it getting torn up?”
“……Can’t say I’d care either way.”
“I’d be ever so curious. When the queen spider Catherine came out the far side of her infinite suffering and decided to sort her life out, I shed many a tear.”
She was looking him right in the eye.
Very fishy.
“I mean it!”
“I dunno how you live with yourself.”
The witch brushed back her white hair with aplomb, then crooked her head.
“If you die, I shall spare you a few of my precious tears.”
He sighed, unable to tell how much she meant anything. His gaze wandered across the pond. The shadows of the trees were waving again.
He could smell iron on the breeze. His gaze found Miseria’s, and she grinned, amused.
“Seems we have uninvited company.”
A woman in a suit was walking across the bridge, one hand on the rapier at her hip, her footsteps light. Rogue looked behind him and found the knight in armor brandishing their ludicrously huge sword, standing stock-still a fair ways out.
“Good evening, Detective Rogue,” the woman said, stopping a good five meters from them.
“Auroch…!”
“What a surprise. White hair, blue eyes—if it isn’t the Puppeteer? Why, that makes no sense. She’s supposed to be dead.”
Even as she spoke, Auroch’s hand was drawing the witch-killing magic sword from her scabbard.
“I jest, of course. I had my suspicions the other day. I’ve poured over the witches’ profiles so many times, I’ve worn them out. A disguise like that hardly changes the structure of your face.”
Held to her side, the magic sword gave off a dull glow.
“Auroch, was it?” Miseria said. “Do you intend to fight me?”
“Yes, that’s the plan,” Auroch said without hesitation.
“I wouldn’t advise it. You didn’t choose to be born a witch hunter. Do not waste the scant few years you have.”
“I appreciate the consideration. But I’m afraid I cannot overlook a witch roaming around without a collar.”
“Oh dear, Rogue,” Miseria said, glancing his way. “This is a stubborn one.”
Raising the rapier before her face, Auroch said, “To my great shame, I’ve never once raised a weapon to a collared witch. After all, you are the empire’s—and thus, the Two Great Houses’—property. You have friends in high places. Wearing the collar alone has quite an impact on things. I’d have no opportunity to harm you until your deferred beheading several thousand years hence. But here, I have a witch without a collar. My only choice is to attack.”
“I appreciate your perspective,” Miseria said. “But, Auroch of the Headtaker Corps, did your ancestors not warn you—not to look at my eyes?”
“My grandfather said as much,” Auroch said, her gaze unwavering. Her pupils dilated momentarily, then were back to normal.
“Interesting. You’ve tinkered with your eyes? You’re convinced that’ll prevent me interfering with you.” Miseria waggled her index finger. “An impressive effort, but not nearly enough. It’s like tissue paper to me. I can turn you into a puppet in one second flat.”
“But you cannot have two puppets at once. Claim me, and my assistant will remove your head.”
Miseria shrugged.
“The Headtaker Corps never did value their lives. That’s why it’s no fun dealing with you.”
She gave Rogue a push, suggesting he back off to the bridge’s railing.
“Wait, Miseria—”
“Now, now, Rogue. A witch without a collar is about to demonstrate her power. You should watch. Don’t worry, I’ll leave them alive.”
She raised a slender arm above her head.
“Come at me at once. I’ll play this on your terms,” she said.
A gust of wind blew.
A reddish leaf plastered itself to Rogue’s chest—and the lake behind him burst. Like a depth charge had gone off, a hole opened in the water, then there was an eruption higher than the trees around them.
The shock wave of the knight’s swing. It had narrowly missed the witch’s head and struck the water beyond.
Rogue’s eyes went wide, then found movement at the corner.
Auroch was now behind the witch. He started to yell. The witch hadn’t noticed; her eyes were on the knight.
A thrust.
The tip of the rapier parted Miseria’s white hair, bound for the nape of her neck—and then Auroch’s arm literally bounced back, severed from the elbow. Still clutching the magic sword, it sailed over the witch’s head, spinning through the air.