He followed Velladonna into the hospital room. Inside, there was a single bed, and the curtains were drawn, keeping the light out. Rogue moved to the side of the bed, looking down at the girl.
A girl with a collar on.
“Sound asleep,” Velladonna said.
The girl had been out for a full day now. The blow to her chest aside, there were no obvious injuries—likely because she had a witch’s physique.
“Yeah, not clear if she was ever allowed to rest. It’s entirely possible that lady took out her frustrations on her, too,” Rogue said.
“How vile. I can hardly believe it!”
Rogue had a feeling that statement had layers.
“Chief, you knew she had a witch under her thumb?” Rogue asked.
“Hardly.” Velladonna shook her head. “But I did suspect. The Headtakers are only human. They die so easily yet can’t be easily replaced. I had a feeling if they ever got their hands on a witch, they’d keep her for themselves, never reporting it to the Drakenias.”
So the power struggle between the Two Great Houses reared its ugly head again.
“They must have planned for her to be a trump card, played at the right moment—but they forgot how much resentment festers in the lower ranks. Placed too much faith in their master-servant relationship.”
“……You keep an eye out for resentment, Chief?”
He was thinking about how she’d forced him to take over the Sixth Precinct.
“Of course I do,” she said, making duck lips at him. “The last thing I want is a mutiny.”
“……Always putting yourself first, huh?”
“Don’t we all? I don’t see the problem.”
As she spoke, Velladonna was poking the girl’s face. That got her to groan in her sleep.
“……Just because she’s sleeping…”
“That’s why I’m doing it now.”
“……”
She caught his look and said, “You should give her a poke, Rogue. She’s got squishy cheeks!”
He just shrugged.
The girl’s fate was delegated to the Sixth Precinct. Arguably, Catherine’s wish came true, but it all went a bit too smoothly. Velladonna didn’t even need to persuade anyone; the Ligtons just foisted her off on them. Pressed for a reason, they simply insisted, “Our family has not once deployed a witch in the last thousand years.” A completely delusional statement.
Naturally, he’d offered the magic sword as evidence, but they’d refused to acknowledge it. At that point, Rogue—a mere commoner—could only give up. The case itself was closed and out of his hands; the chips would fall where they may.
He left the hospital room, heading for a waiting area. A nun was seated alone on a couch against the wall. She saw him coming and looked up.
“Is she still asleep?”
“Yeah. The chief’ll handle the rest,” Rogue said.
There was a lot that Giselle, the Einherjar, had to hear before she could be admitted to the precinct. That was Velladonna’s job. She could talk circles around Rogue.
Catherine rose to her feet.
“When she wakes, I’d like to apologize to her again.”
“Again?” he asked, frowning.
“Er, um, never mind.”
Her eyes swam.
“……I’m lost, but suit yourself.”
They left the building, headed for the lot. As he got in the car, his phone vibrated.
I’m coming over tonight.
Signed from the Puppeteer.
Life is a joke to her; she isn’t even trying to disguise her identity. And what is she coming over for?
He made to send her a long argument but stopped himself. The more he let her wrap him round her finger, the worse things got. He shoved his phone in his pocket.
“What next? If you wanna make a stop, we can.”
Catherine considered this, eyes on the ceiling, then smiled, raising one finger.
“Let’s celebrate a successful case!”
“Fair, we should do that.” Rogue nodded.
It’d be a good way to thank everyone for their help. He better let Rico know. They’d need a room laid out. He’d have to pay extra attention to Humafu; he’d wound up shoving all the busywork on her. He also needed to check what provisions they had on stock at the precinct.
He went to get his cup out of the cupholder and yelped.
His hand had bumped the wheel and sloshed the contents all over his wrist and sleeve.
Goddamn it.
Catherine saw the brown spatter. “Should I steam the stain out?”
He shook his head.
“Nah, it’s fine.”
That was the hand he kept the collar on—and he’d told no one that. He didn’t plan to for a while yet. At least, not while he felt indebted to the original owner.
He took a sip from his cup and put it back in the holder.
“Detective,” Catherine said. “There’s something I’d like to say.”
“What?” Rogue asked, turning toward her.
She shot him a worried frown. “Um, this is an awkward subject to broach myself.”
“You’re making it worse already,” he said, wincing.
“Uh…I know.”
“I’m not gonna be upset by most things.”
“Th-then I’ll say it.”
“Okay.”
“You’re not going to confide in me, are you?”
He felt a chill spreading outward from his heart.
His lips flapped, and her jade eyes crinkled. She held an index finger over her lips, shushing him.
“Headquarters is right over there.”
“……”
“I’ve been waiting. For you to tell me.”
Catherine reached over from the left side passenger seat, touching his arm. She started at the elbow, running her fingers down it.
“But you never said a word about it, Detective.”
She reached the coffee stain and deftly undid the buttons on his left sleeve. Like she already knew what he wore there.
“Is that how bad you want to let Miseria roam free?” he heard her say.
Her gloved fingers ran their way along the black choker.
She’d shown no indication she knew. Rogue had no such memory. Catherine had never once mentioned that Control might allow someone to resurrect. She hadn’t brought it up in any briefings.
Which means…
His spirits sank.
“……You knew all along? That she’s alive?”
“I did.”
The Saint nodded. Her knowledge of Control? No, the collar? He wasn’t sure. It was hard to tell what the Saint was thinking. He’d been keeping an eye out. Unsure how to handle this, he bit his lip. It was very dry.
“……So what’s your next move? Gonna tell everyone she’s alive?”
“Not at all.”
“What—?”
Her answer came so readily that it left him reeling.
“……The two of you tried to kill each other. And you—”
“Yes, I’ve never cared much for Miseria. The thought of getting sent back into that nightmare gives me hives.”
That only raised more questions. She had plenty of reasons to screw Miseria over. So why isn’t she?
Catherine leaned in.
Her face drew close to his, and her arm wrapped around his. One finger after another slipped between his, locking his hand down.
“I know why you want to protect her. You worked the case together, risking your lives for it. If I was in your position, I’d want to help her, too. But remember, Detective…
“…I’m your partner now.”
Rogue’s face was reflected in those jade eyes.
That familiar brilliant smile, her fingers tapping the back of his hand in a happy jig—they took his breath away.
He could not take his eyes off the witch.