Infernal Investigations

This was going to simultaneously be the easiest and hardest part of today, I thought. The easiest because the price for failure was being ejected, not violence or an everlasting grudge, which was the possibility with most of the people I was to meet today. The hardest because so much hinged on convincing a man with very little reason to believe us into something perilous for him.

Gregory and I had talked about handling this before, given my admitted lack of knowledge regarding any pantheon deity but Halspus. The entire list of topics related to my life that were to be avoided was annoyingly long, although at least the top of that list was easy enough to remember. No discussing my past robbing people’s graves and using their corpses for alchemical ingredients.

Of course, hammering in that I was not to mention it just made it be more in the forefront of my mind now that our target was here.

It was also hard to focus, given I was still irritated at the interruption and wanted to return to what we’d been doing beforehand.

Stupid. First, both times I’d started this when I knew other people would be along. Second, the last thing I needed to do was compound the mistake of deciding that my reaction to both him and Alice opening up to me was to kiss them.

I needed to look into the idea that lineage could affect actions more. I could blame this all on the thing that called itself my father. Yes. I hadn’t actually chosen to kiss them; the profane influence of my Infernal lineage had-

Okay, perhaps best to avoid thoughts that made me sound like Aunt Diwei.

This was a problem for later, not right now when there were far more important things to worry about.

“So,” Mourner Kelson said, looking between the two of us. “What can I do for both of you? I was told this was both important and time-critical.”

It was, but not the cover story we’d come up with for this.

“It’s not really,” I said, turning a fake glare on Gregory. “I told you not to lie on my behalf.”

“Ah,” Mourner Kelson said, irritation traveling across his face. “Well, I suppose I am here, anyway. What did you want to discuss with me?”

“I’m here to arrange burials for a pair of acquaintances of mine,” I told him.

“Acquaintances?” he replied back. “Not family or friends?”

“I don’t know if they had any,” I said. “I didn’t know them that well, but they died on the job for me. It’s right that I arrange things afterward. If their families come forward and have different wishes, I’ll of course adjust to what they want, but for now it seems prudent to at least begin preparations.”

“Wise,” Mourner Kelson replied. “I do appreciate an eye towards proper mourning of the dead, Infernal.”

Well, I thought as I kept the pleasant smile on my face, at least it wasn’t Foulhorn.

“Miss,” Gregory said firmly. “Let’s keep things polite, Anglean.”

I wanted to snap at him. I could put up with a little unpleasantness, intended or not, if it meant not making our target storm off in a huff. Luckily, all that happened is the Mourner’s face flushed a little, and he hurriedly nodded.

“My apologies, miss,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Apology accepted,” I replied, hoping to just move past this.

Kelson turned his attention to Gregory. “And you are here because-?”

“Because I’m a friend of hers, and could arrange this,” Gregory said smoothly.

“A friend,” Kelson repeated, unconvinced, and I resisted the urge to groan and bury my face in my hands. We had not successfully covered up what we’d done before he walked in, I was sure of it!

“Again, I apologize for this,” I said, faking a glare at Gregory. “When I arranged this, I thought he meant he could get a meeting with you without blatantly lying.”

“I’m a bard,” Gregory said, flashing a smile. “According to most people, our profession is mostly lie-telling and occasional musical performance.”

“You say that, but I’ve never heard you play,” I retorted. “Perhaps you are a cleric of Lareran instead?”

“I wish, then maybe I’d have some money. And it’s not my fault you attend none of my performances! Or bother to come to the temple!”

Mourner Kelson cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to interrupt what I am sure is a long-lived debate, but why are you meeting with me specifically?”

“You came recommended,” I said. “And also I was told you are the minder for the plot near the Narrows, which is close to where I live.”

Not the closest, and not by travelling if one thought of how long it took to navigate the maze of streets and alleys that gave the Narrows their name. But plausible enough to stand up to surface-level scrutiny.

As for his managing of that plot, he managed it. And close to thirty others, being fairly high-placed in the hierarchy of Zaviel’s clerics, albeit in a more administrative role. Easy to overlook, which in turn meant easy to hide things with.

“I am,” Mourner Kelson confirmed. “Although it’s one of many plots. I oversee the people who actually tend the graves and maintain the protections. I do make sure to visit all the ones I administrate at least once a month, to make sure the dead truly are being honored, but to say this will be difficult for you, well, it is closer to impossible, I am sorry to say. The tax levied on us for Infernal dead.”

Gregory had given me a quick rundown of how this probably wouldn’t work as an excuse outside the temple. Starting with the fact that burying Infernals in individual graves was exorbitantly expensive, to the point even my relatively full stockpile of coin would be emptied before buying even a single plot. Any priest of Zaviel we met would assume I was just too ignorant to be aware of this, and any progress we made towards having a meeting would have been curiosity at best.

I could deal with that. I’d lived most of my early years as a curiosity for anyone who got a glimpse of me, an Infernal outside the quarter, living with the descendants of someone who had fought at Her Majesty’s side. Most visits had involved my either being forced into a windowless room or pretending to be a servant’s child.

Mourner Kelson nodded, then reluctantly said, “I think it will be impossible for you to arrange their rest. I wish we could help you arrange a comfortable rest for them, but you might find it outside your ability.”

He sounded genuinely pained, and from the crash course Gregory had given me, most Zaviel’s clerics wanted to provide a safeguarded rest to all dead, soul and body, to the best of their ability. Even if you were too poor to afford a plot, they’d find some place to bury you with some protections against anyone out to exploit you.

I was familiar with bypassing those myself. You learned those fast when you went graverobbing, unless you wanted some priests at your doorstep prepared to fight a necromancer. My stealing parts of the Drake Millicent Ferguseous Valicent had been before those Zavielians’ defenses had been put into place.

Of course, a willingness to defend all souls had little sway against the Imperial government’s point that our souls went straight to the Hells regardless of how protected they were. And so there was a tax imposed for wasting the time and effort of Zaviel’s clerics protecting our much more worthless mortal remains.

And people wondered why I treated the corpses of the dead with so little respect.

“I guessed as much,” I said with faked mournfulness. “Still, I would like to make the effort they deserve, given what they did for me.”

“I can understand the need to make up for what people did in life we don’t appreciate until they are dead,” Kelson said sympathetically. “If you will tell me, how did they pass?”

“Diabolism,” I told him, and his eyes widened. “They were unfortunate enough to cross paths with two criminals possessed of devils, or so I was told. Having seen the bodies…I have very little difficulty believing them.”

“Ah,” he said, seeming uncomfortable. “I would not be able to say myself if I saw the bodies. I have very little experience with it.”

There was an opening to start the actual conversation we needed. We needed his agreement to all of this. Pulling this off would be difficult enough without adding the complication of his not being willing. Or knowing what was happening. We did not need to add someone throwing divine and diabolic magic around because he thought he was being attached to this scheme.

Which meant having a probably unpleasant conversation.

I’d been listening this entire time to the footsteps of those outside, to the opening and closing of doors, trying my best to construct a map of the inside of this place based on sound. If anyone was spying on us, they’d been both very quiet and found a place where even their breathing would be muffled.

“I would think you are very familiar with the diabolical, Mourner,” I told him.

His eyes widened further, then he backed away, drawing in breath. A hand blazed with a strange glow that wasn’t light, instead shadow pushing black into the world.

I held up my hands immediately, not wanting to risk anything like those killing beams Derrick had unleashed during the attack on her carriage. “Peace, Mourner. While I am what one might say is familiar with the diabolic arts, my only connection to the recent killings is my attempts to help stop them.”

“I can vouch for her,” Gregory said beside me. “And someone inside your own church can vouch for us, if you don’t believe either me or her. Although we hardly want to bother Slayer Derrick or Bishop Gallaspie. Both of them are so very busy these days.”

Recognition dawned on his face, although it didn’t make him lower his hand. “You are the Infernal who aids Voltar. The Xang who is half-diabolic.”

A lot of effort went into preserving my smile. “I prefer the name Malvia Harrow, if you would. I imagine they would prefer that name be used instead of my birth name as well.”

His eyes narrowed. “The grave robber. You harvested corpses. Defiled the dead.”

Oh joy, that story had spread as well. This, I held my tongue on since I didn’t want to say something out of ignorance, likely to provoke the cleric even more. I’d agreed with Gregory that he would handle getting any outrage over that handled.

“She did,” Gregory said. “Being an unrepentant criminal, she even talks about it quite a bit. I will say it is born from ignorance, not malice.”

No, I was well aware of Zaviel’s insistence on protecting the bodies of the dead, I just didn’t get the vehemence with which they defended the leftover husks after the souls had left. I wouldn’t voice that, but the entire thing seemed a pointless exercise in protecting perfectly fine ingredients over…dignity for a dead woman.

“Ignorance smells rotten when it’s repeated too many times,” Kelson said, still staring daggers at me.

“Ignorance breeds when no one else says anything,” I retorted, and ignored Gregory’s warning glance. “People ate the dead in the Quarter, Mourner, when no other food came in. No one honored the dead, because no one was there to teach them why, if a reason existed.”

Kelson breathed in deeply, something threatening to come out of him that he was doing his best to control.

“I suppose I can’t offer any rebuttal to that,” he said. “That others prevented it doesn’t change your being right. But I can still be offended that you robbed the dead, not just of their belongings but of their bodies to grind up in potions and mixtures! And now you come to me, why?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but the Mourner was already going onto his next section of a clearly building tirade.

“Besides all of that,” he continued. “You added to your disrespect by, in here of all places-“

“Your life is in immediate danger,” I said, ignoring the heat on my cheeks and hoping to cut this off before it became any warmer. “If I had to make my guess, you have until tonight before you find yourself the next victim of the people killing your fellow clerics turned diabolists.”

“And how do you know I am the next target?”

“Your name is on a list we received of priests involved in the study of the Diabolic arts,” I told him. “Of the deities with only a single participant, yours is the only one left.”

“Well, as far as we know,” Gregory admitted. “The list possibly misses names. And might not even be from a trustworthy source.”

Kelson’s eyes narrowed, and he sat back down, albeit much further away than he had initially. And his hand remained pointed in my general direction, which looked ridiculous. Though, who was I to argue if it made him feel safer?

“I suppose it is a little trustworthy,” he said. “Since you have found me.”

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“The person who gave it to us is very good at their job,” I replied.

“Derrick,” Kelson said bitterly. “I have the utmost respect for the Slayer for what she did and sacrificed. But she gets impatient at times. Aware of her mortality more than is proper.”

“Not to be disrespectful, but she has more reasons than some,” I said. “But also, she is not the source of our information.”

Kelson’s eyes narrowed, glancing between Gregory and me. “And that would be?”

“Remaining unnamed,” I said. “I don’t think I need to say why.”

I can’t imagine that even if Derrick or Gallaspie were willing to get violent over attempts to keep this as quiet as possible, they’d be able to get their hands on Metrill. Still, professional courtesy was a must.

“You leave a lot unsaid for someone who wants me to forget past crimes and trust in you,” Kelson said.

“Would betraying the confidence of the person who trusted me to keep that secret help you trust me more?” I replied.

“I suppose not,” Kelson said, turning his gaze Gregory’s way, who laughed.

“I just barely started with this endeavor; I definitely wasn’t involved in getting those names put together,” Gregory said. “I will say, looking at some of the names, many of them I fully understand, as well as the church’s involvement. Everyone chases after Halspus.”

“Indeed, they do,” Kelson muttered.

“Interesting that you think it was Derrick who gave you up,” I told him.

Kelson’s smile was mirthless. “No offense to her, but she is as impetuous as she always was, just a little better at hiding it. Her decision that she’s had enough of this messing about in the shadows and forcing an end fits her very well. And also, I wouldn’t trust the righteous Bishop Gallaspie to lower himself to helping an Infernal. He can barely lower himself to help those foolish enough not to worship the sheer glory of the sun shining out of Halspus’ ass.”

“I see you’ve met him,” I said diplomatically while Gregory went into a coughing fit.

“Multiple times, I have had to endure the presence of Bishop Gallaspie, getting to bask in his glory while he talked about how if he doubted my dedication to not becoming an actual agent of the diabolic, he would cut my head off with that glowing sword of his,” Kelson replied. “I’m sure it works better when one fears death. I may not be a Slayer, guaranteed my place in the afterlife, but when my end comes, I will not fear fading into nothing.”

“A guaranteed place?” I asked. Derrick had not given off the impression of thinking that in our previous conversations.

“She’s a Slayer,” Kelson said, then frowned at my expression of confusion. “Her place in the afterlife is secure as one of Zaviel’s reapers, her greatest servants, those who safeguard the dead, and in times of great need come to handle the undead that mortal servants could not. If Derrick and her allies had not handled the Lich Lambert Gressen, another Slayer would come. One always comes eventually.”

Given how legends of said liches usually involved quite a lot of death and destruction, I had my doubts about said Slayer’s response times, but I held my tongue.

“Interesting. I do agree with what you think Slayer Derrick’s reasons for giving up your name would be,” I told him. “This has gone on for far too long. The number of dead clerics has reached six now.”

Kelson nodded grimly, then frowned. “That many? I’d only heard about three, including Reginald. An unfortunate number, but I don’t see-”

“The killer has a goal,” Gregory interrupted. “One that needs twelve clerics dead, one from each deity. So while it might be a small slice of the number of people who signed onto this, it’s halfway to their own goal. Assuming no other deaths have happened that we are unaware of.”

“Two of them were last night,” I continued. “Assuming a similar pace, they’ll be ready to finish their scheme before the week is finished. And that’s the optimistic view.”

Mourner Kelson glanced between the two of us. I imagined internally that he was debating whether to believe us at all.

“If you want me to believe this, why are neither Bishop Gallaspie or Slayer Derrick with you?” he asked.

“What people do not know can’t hurt them,” I replied with a smile.

“Which sounds like a perfectly good reason for me to cut this meeting short,” he said, moving back towards the door.

“By can’t hurt them, I should mean can’t hurt you,” I said. “Since they’ve been as passive as a rock in terms of actually stopping this plan or you and your fellow clerics from dying.”

He halted. “You’re lying.”

“She’s not,” Gregory said ruefully. “Our superiors have the best of intentions with this; the less Her Majesty’s Government knows, the less they might decide to use later. And of course, less chance of the public suddenly learning twelve different followings among the Pantheon’s religion deciding to lose their minds.”

“What are they trying to do?” He asked.

This had come up during my discussion with Gregory, and as much as I’d love to lay the whole thing out to the Mourner, the knowledge about opening a Hellgate should be spread as little as possible. If only because if it broke to the public, I was sure Her Majesty would want the heads of the fools responsible.

“They’re trying to open a Hellgate,” Gregory said before I could even start on my vague answer.

I glared at him. “Are you trying to sign our death warrants, Gregory?”

“No, but he would have guessed the moment you started hinting at it being some grand ritual,” Gregory countered, focused on Kelson.

“Something along those lines,” Kelson said, seeming rather pale. “I would have guessed some prince or duke of the hells before a Hellgate, but…yes.”

“Please don’t spread it around. Are you the only cleric of Zaviel who has been practicing Diabolism?” I asked Kelson.

“That I know of?” he responded. “Perhaps. I know of no one else personally, but I’ve been doing my own studies, rather removed from others. I’ve met with clerics of other deities who have been studying, but from my church? No. But can I say if there are no others, no cleric in some far-off church to my goddess, also studying the practice of diabolism? No.”

Not exactly the confirmation I’d hoped for, but it would have to be enough.

“They know names,” I said. “All evidence points towards Father Reginald’s death being done by someone who knew and trusted him enough to let his guard down. The two killed last night? One tried hiding, the other setting up an ambush. The latter claimed she was being tracked and couldn’t shake her pursuers. I’m inclined to believe her given how both were tracked down practically the same night as they tried hiding.”

As sloppy as Ryle had been in hiding ,where he’d holed up, finding him in a single day indicated help in tracking him. Either he was being stalked beforehand, or some form of magic or inside knowledge to help track the cleric of Gallock down.

Given the amount of diabolism being used and the inside knowledge already displayed, probably both.

“There is definitely a mole somewhere,” Gregory told Mourner Kelson. “Slayer Derrick being ambushed along with Bishop Gallaspie’s assistant. Songmaster Reginald was targeted first because he had stumbled onto something he shouldn’t have, but every death after has been of clerics with smaller numbers in this program. You yourself said you only heard of three of the deaths? Doesn’t that strike you as a little odd?”

“You don’t need to paint me a picture,” Kelson growled.

“With them knowing the names involved, you are the next natural target,” I told him. “But that is why we’re approaching you. See, if they were denied a death they need, that puts the entire deal on hold. Oh, they would assuredly continue trying to carry the plan out, but if they can’t find the victim they want? They’ll be stymied, and now others know what they plan. It’s easy to disappear in this city, but from that many searching eyes is difficult. And there are other things they need, things they can’t afford to lose.”

“I see,” Mourner Kelson said stiffly. “And since I am, as far as all here know, the only of Zaviel’s acolytes to be part of this?”

“A natural way to make sure,” I said. “It would require so much more effort with any of the other deities’ trainees, given the numbers involved. One of these days I’m going to pick the brain of some Daltaren cleric, see what made so many of them sign on for it.”

“Money,” Gregory said. “Or the opportunity to make more in the future. If I had to guess, probably incentives from further up, and the reason for their church to pursue it is that they think the skills will be valuable for business ventures in the future.”

“Diabolism for business ventures,” I said flatly. “And people call me insane.”

“Different kinds of insanity,” Mourner Kelson said. “I assume your fix isn’t just killing me?”

“Of course not,” I exclaimed, shocked and more than a little offended. “If you’re willing to hear me out, then this is what is planned…”

***

We explained the plan, and after a while, received an agreement I was mostly sure he genuinely meant. A reluctant one, and one clearly doubting our abilities, but I thought there were good odds he went through with it?

And if he decided not to trust us and tried to save himself instead? I wished him the best of luck with that. Not an ideal outcome, but one I didn’t have the resources to interfere with. Hopefully warning would help some in that case.

“Do you think he’ll go along?” I asked Gregory quietly as we left, keeping my words non-specific. We were still in the church after all.

“Maybe,” he replied. “He’ll probably try to verify what he can independently, then decide based on that. I warned you if he found out about what you did it would leave him reluctant to agree.”

“Nothing else to do regarding that then,” I said. “Whether or not he shows up, we continue with the plan. I can improvise something to draw attention instead.”

We made it out of the temple and back into the city proper.

By now, the falling of snow had halted, and the sun up above blazed with a ferocity and warmth belonging to the spring that was supposed to arrive half a year from now. It made for a strange contrast, the blanket of snow spread across the ground mixed with rising heat made even warmer with my coat on.

“I’m not so much into arcane theory,” Gregory said, forced down to one coat by the heat, and even then sweat was beading on his forehead. “But they are going to mess up the natural weather for weeks afterward doing this, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Even if they keep every mage who knows a bit of weather magic focused on making the weather be what it should be for this time of year? The knock-on effects will be very chaotic.”

It depended on other factors I wasn’t familiar with, of course, not having studied it extensively. But every change had an impact, and such sudden and contrary changes to the weather would leave marks. Marks that would take months to heal.

Once we were out of the church and beyond the immediate hearing of eavesdroppers, Gregory asked me a question.

“Why did you ask Kelson if there were any other priests of Zaviel involved in the program? Wasn’t his the only name on the list?”

“Derrick told me during a private conversation that they had four in the program,” I told Gregory. “Just before her carriage was ambushed.”

Shock, then immediately followed by a puzzled frown. “She did? Then why bother with this? And did Metrill lie or not get all the names?”

“Three possibilities,” I told him. “Not just two. Either she lied, Metrill lied, or Metrill didn’t get all the names. I’m hoping it’s the last of them, because the last we need is even more mysteries piling up. There’s a good chance there are more than one Zavielan clerics practicing diabolism.”

“Then why bother?” Gregory whispered.

“Because what happens next might tell me who's lying and also who is in on it,” I replied. “And if it turns out Derrick was lying, this takes completing the ritual off of the board. And if she isn’t? Then we still panic the involved parties some. If the people in charge of this feel like their control is slipping, they’ll get sloppy.”

Gregory pursed his lips, looking out at the crowded square in front of the cathedral. “Malvia, we’re talking about them getting sloppy with diabolism.

“Yes,” I said with a bitter smile. “Trust me, I know, but what’s the alternative? So far, both of our respective superiors are projecting the image of not taking this as seriously as they should. Even worse, they have goals that are making them reluctant to share information with each other. Well, more accurately, yours do out of some fool attempt to limit the damage when this all comes out.”

More than foolish in my opinion. The first thing that Intelligence would do after this whole mess was concluded, assuming it didn’t end with an open Hellgate, was figure out who was involved and to what extent. Collecting leverage in case any of the churches needed to be reduced or used in the future. Probably excluding her own patron’s church in the worshippers of Halspus. Speaking of them.

“Did you mean to imply Bishop Gallaspie was behind all of this in there?” I asked Gregory, keeping my voice just above a whisper. It meant getting close enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the swiftly filling street.

I was within the bounds of propriety. I wasn’t touching him, but we were definitely getting looks.

“I implied it because the more I think about it, the more I think it’s true,” Gregory whispered back, my ears picking up something that most would struggle. Aw, he was learning how to do this properly. And then my elation — he wasn’t belting things that should be kept private out in song got poleaxed by what he was saying.

“You think Gallaspie is the mole?” I whispered. “He’s a bishop of Halspus!”

“For someone who hates them and their deity, you’re about as reverent and devoted to what that is supposed to mean as they are,” he whispered back. “Yes, I think it’s Gallaspie because to pull this off, the mole has to be someone high in the hierarchy. And if that attack earlier had gone to plan, Derrick would be dead, leaving just him and whoever the third in their triumvirate is.”

“And his assistant,” I pointed out, albeit weakly. Although arranging for a disposable person in your organization to die could be an effort to deflect suspicion from you.

Gregory was right. Someone had to be the mole. And my insistence that a cleric of Halspus wouldn’t turn and deal with diabolism was rooted in my own viewpoint. Diabolism corrupting people, devils tempting, that could happen to anyone, even if Halspusians had a better track record than most at resisting those temptations. Remove that reflexive rejection of the diabolical, and did Gallaspie fit the role of mastermind in this scheme?

’Maybe’, is where I ended up. It was entirely possible, but much like there wasn’t anything disproving it, there was nothing proving it either.

And thinking more about Forcreek.

“Forcreek might work as the killer,” I whispered back. “Assuming this is true. The fragility he displayed at the other crime scene fits with purging the taint of diabolism after heavy use of it. Or it could just be that he is recovering from his wounds.”

“He could have been there to finish off Derrick if the mercenaries failed,” Gregory whispered vehemently. “You weren’t supposed to be there. After the attack, the sole survivor with everyone else dead? Who would have called what he said lies?”

“And yet he did not kill me when I was unconscious, or Derrick after she was injured,” I countered.

“He could have guessed an aware and on guard Derrick would be harder to kill than one not expecting any attack,” Gregory said, much weaker than his other points. I didn’t even bother with pointing out that this would have been true in the hypothetical case of him being there to finish off Derrick in the first place.

“How much of this is antipathy talking?” I told him. “What do we have pointing towards his being responsible?”

“It has to be someone higher up,” Gregory whispered. “One of the three leaders, and guessing the third is as good as guessing that smoke is responsible. I could point at anyone with their face hooded by a cloak and say they’re responsible and have just as likely a chance.”

“True,” I replied. “But it doesn’t need to be one of the three. Metrill got the information needed. I imagine it wouldn’t be hard for others if they put their mind to it and had even some pull inside the organization.”

We walked on in silence, and I was very careful to preserve that inch between us. Partially because I did not need that kind of distraction, and partially because of the many, many people on the street taking a sudden interest.

Given the amount of itching on my skin, most of them were already making Halspus’ sign as we passed. I did not want to give anyone in this crowd a reason to try something more.

“I’m not saying he isn’t responsible,” I whispered. “I’m just saying, the evidence is thin. Part of why I want them panicked. People who don’t think leave more clues.”

“How is it I end up disliking him more than you?” Gregory asked, tone light but genuinely curious.

“I don’t blame a rat for doing what is in its nature,” I replied. “I simply expect it, handle it, and move on.”

Silence for another second.

“But I do also hate him, just not enough to assume he’s behind this without more solid proof.”

People were looking even more now, and I put a little more space between us to try to cut that scrutiny back a bit. As much as I might be getting used to what my appearance had changed to, I really needed some way to be less eye-catching when out on the streets.

“I think Desmond isn’t going to believe me about not seeing you anymore after this,” Gregory joked, only for the amused look on his face to wither as I glared at him.

“Don’t joke about that, please,” I muttered. “I should have thought about that, going around with you in public will probably mean rumours by the end of the day.”

What had happened earlier would have no bearing on that. The rumours would start just by traveling around together. Stupid not to think of it. At least focusing on that kept my mind off that swirling cauldron of emotions in my chest.

“There’s a place I know on the corner,” Gregory told me. “Cozy little cafe. Do you want to visit so we can discuss what was happening before Mourner Kelson came in.”

I wasn’t so uncoordinated that I tripped, but I nearly missed a step. Right, thinking about murderous diabolists and plans to open a gate into hell had nearly made me forget about the new mess I’d brought into my life.

“Not this second,” I said, trying not to have my words trip over each other. “Tonight maybe? Probably tonight.”

Preferably later this week, really, when I had a chance to think over how I could handle this, but no reason to tell him that. So much for honesty going forward.

“Okay,” Gregory said. “And the things you said before that? Or even earlier? I still stand by what I said. I don’t know enough about what happened, but a few hours is not enough time to work through a lifetime.”

“I know,” I replied. “Again tonight. Once the preparations are done, but before the plan is ready. I deal with the time I’m given, Gregory, not the time I wish I had. There will be more of that once we disarm this trap.”

Faking Mourner Kelson’s death might not fully achieve even that, but it would be a step in the right direction.