CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
It took a few hours to sort out the incident on the road to the Academy.
By the time the PKs arrived, along with Chief Dewey, in a towering rage that she and Keen were anywhere near the vaunted institution, the dead demon-men had faded into dust, leaving only one human body at the scene.
Luckily, the case for self-defense seemed clear cut, especially when coupled with the testimony of Hero – an unimpeachable witness, at least in this regard.
“Someone will have to tell his wife,” one of the PK’s muttered as he collected Dirk’s weapon and other evidence scattered about his corpse.
His partner – the uniform who’d shown Jerry Braun to his cell – smirked at his comment. “I don’t think she’ll be crying many tears over this one,” she said, circling the body and taking notes. “Hollander’s always been a useless sack.”
Hero caught Keen’s wince at the woman’s callous remark and bit back a sigh.
This one was going to stick with him for a long time.
He’d killed an innocent man, blinded by his hatred and his longing for the dream girl from his past. She’d known Abigail was going to be trouble for Keen and fiercely regretted not pushing the point.
But feelings were a messy business. Every peacekeeper thought they knew how to be objective, that they were better at it than any civilian, but every person was driven by their biases, their emotions. Even PKs. Even demonhunters.
Even death speakers.
“You two are off this case,” Dewey hissed at her.
His dark eyes were sunken, his hair spiky and unwashed.
She had no doubt the Fog spell was taking a toll on him.
He was a good PK, after all. Deep inside, in some corner of his mind, he had to know he was being manipulated.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.
I will stop it .
Hero gave Dewey a casual shrug. “Understood, Chief. I could use a little break after all of this. A real mess, am I right?”
Dewey grimaced, his anger easing at her words. Maybe he’d expected another fight? Well, she was done fighting him.
“It is a mess, but Dirk has been a troublemaker for a while now,” Dewey said.
“No one will be too shocked. How many people watched him try and pull a gun on Keen? It’ll blow over, I’ve no doubt.
” He peered at her in the light of a dozen torches as his people processed the scene.
“I do appreciate your help, Inspector, but we can handle things from here. The train to New Savage leaves tomorrow afternoon. I suggest you be on it.”
She nodded, struggling to keep her face neutral. “What about my partner?” she wondered. “Will you send him back to the Citadel?”
“After this? Count on it.” He scowled at the stunned demonhunter sitting at the side of the road, Hero’s jacket around his shoulders, before turning back to her.
“Take him home, Inspector. I’ll tell him tomorrow that his services are no longer needed here.
” He grunted. “Weren’t any demons for him to hunt here after all, were there? ”
Hero grinned, a most disconcerting expression given Dewey’s wan reaction. “Only me, Chief. Only me.”
After that, she and Keen went to his mother’s house at the end of Sycamore street, arriving in the dead of night, dirty and exhausted.
Keen’s mother had been waiting up, of course – a good mother, not like hers at all.
She took one look at them and ushered them inside, produced basins of steaming water, soap and towels, and allowed them the chance to wash before she planted them at her kitchen table for hot soup and tea.
The tea was sweet and creamy with milk, just the way she liked it.
Hero drank it down gratefully and didn’t even need to ask before Ma Keen refilled her cup.
The soup was delicious, too, if a bit on the thin side.
Nevertheless, after the events on the road, Hero needed sustenance.
She felt her strength return with every slurp of the salty broth. Good – she was going to need it.
A bit of shriveled flesh sat in one of her jacket pockets, a great weight for such a small thing.
There was a fine piece of crimson-and-cream ribbon around it, as if it were some souvenir, and Hero recognized that it matched the ribbons Abigail Hollander preferred to use to hold back her shiny black hair.
“Thank you, Mama,” Keen said again, the only words he’d managed to put together in the last few hours.
He sat wrapped in a quilt, his hair tousled and a shadow of stubble on his cheeks, sipping at his tea but ignoring the soup, eyes wide and staring.
Lost. She wanted to shake him. This was not the time to fall apart, not with what they still had to do.
“It’s no trouble, Boo,” his mother replied.
She was bustling about the kitchen, but stopped long enough to kiss the top of his head and give his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
The simple gesture made Hero scowl. It was hard to watch these two together sometimes.
The love they showed was an agonizing display of all she’d missed.
No hugs for me. Just fists and hot pokers.
The older woman must have noticed her expression for she stopped and looked at Hero, whose eyes were now once again safely shielded behind her tinted glasses.
“Do you need more soup, Inspector?” She smiled kindly.
She had never shown fear towards her, not for a minute. “No one goes hungry in this house.”
That drew a soft snort from her son. Hero’s lips quirked, glad that he wasn’t entirely catatonic. “Yes, Mrs Keen. Please and thank you.”
“Here now, none of that. Anyone who breaks bread at my table can call me by my given name. I’m Ruth to you, dear.”
“Then you may call me Hero, Ruth.” It felt odd to speak her name. It was so ordinary, whereas Mother held such power.
“All right. Hero. What a nice name. Have more soup.”
Another steaming ladleful appeared in her bowl.
Ruth hummed as she returned the pot to the stove, a soothing backdrop to Hero’s slurping.
Across from her, finally, Keen reached for his own spoon.
His hand was steady, at least, though that stunned look in his eyes hadn’t faded.
There was a creaking of iron hinges behind her as Ruth checked the firebox.
“This will stay hot for a while,” she said, latching it closed once more. She straightened and turned to them, drawing her robe a little tighter. “Could you keep an eye on it? I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s well past time I sought my bed.”
“We can manage, Mama,” Keen told her, summoning a small smile for her. It would have been reassuring but for his washed-out appearance. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She nodded, face placid as she placed a hand on his head, but her eyes were sharp with worry. “Everything will be all right, my sweet.”
He looked up at her, a little boy in a man’s body. “I should have listened to you. About–”
“Shh. It doesn’t matter.” She patted him affectionately, then crossed her arms against an imaginary chill and gave Hero a final glance, pointed and knowing, communicating all her fear and worry for Keen and all her trust in Hero – a vast, undeserved faith that a half-demon disgraced nun would take care of her only son.
Hero returned her nod, a rock lodged in her throat. Ruth left them alone.
“What do we do now?” Keen asked after a long moment of silence. The stillness of night had settled around them, the creaking of the house and the rattle of wind against the windows the only disturbances.
It was a deceptive peace, Hero knew. An eldritch presence lurked beneath Havenside, a demon of no known class or breed, a foe older than bones, strong enough to eat the dead.
The town lay in its influence, the fog of its existence muddling minds and hearts.
She and Keen had to assume every lever of power was turned against them now. They were on their own.
She turned her teacup on the tabletop, deep in thought.
She’d been considering their next move since she’d discovered the truth about Catarine’s disappearance – the catacombs, the shield, the pit.
She had to destroy the shield before they could get to the pit.
Hopefully that would break the hold that thing had over the town.
Maybe they would even get some help from their fellow peacekeepers.
We can’t expect that. We have to assume we’re alone here.
“We return to the catacombs,” Hero replied at last. “And this time, we break that fucking shield.”
Keen’s face scrunched up, his spoon clutched in one hand like he might wield it as a weapon. “How can we fight that… that thing? We don’t even know what it is, only that it’s ancient and powerful.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy.”
He looked aside. “Is there any chance she could she be under a spell? Like Dirk was?”
She gritted her teeth, biting back harsh words. “You heard him. This didn’t just happen. She’s been involved from the start, for years. This is the work of generations, Demonhunter. The entire family is most likely involved. Corrupted. Humans making deals with demons is nothing new.”
He blanched, his lips bent in a tight grimace.
“You have to let her go, Keen.”
A shudder racked him, but then his expression cleared and he threw the quilt back from his shoulders.
“I never had her to begin with,” he said sharply, rising from the table.
He rifled through a cabinet and returned with a bottle of gin, setting it on the table between them.
“Ma always keeps it on hand,” he said. “It was my pop’s favorite too, apparently, so I guess I inherited something from him after all. Besides my ears, of course.”
The bitterness in his voice surprised her. So Keen had his own dysfunctional parent, too? Good to know. She tossed back the last of her tea and extended her cup expectantly. He filled it, then his own.
“We could take our findings to Dewey,” he suggested. “The… evidence.” The tongue. “Your word means something, right? You said so yourself. So write a new report, sign it as an official death speaker.”
She shook her head. “What good would it do? It would only lead to more prevarication, more delay, and my reputation would be in tatters if I contradicted myself yet again. Besides, we’re running out of time.
I believe those missing children are being used to raise this Devourer.
Their demon blood is a source of great energy, even more than a battle nun of the Shield.
” She sipped her gin, grimacing at the sharp taste of juniper.
It definitely wasn’t her drink of choice, but the burn felt good, the heat dissolving into her weary muscles.
Dear Goddess, this fight was going to take everything she had.
But she had no choice. They had no choice.
“They have my niece, Keen,” she said quietly, staring into her cup. “And all she did to deserve it was try and help us.”
He said nothing, merely drank down his gin and refilled his cup. Then: “Can we do it alone? We have no idea what awaits us behind the doors of that Academy, or who. How many people are willing acolytes of this Devourer?”
She shrugged. “Half the town? Who knows? Humans are paper dolls strung in my way.”
“Paper.” He scoffed. “Flesh and blood and bone and will. They could have an army in there, demons and humans and only the Goddess knows what.”
She tapped her empty cup and he poured her another drink. “ We are an army, Demonhunter.” She lifted an eyebrow and let her glasses slip down her narrow nose. “I have fought darkness my entire life. And you? You are trained for precisely this. I know what demonhunters can do firsthand.”
“Even squirrels?” A hint of a smile.
She kicked back in her chair, balancing on two legs. “You’ve gotten better.”
His cheeks grew bright and he gave her a rueful smile. “So. An army of two. I guess that’ll have to be enough.”
“Right.” The gin was starting to go down easy – a little too easy. She put a hand over her cup when he went to refill it. “I need to return to my flat and pack up, make it look like I’m catching that train tomorrow. Dewey is sending you back to the Citadel, too, by the way. Very soon, I suspect.”
He frowned but didn’t seem particularly surprised. “With Jerry dead and the two of us gone, the whole town will think this case is tied up in a neat little bow. Nothing will convince them otherwise, and this place will be doomed.”
“Unless we break the spell,” she countered.
“Look, I think I can crack the shield.” She made a stabbing gesture.
“With a needle to the dragon’s heart. I believe the fog will be lifted when we destroy it.
We have no other option, either way. I have to get inside, and I can’t as long as the shield exists.
” She tossed back the last of her gin and gestured at him with the empty teacup.
“Get some sleep, Oleander. I’ll be back as soon as I can. ”
He stood when she rose from her seat, polishing off his drink in a careless toss down his gullet.
“I can’t let you go alone,” he said, voice a little strangled by the hasty slug of booze.
“ We should stick together from now on. Our enemies might think we’ve given up, but we can’t be certain of it. We’re safer together.”
Hero blinked. Depending on someone was an alien concept for a lone wolf like her. She’d been alone her entire life, even when surrounded by people. Even those other unfortunates cursed with demon blood avoided her.
“I’m only going to my flat,” she protested, but he was already snatching up his blunderbuss and saber – laid out on the kitchen counter, carefully cleaned and oiled by his mother.
“I’ll help you pack,” he said sternly, his voice brooking no argument. When she raised a brow pointedly, he added, “I have to make sure you organize all our files correctly. You are abysmal at paperwork, Inspector.”
She almost tapped the brim of her hat, but then remembered she’d lost it saving him. “All right. Just try and keep up, DH Keen.”
“Ah, Viridian, I do hate it when you say that.”