I rolled my eyes as the gate opened at my approach. Metal squealed as it swung open, filling the air with a discordant shriek.

  Could this get even more melodramatic?

  I walked through, then rushed forward as the gate smmed shut, nearly catching my tail.

  “That,” I said with barely hidden anger “was a very nasty trick.”

  No response, although the gargoyle bared its fangs in a yawn again.

  I strode forward, past the gravestones, past the rosebushes, both of which seemed normal if macabre. Who the hells buried their dead in a ring around the estate?

  Past that, the doors were heavy wood, oak perhaps, massive metal knockers and no handle. I lifted the knocker, letting it hit with a cng and both doors swung open.

  Inside was a grand hall that would be pleasant if it was a little more decorated. Instead bare polished stone was on the floor and the walls, projecting a chill I could feel through my hooves as I stepped over the threshold.

  Ahead of me, stairs bisected the hall, crawling upwards far more than for a second story, skipping it entirely and going straight for the third. A single blood-red carpet covered it, probably more out of a concession to the chances of slipping on the stone and breaking your neck than decor. Far up above, bck chandeliers cast a pale blue light down below.

  The door smmed behind me, nearly catching my tail again as I pulled it out of the way.

  Well, not the most pleasant of welcomings I’d ever experienced, I thought as I looked at the back of the doorway. How did they open back up?

  While I pondered that, I turned back around only to see the face of death.

  I recoiled backward towards the door as taut skin stretched tight over the skull pulled back. I could hear bones grind as they moved into a facsimile of a smile. Empty eyes shriveled, promising nothing but the grave as a tongue lolled out like a pale, slimy worm. Tufts of grey hair threatened to fall out of the head as it moved closer.

  “Ah, a visitor,” he said while I recovered from my very brief and slight panic at seeing him. “Very nice set of pipes on you, hrrm? Please keep it down some, while my windows have withstood dark magics of ancient evil, I think that scream might challenge even them.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, and almost recoiled at how shaky my words were. What was wrong with me?

  He cackled in response, chest heaving as he barely avoided choking on his own spittle. “Do not deny your terror mortal! It’s precisely why I id so many spells on this foyer, so none could deny my terror!”

  Oh. Amazing thing about emotional magic. Telling the target you were using it tended to make it less effective.

  In a single motion I pulled my revolver out, pointing it at his throat while he still roared with ughter.

  “Okay, enough of that,” I said. “Cackle anymore and you’re doing it through a new hole. Also, evil magic?”

  Now that the emotional-maniputing magic was gone, his face was definitely showing signs of age, but nothing like the near-corpse I’d perceived. Robs clung to a thin, skeletal body but hardly the worse I’d ever seen.

  He’d frozen, considering my revolver with more curiosity than anything else.

  “The evil magic?” I repeated, determined to get a straight answer before I gave up on this as a wrong address and forced my way out.

  He held up a hand with a wild smile, a small, inches high figure made out of bones standing still in the middle of it.

  “Behold!” The elderly man screeched in my face, the miniature skeleton in his palm.

  I stared, unimpressed, until the skeleton took a bow. Necromancy.

  “You have a license for that?” I asked.

  “License?” he said, practically puffing up at the word. “What self-respecting practitioner of the dark arts would have a license? This is necromancy, not some sycophantic geomancer throwing up castles and having to consult the owner on which walls are the load-bearing ones! One does not need a license to pursue the powers between both life and death!”

  “I know a bishop of Zaviel who would disagree,” I said idly, while the skeleton leap off the hand onto the man’s shoulder.

  “Hrrm? Bishop?” The necromancer said, seeming agitated enough I almost took a step back. “No, no, they don’t use that rank. Which one?”

  “Lilian Derrick?” I said, quietly getting ready if what I’d intended as a joke was taken instead as provocation.

  “Oh!” he said, smiling broadly. “Lilian, yes, lovely young dy. Syer of the Dead, which I am not, so all we’ve had is some very pleasant conversations when she comes in here and breaks all my fancier things. Good thing I have money to repce them all! No hard feelings, just doing her work, and I do mine in the pursuit of the true power, master over all!”

  Well, this was…concerning. Maybe? But also not really my problem.

  “I think I have the wrong ir of a damned and evil mage,” I said drily. “I’m looking for Alberta Vesper?”

  The old man cackled, eyes lighting up. He turned towards the stairs, yelling up them.

  “Allie! One of your friends is visiting!”

  “I am not a friend,” I said. “Colleague? Prospective student?”

  “Allie, some gnat is visiting! Someone who looks like one of your summons had congress with their mother.”

  “Thank you. For both your wonderful hospitality and decided to use that word.”

  So, clearly rich, probably of noble lineage, but engaged in a dark art that he cimed to not be licensed for. If I ignored Bishop Derrick keeping an eye on him, how much trouble would I get for a bullet through this old geezer’s kneecaps?

  Before I could decide to test that theory, a middle-aged woman appeared at the top of the stairs. Her gaunt, hollow face resembled the one far too close to me, and her first words confirmed it.

  “Father,” she said with forced patience. “Could you not antagonize our guests, especially not by turning on the intruder spell array just so you can have a bit of fun?”

  “It is precisely our small number of guests that is why I take my fun where I can get it, Allie,” he replied. “Especially when it turns out to be reted to those government goons you contract with. Or worse that cabal of sulfur-smelling conjurers you call friends.”

  “Congratutions. This is both. You are the Infernal Mr. Voltar sent me a message about?”

  I raised an eyebrow, looking over at the now-scowling Necromancer and presumably owner of the house. Her knowing was a given, her father knowing was not necessarily fine with Samuel Voltar.

  “Father knows to keep his mouth shut,” she said, earning an indignant sputter from him as she offered me her hand. “I am Alberta Vesper. You are Malvia Harrow?”

  “I suppose denying it would be pointless,” I said, taking it and shaking it firmly.

  Her father stalked off, muttering things I’m pretty sure were threats while his little skeleton shook their bony fist at me from a perch on his shoulder.

  “Is it alright to leave him…alone?” I asked her.

  “Father? Oh, despite the theatrics he’s fine. He doesn’t get out much anymore and his social skills could use a little dusting off, but he’s not anywhere near as deranged as he comes across.”

  I withheld my comments on how likely that was. “He cims to be an unlicensed Necromancer?”

  “Says the unlicensed Diabolist?” Vesper replied, arching an eyebrow.

  “Diabolism doesn't have a license,” I said. “As far as I know. Just carve-outs for people deemed useful.”

  “True,” she admitted. “He has a license, he just pretends he doesn’t because he resents needing one in the first pce. Admitting the family business has fallen on hard times was bad enough when the only child who stayed is the one who took a different path. Admitting the Imperial government is keeping a close eye on him and he’s only alive because they don’t consider him a threat? It breaks his heart.”

  “Such a pity,” I said without a trace of honesty. “My own bleeds for his.”

  She sighed. “You are a guest, and it is his house. I realize he-”

  “-decided to use emotion-maniputing spells on me without my permission,” I finished for her, and gave her my best innocent smile.

  “Why do I always get the cheeky ones,” she muttered. “Yes, he did, and I realize without knowing his eccentricities that seems more sinister than he intended. I won’t begrudge you for defending yourself, but please?”

  As very irritating as the entire encounter had been, I suppose I could extend some patience. If only until I’d sucked every little diabolic secret out of Miss Vesper’s head.

  She circled around me, eyeing me. I looked back, unimpressed by the dramatics. Nobles.

  “Which Duke? Or duchess?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

  She shook her head, a hint of irritation on her features. “Please don’t be coy. You’ve got enough raw power to make it a noble, and a deal of that magnitude would have made waves. I can also tell you have a rider in your head as well.”

  Well, entirely possible Intelligence had told her about both and this was just grandstanding, but either way, denial didn’t seem a good way forward.

  “Ability is not always linked to one’s lineage,” I said.

  “Yet more often than not it is,” Vesper replied. “Which noble?”

  I sighed. “They of the Lic Gardens.”

  Its domain since it had first risen in rank, and what had always been their core, from what mother had said.

  Her eyes raised slightly. “They who both sired and bore-”

  “Ten thousand young,” I said testily. “More since they earned that epitaph, I’d imagine. They seem dedicated to leaving me more siblings every time I look around.”

  “Not fond of him,” she murmured. “A little strange. Most Infernals who have some devil noble in their lineage I’ve met are typically proud of that.”

  I sighed. Yes, true to an extent. Those who actually knew? They tended to hang onto that information, some tighter than a man grasping for driftwood on the ocean. It was something to grasp onto that gave you meaning, and status. Useless meaning and status in Anglea, but something to be proud of. Probably why they held onto it, in a world where they had none of either.

  “It continues the trend of the majority of my family being nothing but pain for me,” I said. “And our talks never really helped improve that impression.”

  The one exception to that trend was still asleep, and I needed to pay her a visit. Useless to hope that somehow my being there might wake her up, but if nothing else the trips reminded the Xangs that they couldn’t spirit her away somewhere.

  “Hrrm. Well, while I wouldn’t throw a connection like that away-”

  Perhaps she has some insight after all, The Imp commented.

  “-it is true that trusting those from the Hells, especially the nobility, is rarely the wisest course of action in anything.”

  Eat her foul tongue!

  “How much formal training did you receive?” she asked. “I’m assuming the imp in your head has taught you some things.”

  “A little,” I said. “It gets sulky and upset when I don’t do things its way. Including meeting you.”

  I do not sulk, The Imp hissed. You know other diabolists are selfish creatures all too willing to stab others in the back for power.

  “It’s currently trying to convince me you’ll stab me in the back,” I told her.

  Entirely possible, and Samuel had sent me here in part to keep an eye on her. So this could end in blows between the two of us, but for right now the Imp was hardly the most trustworthy voice on that.

  “What, with vague threats and nonsense?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “It must not be a very experienced or powerful one to go for that immediately. Did you just put the first random imp you found in your head?”

  My smile grew a little gcial at the implication the Imp was my foul-up. This was a point where telling the truth was perhaps not in my interest though.

  I would never take the Imp’s advocacy on behalf of the Duke seriously. That didn’t mean Imperial Intelligence needed to know it had been summoned because it was a loyal servant to them. The less things that might hint towards me not being worth keeping around? The better, for now.

  Probably forever, but I would clean to my own driftwood in regards to this. One day I would be free of Intelligence’s grasp.

  “Truth be told,” I admitted. “I wasn’t responsible for summoning this one. Daver did it.”

  Vesper shook her head slightly, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “You let someone else choose the devil that would have access to your head? And do the summoning? Girl, you are lucky you aren’t possessed.”

  She wasn’t wrong, as infuriating as the condescending tone was. What I had right now with the Imp was technically possession, but only in the most technical sense. The Imp was forced to abide by the agreements of its summoning, and I retained bodily autonomy. Mostly. It could fuck around with other magic inside me, as I’d found out during the Shapechanger incident.

  Still far from actual possession, which was messy. Best-case scenario, the Devil and the host were in agreement and enhanced each other’s efforts. Usually one overpowered the other, sving their abilities or body to the more dominant partner. Worst case, what it usually ended up devolving to? The host rejects the devil to the point their body is torn apart, or the devil takes full control, using the host as a puppet for themselves.

  “I was fourteen,” I said. “And my understanding of diabolism was nearly rotting a few people’s faces off. Some of whom I actually liked.”

  “What the fuck did you do Lily?”

  “I don’t know,” I yelled, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding only for Timian’s skin come apart at my touch.

  He shrieked, more spurts of reddish-brown liquid bursting as his face colpsed further, flesh becoming muck oozing between my fingers.

  “Hrrm. You don’t hold the contract then?” She asked, peering into my eyes as if trying to see the Imp through them.

  “No,” I admitted. “I do have the text of it and the holder can’t do most if not all of what you’re thinking.”

  I’d been ignorant but I hadn’t been a complete moron back then when I’d drawn up that contract with Versalicci and Daver. They couldn’t have the Imp try to influence my body, couldn’t direct it to mess with any magic, borrow my senses, or even communicate with them when I wasn’t in the room as well. A folded-up copy was one of the things I’d buried under that warehouse when I’d become Katheryn Fara. Now, it was under my shop.

  “I wish Intelligence had mentioned it first,” Vesper said irritably. “I’d want to view that before we commit to anything. I don’t particurly want to teach someone with a potentially hostile devil lurking inside them.”

  And I do not want you to be taught by someone still living in their parent’s basement The Imp hissed in my head.

  More like her parent still lived in hers, but I wasn’t going to pry into that even a little.

  “My apologies,” I said, inclining my head. “I should have thought of it ahead of time, and retrieved it, but-”

  “Don’t,” she said, tone softening a little. “Whoever of Intelligence’s usual handlers sent you here should have thought it as well. They do know about the Imp?”

  “Yes,” I said, unable to keep irritation creeping into my voice. “Along with a variety of things I preferred they didn’t. But what choice does one have?”

  “Little,” she said bluntly. “I imagine your recruitment was different than mine, but it was made clear what the price of me taking the slightest interest in this field of magic would be. And I imagine my prices are on the light side as is.”

  “Probably,” I said. “So then teaching will have to wait until you know the full nature of the deal then?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Nothing against you personally, but having a third mind involved, one whose retion to you is ill-defined is not something I wish to deal with.”

  “I understand,” I said, inclining my head just a little. “However, in terms of providing consultation? On a case involving Diabolism? Would that be more possible?”

  “Certainly,” she replied. “What are your questions?”

  I resisted the urge to engage in any tics. What could safely be said, knowing I was here in part to keep an eye on Vesper?

  “Well,” I said. “I imagine you’ve read about what’s happening to the victims afterward?”

  “What do you think was the headline?” she replied. “Transformation rituals. Very nasty pieces of work, even on a willing target. Done to unwilling targets, who are priests? Shouldn’t be possible, so I supposed sensationalism. Not so?”

  “Not so,” I said. “Murder weapon.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Murder weapon? How would you even use it as a-ah! The ritual was never intended to finish was it? Not successfully?”

  “The current theory,” I said. “The more concerning part is that the ritual is the murder weapon in a very direct way. The killer channeled the ritual with a touch. No paraphernalia. No ritual circle. Enough energy leftover via corruption to deconsecrate the church.”

  Vesper narrowed her eyes again, then stalked off, whispering furiously to herself. I wasn’t sure whether to follow or not when she spun back around, swiftly striding back.

  “Powerful,” she said as she came to a halt a few feet from me. “Very powerful. How much can you tell me?”

  “Depends on what Voltar decides I can be allowed to tell,” I said. “The Intelligence one, not the detective one.”

  Edmund-uggh that name did not sit right in my mouth, just call him Voltar- seemed to just favor whatever solved the case fast, but his brother obviously had other priorities as well.

  “Samuel?” she asked, and I nodded. “Well, if he sent you here to learn from me, surely consulting-oh, you mean the spying part?”

  I wasn’t shocked. It wasn’t a hard prediction to make. If anything, I’d be disappointed if she didn’t think that.

  “Clearly, even if you know, I can’t say specifics,” I said.

  “Of course not,” she said. “Well, that makes this more interesting if he thinks I might be involved. Does this have something to do with the cheese missing from the Watch Commander’s private stash?”

  “The what.”

  “Ah, then I should be good!”

  I was beginning to doubt that the daughter was any less deranged than the father at this rate. “That doesn’t really change my situation, so my lips are a little sealed on all of this.”

  That didn’t really change anything, even if I did believe her. In all honesty, even if the chances of her involvement in this were minimal, that meant nothing. For one thing, I didn’t want news of the Whisper getting to Imperial Intelligence much for the same reason I didn’t want the priests hearing of it-that temptation wasn’t worth risking someone making a mad dash for power.

  “Things are rarely so simple,” I said.

  “True,” she admitted. “Hrrm. Perhaps I could tag along on your-”

  “Not my call,” I said hurriedly. “And also, it’s getting rather crowded as is.”

  I was not going to be responsible for dragging half the city along to every single murder site. Let that be on other’s heads, not mine.

  “Pity,” she said. “I guess I won’t be able to discuss that noble’s call that went out weeks past, coming out of the hells, trying to poke and prod its way around my mind.”

  I stilled, looked at her. It was amazing how someone on the way out of there middle years could look with the innocent aura of a young child caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

  “I suppose hiding that is out of the question,” I said. “I still feel like I’d get bmed if I mentioned it.”

  “Possibly,” she admitted. “I didn’t get offered the deal. Too much of a reputation for not putting myself on Imperial kill lists for whatever fool devil thinks they have a trick to pull. But I have something almost as good as the terms of the deal.”

  “Really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Why certainly. I can tell you who accepted it.”