The conversation with the baronet yielded nothing but more questions. I was slightly disappointed, but Sunset, on the contrary, was tapping his fingers excitedly.

  “What’s got you so cheerful?” I asked.

  “The caliber of the players involved,” he replied.

  “Explain.”

  “All the victims so far were small-time criminals.”

  “Except for the vampire,” I pointed out.

  “Except for her,” John confirmed. “Her death already stood out from the rest, and now we’ve got the heads of vampire nests tangled in it as well. Once we stir up this swamp, a lot of filth will rise to the surface.”

  “Kate’s not a head,” I corrected him.

  “She may not be the Mother, but she’s the head for now. Right now, she’s the senior Lindemann in the city.”

  “So, what, we’re going to start rattling Nina’s nerves next?”

  “Don’t overestimate yourself, Duncan. Harry might be able to rattle her, but we’d only make her laugh.”

  “She’s that much stronger than Kate?”

  “Kate’s restrained by her circumstances. Since Lucas’s death, she’s been acting cautiously. We spent quite a bit of time together during the investigation, and you have some sort of relationship with her as well. But Nina? She wouldn’t hesitate to crush us. If you’re going to her, you’d better bring an army of constables or some lads from the Special Squad or the Righteous Hand. And if there’s no immediate danger to the city or its citizens, we’ll need to file an official request. And that request has to be worded in a way that doesn’t have the whole city talking tomorrow about how the Gratches and Lindemanns have started a war. Our office isn’t a safehouse – It’s a revolving door. Every clerk in there is being paid off by someone. Damn,” John glanced at his watch, “drop me off at the station. If I start drafting it tonight, I’ll have it ready for the morning review.”

  “You promised Harry the archive on previous arches,” I reminded him. “He’s only got the materials on the last one.”

  “I’ll send a sergeant over with the papers,” he said.

  After dropping John off at the station in Pubset, we headed back to the Old City, to the grand municipal library. There, I spent several unforgettable hours poring over New Freeland newspapers. Who would have thought the archives would be this extensive: two daily newspapers, eight weekly ones, five monthly magazines, and a decent pile of news bulletins from government offices.

  The sheer volume of work didn’t scare us, but after hours of flipping through months’ worth of publications, Knuckles and I were utterly wiped out. To salvage the situation, I decided to try magic.

  Keeping in mind the limitations Harry had placed on spell forms, I used two circles nested within each other, without an anchor rune in the center. I drew four focus runes on the outer edge of the smaller circle and placed the search runes outside the larger one. I sketched the scheme on a torn page from my notebook, placed it on the nearest stack of newspapers, and filled it with ether from a reservoir stone. Then, in tiny block letters, I wrote the word ‘Wimbush’ into the empty central circle.

  Focusing on the word, I unleashed the magic. ‘Wimbush’ lit up with ether and stabbed into the stack like it had been nailed to the table. The spell burned through the page and a few newspapers beneath it, shredding everything within the area the word occupied into fine confetti.

  For a moment, some signaling amulets activated in response to the spell. An enraged librarian stormed over and gave me a severe dressing-down, along with a fine: twenty pounds for damaging unreplaceable archival materials and another ten for unauthorized spell use in the archives. Worse still, he threatened me with a lifetime ban from the library – a fate far worse than losing two month’s wages of a dockworker in one go.

  Desperate to find a way out, I promised that Harry would fix everything. The librarian agreed to reconsider his decision but still took the fines.

  I called Harry, endured a lecture, and got a promise that he’d drop by the library in the morning. The librarian, satisfied with the conversation, was about to throw me out, but I dug in and asked for the list of spells permitted for use in the library. It turned out there were about a hundred of them, each taking up a page or two in a thick booklet: basic reinforcement and protective spells for paper, spells for silence and light, simple air-lens spells for magnification, and more advanced ones for clarifying poorly printed text. There were spells to enhance concentration and memory.

  I copied down the simplest one related to memory. While it only worked on vision and lasted no longer than a minute, it allowed you to remember whatever you saw with perfect clarity, as if creating a mental photograph. A useful thing if you came across something rare or intriguing.

  At the end of the list, however, were the monsters of search magic. Schematics and seals spanning five to seven levels, with dozens of runes of various elemental alignments.

  “Can anyone actually use these?” I asked the librarian.

  “Oh, these aren’t personal spells. We have ritual boards for their use. You just need to charge the forms. But you’re right; the last time we used them was for an urgent request from City Hall. And only because they sent the request along with reservoir stones and an expert from the municipal archive. By conservative estimates, that search cost around two hundred.”

  “That much?!” My jaw dropped. Although, in terms of money, it made sense. Thinking back to my apprentice days, which had only started a few days ago, I’d burned through half as much in ether equivalents on simple rune chains and achieved absolutely nothing useful. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for Harry back then, with no money and no resources. I doubt I could’ve managed without support.

  “Can I get a copy of this document?” I asked. There was no point trying to redraw these monsters; it would be too easy to make a mistake.

  “Of course,” the librarian said, “thirty pence.”

  On the way home, Knuckles and I stopped at the grocery store and picked up a bachelor’s survival kit: eggs, bacon, bread. Half of the pie Ellie had brought was still left, but judging by the loud growls of our stomachs, it wouldn’t last much longer. Even so, I ruthlessly suppressed Knuckles’ attempt to storm straight into the kitchen.

  From experience, I knew that a full stomach dulled the senses. My grandfather had set me up with that one too many times in the woods. “We could fry up some sausages first, then pitch the tents,” he’d say. Oh, believe me, pitching tents after the sausages was a ‘special kind of pleasure.’

  So, Knuckles and I quickly ran through the house, setting up Harry’s signaling charms. Nothing like his deadly mine-seals, just enchanted buttons with tiny grain-sized reservoirs between which an invisible ether thread formed. We placed them at every doorframe and window, activated the signaling rings (which, among other things, allowed us to pass by the buttons without triggering an alarm), and then… we consumed a third of our supplies and collapsed, exhausted, into the bedrooms.

  That night, my left ring finger started throbbing painfully. As soon as I realized it was a fading spasm from the signaling ring, I yanked the pistol from under my pillow and rolled off the bed.

  Shoulder holster, satchel. What else? Pants?

  The second spasm told me the intruder or intruders, whoever they were, had crossed the second line. And since I didn’t know where they’d entered, they could be right next to me.

  To hell with the pants! Where were my shoes? I didn’t want to be hopping barefoot through broken glass and blood.

  No socks? Whatever, forget it.

  I froze, considering whether to regroup with Knuckles. No, he had a submachine gun, and his eyesight was far worse than mine. I could barely distinguish objects in this darkness, and his first ten rounds were armor-piercing.

  While I was weighing my options, the doorknob began to move. Instantly, I dropped to one knee, aiming my pistol at the door. The knob continued to turn, slowly and silently, until it hit its limit. For a moment, nothing happened – like someone on the other side was listening.

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  I didn’t know how much the intruder could hear, but just in case, I forced myself to slow my breathing, which had quickened with adrenaline, making it steady and calm. My heart, however, refused to cooperate, hammering in my chest and driving oxygen to my muscles in preparation for the fight. The rush made me a bit lightheaded, and my chest ached slightly, but whoever was on the other side seemed satisfied. The door began to creak open, and I took a deep breath.

  First, the barrel of a revolver appeared, followed by a soft-soled shoe. A man dressed in black cracked the door open further, glanced around, and froze. His head was wrapped in black cloth, covering his hair and face, leaving only a narrow slit for his eyes. A potion or magic – whatever he was using, he could see as well as I could in the dark. And those eyes were looking straight into mine.

  “Freeze!” I commanded, but instead of a firm voice, only a muffled whisper reached my ears. Not the first time I’d encountered a silence spell. I focused on the subtle threads of magic. His hands, neck, chest, and the pistol in his hand all glowed faintly with magic. But behind him… Behind him, the whole rainbow shimmered – and far too much of it’s spectrum was deadly white. Whether he was magically gifted, I couldn’t tell, but the man had come well-prepared.

  “Don’t do anything stupid!” I shouted, and this time my voice rang out loud and clear.

  His idea of “stupid” clearly differed from mine because my words served as his signal. He jerked his revolver up. I activated stone skin and pulled the trigger. The bullet flew straight for his head but exploded into golden sparks before it could hit. Damn, it was armor-piercing round!

  His shot flattened against the “brick” shield barely an inch from my leg. A regular bullet. I’d wasted the stone skin for nothing. Both shots sounded like dull pops, but for the next pull of the trigger, I activated the spell engraved on my pistol.

  The gun thundered like a cannon. The enemy’s silence spell shattered, leaving us both momentarily deafened. Bullets hit shields again, and neither of us waited to test whose reservoirs would run dry first. We charged at each other.

  The intruder was shorter than me but broader in the shoulders, and he moved with startling speed. His revolver barrel was mere inches from my chest, but my pistol was already near his head. Just a couple more inches to ensure a point-blank shot. But my stone skin was on the verge of crumbling, and I couldn’t risk letting him past my shield. I fired.

  The golden flash of the shattering bullet mixed with the fiery muzzle flare. His shield protected him from the heat but not the light, and he instinctively shut his eyes. My “brick” shield took his bullet, but the heat still singed my chest.

  While he squinted, I kicked his knee. Unfortunately, it didn’t snap, but it twisted enough to send him tumbling to the floor. Gripping his revolver by the hot barrel with my left hand, I wrenched it aside, pressed my pistol to his head, and almost pulled the trigger.

  But he activated an air amulet. A wave of pressurized air blasted outward, forcing my hand away from his head, slamming into my chest, and throwing me backward. Naturally, I missed, but I didn’t release my grip on the revolver’s barrel, yanking it with me.

  The intruder tightened his grip on the handle, accidentally pulling the trigger. The bullet fired just beyond my shield, grazing my forearm and tearing into the skin – and possibly the muscle beneath. I couldn’t hold onto the revolver, collapsing onto my backside and rolling away from another half-blind shot. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted he’d fired again.

  Six! He’s empty!

  I scrambled to my feet as the intruder snapped open the cylinder, stepping back. The casings clattered to the floor, and I lunged forward as he reached for a fresh round from his belt.

  You won’t make it in time!

  My foot slipped on a spent casing, and I lost my balance. He took another step back into the corridor, shoved a round into the cylinder, and snapped it shut. I regained my footing – one step forward… He cocked the hammer…

  The corridor exploded with light and noise. The first ten armor-piercing rounds from Knuckles’ submachine gun burned into golden sparks against the killer’s shield. Startled, he flinched, giving me the opening to dive for his legs. A branching arc of lightning shot from his revolver, narrowly missing me and lashing across my back with searing blue streaks.

  The golden sparks of his shield suddenly vanished. It was down. But Knuckles wasn’t out of bullets. The killer screamed in pain as lead wasps tore into his arm and left side.

  I should’ve stopped, taken aim! But the pain redirected his attention to Knuckles, and he raised a long oval shield just in time to protect his head from being blown apart. That was when I finally crashed into his legs.

  The shield grazed my back and right arm, biting into my skin with a freezing chill before it dissipated. Knuckles stopped shooting, afraid of hitting me.

  My pistol and hands were unexpectedly pinned to the floor under the stranger’s body. While I struggled to free them, he struck me twice on the back of the head with the butt of his revolver.

  The world erupted into colors of pain and began to spin. He might’ve finished me off if not for Knuckles, who, with the precision of a seasoned footballer, delivered a barefoot kick straight to the intruder’s head. A championship strike!

  The impact sent the two of us sprawling in opposite directions. Knuckles, hopping on one leg and cursing the uninvited guest’s mother in the most colorful terms, was now paying the price for his heroic save.

  Shoes! He should’ve put on shoes instead of trousers!

  Where’s my pistol? I lifted my head, the floor beneath me swaying wildly as if the entire world were unsteady. The FN had landed within the intruder’s reach. But he, still reeling from Knuckles’ kick, seemed to be in no better shape than I was. And apparently, he wasn’t thinking clearly either. Instead of grabbing the weapon, he planted his hand on it to try and push himself up.

  The pistol slid across the floor, his hand following awkwardly. Losing his balance, he gripped the gun instinctively, but it didn’t help – he fell flat again. Groaning in pain, he tried to shove the obstacle away before finally realizing what he had in his hand. He shifted his grip and began to raise it.

  “Shoot him!” I yelled at Knuckles, as the enemy’s index finger inched toward the trigger.

  Knuckles adjusted Tommie’s aim and squeezed the trigger. The corridor lit up again with fiery flashes. Two or three bullets hit the killer square in the chest and stomach, forcing him to drop the pistol.

  But Knuckles, still balancing on one leg, couldn’t hold steady. His burst of fire sprayed up the wall and into the ceiling as he lost his balance and fell onto his back. At the same moment, the bolt of his gun clicked dry against the empty magazine.

  The FN was still lying close to the intruder. He groaned, but he wasn’t about to die. There was something utterly wild swirling inside him – a chaotic mix of magic. Blood intertwined with death, swamp blended with sand, flickers of lightning and frost flashed within him. If he didn’t survive, he’d at least outlast us.

  I spat at the spinning world around me, forced myself upright with a jerk, staggered into the wall, bounced off it, and launched myself at the enemy. The pistol was right there, but we locked onto each other’s throats like a pair of street dogs.

  To my horror, I realized I was losing in sheer brute strength. The killer let out a triumphant growl and tightened his grip. My vision blurred with dark spots.

  Half-conscious, I released his neck, extended my hand, and activated a square shield from the ring on my finger. The corridor was too narrow to use it as intended, but it wasn’t the first time I’d improvised with it. I materialized the shield edge-on and tilted it sharply, dragging it down.

  The sharp corner of the projection slammed into the back of the killer’s head, tearing away the lower part of his scarf. A frost ward flashed in response but failed to hold, and his grip on my throat weakened.

  I dissolved the shield, grabbed my pistol, and shoved myself away from him, but he recovered quickly, grabbing my leg. I hit the floor again, dropping the pistol once more, and a fiery pain seared through my calf. The bastard had sunk his teeth into me!

  I lashed out with the heel of my free foot, slamming it into his face. The impact nearly tore a chunk of flesh out of my leg. Darkness washed over my vision, and for a brief moment, I was completely blind. Then the darkness lifted, replaced by three bright flashes of muzzle fire. Knuckles had retrieved the FN.

  The killer raised an ice shield again, then bolted to the end of the corridor and smashed through a window with his shoulder. Glass shattered, and the soft thud of his body hitting the lawn echoed in the night.

  I had no strength to pursue him. We were alive – that was enough.

  “Hold it right there!” a deep bass voice shouted from outside.

  A moment later, the twin blasts of a shotgun rang out, followed by the glow of muzzle flashes. Then came a disappointed mutter:

  “Damn it, he got away!”

  The bass voice called again. “Hey, neighbors, you alive in there?”

  Knuckles and I exchanged a glance. Who was this concerned Samaritan?

  “Toss me the pistol,” I said.

  Knuckles tossed the FN, and I caught it, immediately swapping out the magazine. Sparrow – or whatever his new name was now, not that it mattered – grabbed the rifle and limped off to reload.

  “Duncan?!” Ellie’s voice called out, frantic. “Are you alive?”

  “I daresay he’s simply too stubborn to die,” James Flower answered, far more calmly.

  “Alive!” I shouted back.

  “And Clint?”

  “He’s alive too.”

  “Young man, do you need any help?” the bass voice asked.

  Knuckles, leaning against the corridor wall, slid down to the floor, carefully propping up his injured leg.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” he said. “That’s Mr. Sheridan’s voice. He’s a good man.”

  “We won’t say no!” I shouted back. “Give us a moment, I’ll open up.”

  My calf burned with pain. I had to down a pain-relief potion and pour a healing draught over the wound. I’d need to beg Harry for a proper healing spell – considering my luck, it wouldn’t go to waste.

  Somehow, I hobbled to the door and opened it.

  Ah! A whole delegation was waiting outside: Ellie and Finella, James, Goat’s brother, and a few other men. The eldest, largest, and bearded one held a double-barreled shotgun in one hand, which looked almost toy-like in his massive grip.

  “Gentlemen,” I greeted them. “Ladies.”

  Ellie’s brother, whom I already recognized, turned to her with a sly grin.

  “Your precious man’s alive. You were panicking for nothing.”

  Ellie’s response was a swift kick to his shin.

  “Ow! What was that for? I’m just telling the truth!”