“The purity of an experiment is sacred. To profane its result is our only sin.”

  -Avestan Zend.

  Surprisingly, Komena woke up. It was a slow, painful process, she didn’t even have the will to open her eyes. But that gave her time to take stock. It hurt to breath, but that was from the heavy bruises on her throat and chest. They screamed where the pendant laid against them. No broken bones but she swore she could feel cracks in her ribs when she inhaled deeply enough. She settled into steady, shallow breaths, trying to keep calm, without making them worse.

  Her arms were in a similar state, though her legs had been spared the beating. She still could move her fingers, but doing it sent cords of fire down her forearms. All her limbs were locked in place by what felt like heavy leather belts. She started to struggle against her bonds, trying to get a feel for them. Leather straps, locked in place with metal buckles. Iron, if they were standard issue.

  Beyond the bruises, there was a dull pain from what felt like sharp burrs driven into her arms, legs and two in her back. Just deep enough to break skin. Behind the blades, she felt the slab of sandstone she was laying on, rough and solid.

  So, beaten, strangled, then strapped to and impaled on an operating table. Nightmarish, but better than floating out at sea with a slit throat and her features burned off. It felt like they had even left her things untouched. Her knives and pouches still hung where she kept them. Whoever took her had felt safe with her bound hands and crippled magic.

  She cracked open her eyes. Light was filtering in from somewhere she couldn’t see, but it was still only a few shades brighter than when her eyes had been closed. Too dark to make out any clues to where she was, though there was a distinct coolness in the air that said cellar.

  A flash of light and heat pulsed behind her, warming the room. It was enough to light up the far wall for an instant before it faded back into dim shadow. There wasn’t any noise from the ignition. There weren’t any footsteps as the light moved closer, changing the darkness into distinct shadows cast on featureless walls. There was just a quiet muttering, audible and incomprehensible, getting louder as the Flauros stepped into view.

  The demon peered over her. Its feline eyes were as unreadable as the ones that covered its flickering body, but its lips curled into a sneer. She had never seen a cat leer before, but it was just as predatory and insidious as she would have imagined. The creature extended a single, red-hot claw from its front paw and reached for her. It was like having a torch shoved into her face. The Flauros pressed the dull side of the claw against her throat, before moving it around, in an almost caress. She couldn’t stop the scream that came out as a burning line was traced around her neck, above the necklace that had kept it from finding her before and marking out where she’d been strangled.

  “Enough, creature.” A voice called out behind her. “She’s here for other purposes than satisfying your sadism.”

  The Flauros removed its claw from her neck and stepped away. Its expression didn’t change, still excited for what was to come.

  “Good evening inspector. We didn’t wish to wake you early. Unconsciousness can be such an ugly thing if incorrectly treated.” The voice said.

  “Why wake me at all? If you’re trying to bribe me off your tail, you’re making a poor opening offer. Besides, I doubt your hired help would agree.” She said. The Flauros responded in a burst of gibberish. An interjection instead of its usual muttering, though she couldn’t make sense of the words or tone of it.

  “Indeed, that would be a breach of contract. Make no mistake, that table is your grave and coffin. Though, we can make that transition smoother, in exchange for some information.” The voice said in the irritating, friendly tone all kidnappers used.

  “Oh, information, is it? Trying work out what your next move should be.” Komena said, then forced a laugh. “Making sure you’re working with all the facts is probably a good habit for your day job, but it makes you a lousy murderer, Doctor.”

  She’d been hoping for a dramatic gasp, but she settled for an overdramatic click of the tongue as the Dean of Healing stepped in front of her.

  “Unfortunate, but not unexpected. I knew someone would be closing in once those harbor workers came for treatment. With the discovery of the wretch’s lab, it would be child’s play to connect a motive.”

  There was a hanging pause. He wanted the acknowledgment from her, that he’d followed a lead and found his culprit. He’d played her game and beaten her. But if he wanted to drag this out, that worked for her.

  “Oh, it helped to know what Evocation had been working on. But that was always basic information we needed, not some masterstroke to untangle the entire case. The real evidence came from your mistakes.”

  The Dean locked eyes with her in a cold glare. It was probably a look he used daily, crushing what resistance he met under the weight of his authority. Komena was past the point of intimidation though. Things could get worse, but only very briefly and it would be more than prolonged eye contact.

  “You’re bluffing. You found the laboratory, confirmed that damn woman was working on a cure for the Desert’s Bloom. Interviewing the other deans was a way to keep me off your trail. To make me act less urgently.” He said. Next to him, the Flauros muttered something sharply. Maybe a complaint about not taking his hunt seriously? Either way, Komena held the Dean’s glare. She didn’t want his eyes to wander.

  “True, I knew that Evocation’s experiments were medical when I saw the lab. There are only a few things you test on people. Of them, people only volunteer to be test subjects for medicine. You don’t need to strap volunteers to a table, which is why none of the beds there had these.” Komena said, kicking her legs against the straps binding her.

  “But a lot of people study medicine and I’m sure that every one of them has tried their hand at curing the Bloom. Too many people are chasing that place in history books to narrow it down to you. You weren’t even in second place in this race, were you? That’s why you had Sparky there commit the other murders, Muarim the gardener and Selim. They were the ones closest to developing a cure but that still leaves plenty of other suspects. Then I met your wife, Dr. Amara, and I thought it was strange that she had a poppy amulet set with a yellow gem. Yellow poppies don’t symbolize anything, and it was too ugly a piece to just be aesthetic. It could have been a gift, but why would they add a huge, ugly opal to it?”

  The Dean’s hand came out of his yellow robes of office, lightly flexing. Komena felt the air tighten around her. It was a light thing, barely any effort from him. It didn’t even cover her all. But it made every bruise and cracked bone shriek. The fresh burn on her neck lit up like the demon’s claw was back.

  “Get to the point. I have tracks to cover after this done.” He said. It took her a moment before she could stop gasping long enough to speak.

  “You don’t see it? You put a tracking spell on top of another piece of evidence and you don’t see how that got attention? I suppose the sense of subtlety tracks with your murder methods.” Komena said.

  “If the Dean was working on some medical project, then she would have been consulting with someone from your faculty. We know that she tried to collaborate with the other Deans on previous projects. We also that know that the Dean was seen with someone going by “Trin Rappoport”. That she gave gifts to people she saw and that she had recently changed accessories. If Trin and your wife were one and the same, then that explains how you learned about their project. You found out about Amara’s collaboration or affair or whatever you thought it was. Got answers from her, put the tracking spell on the gift in the most obvious way you could as some kind of dominance display to make sure she didn’t betray you again. Then you threw together your murder plot and waited for your demon to clear out anyone else who was ahead of you in the research. Guaranteeing you the glory of the first discovery.” She said. No matter the circumstances, it felt good to lay out how all the pieces fell together.

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  The demon began making a strange, choppy purring noise. It took Komena a moment to recognize it for laughter. The Dean’s expression was unchanged.

  “Inspector, I’ll correct you out of respect for your deductions to this point. The cure I’ve developed for the Desert’s Bloom will make me very rich. The glory you describe is a little more than an investment for the future.” Komena stopped short. For a minute she just around her limited view of the basement she could see.

  “You did it for money?” She asked. The shadows cast by the Flauros didn’t reach the cellar walls, and they were longer than her entire apartment. Grand designs to petty ends.

  “Money is power in this age. All of them, the devil summoner, that thug and the other cowards in transmutation, they all squander their positions looking for another grand enchantment. The only ones who see the truth are me and the weaklings in the mundane department.” The Dean said, puffing himself up like he was giving an academy lecture.

  “For centuries we thought that the lifeblood of the city was knowledge and truth and magic. We should have learned when we found the wider world, with the barbarians spread across their lands with nothing but dirt and steel while we barely clung to a corner of this blighted sandbarThe savages don’t even understand the spells they can cast. No, the true lifeblood and reins of a city is wealth. People will pay fortunes to have the Bloom cured, and the Flauros has ensured that the only cure is here.” The doctor said with single tap to his temple. He was grinning as he spoke.

  “The reins will be in my hands.”

  “But that’s only possible if you don’t get caught. I already sent a message with my suspicions to the Dean of Agriculture. The ones you confirmed true with this kidnapping.” Komena said, finishing her spell.

  The Dean hummed. “You can take satisfaction in being right, but I don’t think it’ll serve more purpose than that. You had leads, but those alone wouldn’t be able to incarcerate a dean. No one is left who knows about my involvement in this affair, which is your only real evidence. Cutting your investigation short is still the safest option, though, even if it weren’t a demand of my accomplice here.” He said with a nod. The Flauros’s claws came out, as it took the few steps to loom over her.

  Komena expected the demon to act quickly. Thankfully, it decided to savor the situation, lazily swinging it’s claws to carve shallow cuts across her sides and stomach. Just enough to cripple and bleed. Instead of taking the slash, Komena rolled with it, the leather belts keeping her in place slipping open with the barest force. She hit the ground, adrenaline powering her through the screaming bruises and cracked bones, scrambling to put the table she’d been trapped on between her and her captors.

  Rusting metal was easy. It was already rusting all the time, just slowly. The spell was little more than a trickle of energy and required no sweeping gestures or words of power. Just consistent focus and some twirls of the fingers. Komena was barely able to supply that trickle, but the focus and motions? She could carry those on for much longer than the minutes it had taken to reduce a few iron buckles to fragile shells of rust. The trick had been keeping attention off her hands as they worked.

  “I am quite impressed.” Said the Dean, taking a few, clinical steps away from her. “Clearly the reports I had that you were incapable of any spells were incorrect, or I would have reinforced those restraints. Unfortunately, you are still locked underground with a Dean of the Sabbelah University and the demon he summoned to kill his peers. What trick do you have for this?”

  The Flauros prowled around to put itself between her and the faint light filtering out of the exit. It moved casually and slowly, waiting for her to move first. The Dean was watching, too far for her to attack, close enough to kill her any number of ways.

  “Come Seeker. There is no purpose to this inquest. The mystery shall be preserved. Come to my claws and be wiped away like chalk from the board” The Flauros said, then flinched. Something had translated its words as they had dripped out of its mouth. The devil’s head whipped around, searching the room, ears and nose twitching.

  “I didn’t send that note to have my suspicions confirmed after you killed me.” Komena said.

  The Flaurous took advantage of her distraction, no longer interested in playing with its prey. It rushed at full speed, a silent blur of fire and slashing edges. Komena’s reflexes forced her to move, but she didn’t have the time or the energy to dodge. A paw streaked for her throat. Then it stopped short mid swing.

  The air shimmered in front of Komena, making a shield the Flauros couldn’t cross. She could see its paw and snarling face, stuck a pace or two away from her. She could even see the force being squeezed down on its wrist and throat, locking it in place. Then that force slammed the demon into the floor and kicked it away.

  “I sent that message, because they needed to know who was guilty to summon something to counter your associate.” she said. The shimmering air became a full ripple, like a thrown stone going into water, as the summoned angel formed fully and stepped into reality.

  Komena could only see it’s back. It was shaped like an enormously muscled man, so devoid of fat or possibly skin that she could she individual tendons in the dim light. Instead of the horrific flayed red that implied, it was a soothing twilight blue. The only exception were the eyes that speckled it’s body like stars, each one a sharp white with a uniquely colored retina, nestled within the cords.

  The Flauros pounced back its feet. It popped it’s neck like it was flexing, before turning taking a defensive stance, almost like a boxer’s. The angel kept its hands open and held out, high enough to block, low enough to grab. Neither of them was taking the other lightly as they both took step after cautious step, closing the distance between them. It took less than a moment for them to reach each other’s striking range. Neither attacked, scanning the other for weakness or imbalances. An arcing bolt of electricity coursed into the angel’s back, interrupting the standoff. The angel briefly spasmed from the shock. That was enough for the Flauros to pounce, jaw snapping at the angel’s neck as it bore it to the ground.

  “This changes nothing. It will be my word against hers once you and this beast are removed.” The Dean of Healing said, waving the smell of ozone off his fingers. With a few more twitches of his fingers, Komena felt her muscles start to tighten and lock, the pain racing out from the cuts the table had left in her. She had seen enough cases of rust sickness in dock workers to recognize it.

  “Generally, manipulating bacteria in the body to induce disease is prevented by the Corpus law.” He said absently, “But my research has shown that in cases of recent infection like we induced in you, we can-” His gloating came to a stop as his focused shifted to behind her. Struggling to turn her stiff neck, she caught a glimpse of indistinct light fading away, too quickly for any spell catch. She could just make out a hazy, deep set eye sockets in the light before it faded away.

  “Contingencies in case you fail.” Komena said, half giggling. She supposed this counted. It was common knowledge that ghosts had to be close to their corpse. No one really defined what ‘close’ meant in a single city though. “That’s another voice against you.”

  The pain snapped back into place, the Dean casting frantically now. Spite kept the smile on her face through it. This was essentially how she’d though this would end from the start. Death by accelerated disease at least left her on her feet, stumbling on legs that refused to run. More time to think of a way out.

  She reached for one of her knives. Her finger still had just enough movement to grip one by the flat of the blade. Rushing the Dean was out of the question. Without somewhere to hide or take cover, it would just provoke him into finishing her off. Instead, she leaned back and whipped her body around, coaxing as much power as she could into tossing the knife. She’d done it before, for laughs and bets. She was good at it too, winning most of those bets. It was a mark of her skill that even with her arm moving like a single rod, the knife almost hit. It flew off course by just a few degrees, close enough that Dean blocked it on instinct with a conjured blast of wind.

  That block bought Komena some time. Not relief, but for a few seconds the sickness wasn’t getting worse. She gripped another knife and let it fly. With the second try, she had a better idea of how the toss needed to go. Maybe if she had taken a step or two closer, it would have hit. Instead, she took a step back, towards the stairs and door out. The knife went wide again. The Dean still blocked it, but spell was more casual, a swat compared to the full defense he’d put out before.

  In the time it took those two knives to miss their mark, the Flauros had put the angel in a grappler’s mount and was now raining down blows onto it. The angel was on its back, desperately warding off the strikes. There were slashes in its side leaking black ichor where it had failed. Its guard was slowly being pried apart, as the demon looked for a killing blow. The Dean gave the two a wide berth as he strolled towards Komena, re-casting the rust sickness.

  A third knife slipped from her fingers as she tried to pull it from her robes. The contractions in her hands were too tight to grip anything. She managed a few more stumbling steps away before the tightness took her legs. She toppled over onto the hard floor. It was an acrobatic feat that she was able to twist and land without crippling herself further. She desperately crawled as her body tried to contort into itself; getting far enough that she could reach out and grab the first step leading out. Then the Dean was standing over her, kicking her hand off his step.

  “Now, now, just a few more minutes. This is important research, so you’re serving a vital role. Really, you’ve been a very important woman these last few days. I imagine what happens next will be a relief from that.” He said.

  The pain was tremendous. Her muscles were as taut as rigging in a gale, almost snapping apart, but the pain went deeper than that. Her innards felt like they would shatter. The pain was sharp enough to keep her aware, but it was rising and would wipe her away soon. The only things that didn’t hurt were her eyes. Even if she could see, she couldn’t process what was there beyond darkness, blurred and fading. Her eyes rolled desperately for something distinct, something to focus on. They trailed up the stairs, now out of reach, and settled on the faint stream of light around the door. As the darkness grew at the edges of vision, the door got brighter and larger, like she was floating towards it. Soon it was all she could see. Its warmth was a small but welcome distraction from the pain, as she drifted away.