Derek Ward

Derek Note: This is an isekai concept I had bumbling around in my brain. For those of you familiar with anime and the genre in particular, you will recognize some of the tropes. Unfortunately for some of you, there’s no hot springs scene. At least not in Volume 1. I’m not quite sure what the future holds for this series, so I’m not going to rule anything out. Yet.

Chapter One

The popping sound drew my attention. The phrase “radically accepting reality” came to mind. No one set off firecrackers in a mall in the middle of April. Then came the stampede of people. I dropped the shirt I was looking at and walked out of the store. I crept along the wall against the flow of panicked people. Whatever was happening, I couldn’t just walk away. My heart may have kept me from becoming a SEAL, but the desire to protect still pumped through my blood. More popping. Pistol fire. I was intimately familiar with that sound. As I neared the center of the mall, I heard screams of pain, prayer, and begging. I reached under my shirt and drew my own pistol.

A man in the middle of the Easter display was reloading a handgun. Several people were on the ground. At least two weren’t moving. I needed to ignore the victims, the blood, the gore, and focus on my target. I brought my pistol up and put the red dot on the bastard’s head. The adrenaline pumping through me made the dot bobble a bit. I breathed deeply and it settled down. Just as I practiced dozens of times, I gently stroked the trigger. One, two, three, four shots before I saw the target fall to the ground. Elation and horror coursed through me.

Then pain. Three sledgehammer blows to my back and my legs melted under me. I felt my head hit the tile floor, but the pain was a mere echo of the fire in my back. I struggled to breathe. A dark figure stood over me with a rifle in his hands. Two. There were two of them. He looked at me for an eternal moment before deciding I wasn’t worth another shot. He took aim at another person. Okay, I screwed up by not checking behind me and that bastard took advantage of it. Now was my chance to repay him. I was going to take him with me. It felt as if my arm was moving through syrup as I brought it up. Not enough strength for a head shot. Instead, I put the dot on his legs where his formal artery should be. I kept squeezing the trigger until my strength gave out. My pistol clattered to the ground. I think the bastard was screaming in pain, but my hearing was fading. I barely made out the bad guy staggering back over to me. I grinned at the river of blood flowing down his leg and streaking the floor. Neither of us had long to live.

He pulled a handgun from his waist and swung it around wildly. Panic filled me as I thought he would kill another person. Instead, he put it under his chin and pulled the trigger. Relief and peace settled across me as the world went black.

A moment passed. It could have been a few seconds or a few millennia. All I remember was the next thing I saw was a large face hovering over me. A sharp nose and wide brown eyes were part of her striking features. A wild mane of bright red hair framed the narrow face. She babbled in an incomprehensible language. I had never seen this person before, but I instinctively knew this was my mother.

I shot up in my bed gasping for breath. My heart raced. It had been nearly a year since I last dreamed of my first death. Experiencing my first death was disturbing enough, but I was sort of used to it. It was the last part. I almost never dreamt of the singular time I set my eyes on the woman who birthed me into this world. My gut said it was a bad omen.

Before my first death, I wasn’t a believer in fate, omens, or portents. I lived in a nice, rational world as a programmer for an insurance firm. I wasn’t even religious. After being reborn into what was for all intents a fantasy world? It was kind of hard to ignore. Although, after more than twenty years in this world, I thought I would learn why I was sent to this world. Despite what the genre said, I had yet to have a heart-to-heart with a deity explaining what I was here to do. Instead, I just tried to live my life as best I could.

Trying to merge the values and knowledge from my first life to this world was challenging. Sure, there was magic and monsters and all that stuff, but how do you explain things like electricity or the internet to people who never experienced it? Much less concepts like democracy or human rights. At least they had a basic understanding of public sanitation and plumbing. It wasn’t great plumbing, but at least I didn’t have to use a chamber pot. Still, I missed hot water and showers.

Since I was awake, I got ready and walked out into the second room of my tiny apartment. I jokingly referred to it as my office. It wasn’t much, just big enough for a couple of beat-up chairs and a small table I used for a desk. I threw open the shutters and the hot summer air rushed in through the small window. I looked out at my neighborhood. Officially, it was the Third Subdistrict of the Second District of the Eastern Quadrant of the Outer City of the City of Kloss, capital city of the Grand Empire of the East. The only people who used the official name were the tax collectors and the occasional official from the Capitol District. Everyone in the Outer City knew it as the Market Gardens. It was an island of minor prosperity surrounded by rougher neighborhoods. For the last nine years, the small artisan shops and small homes were my home.

I was born into this world as the bastard son of a noble. In the Grand Empire of the East, the nobility was defined by their ability to cast spells using their own internal magic. The stronger the caster, the more honor to the family. My father and his wife kept me around in case I showed any ability. On one hand, they clothed, fed, and educated me just as they did their other children. On the other, I was an outcast in the household. Petty cruelties and neglect were normal. I survived because I had all my memories and abilities from my first life.

At puberty, noble children go through the Quickening to unlock their magical ability. I don’t remember what happened during mine. I remember being brought into the chamber with the clerics from the Church of Andural, God of Balance and Magic. The next memory was being ten miles from the castle in shredded clothes, covered in blood, and scared. The next couple of months were a blur of hunger, thirst, and pain as I made my way to Kloss. I’m not even sure how I got to the city. My next clear memory was a strong hand clamping down on me as I rooted through the refuse behind an apothecary shop. That hand belonged to the man who I called my father and who brought me into my real family on this world. For the first time that day, I wished Father was still alive.

I heard two people trudge up the stairs to my door. My apartment was above my family’s apothecary shop. Although I sometimes still helped in the shop, my father’s death sent me on a very different path. There was a short rap on my door before it swung open. Two women walked in. The taller woman was my older sister. Heln wore her long brown hair tied up in a neat bun. She wore the light brown dress of a working-class proprietor. Heln took over the apothecary shop after Father’s death and earned her own reputation as a skilled healer.

The other woman I didn’t know. She wore a black mourning dress. The woman wore her years in her gray-streaked blonde hair and deep wrinkles. She was hesitant, but there was something driving her to seek out my services. Something dark and painful. There are times that I hated being able to sense others’ emotions.

“Oh good, you’re not asleep,” Heln said, “This is Mrs. Lans. She needs your help.”

“Please come in,” I said, putting on my best smile. I motioned towards one of the chairs. Mrs. Lans shot a questioning look at Heln before cautiously sitting down. I leaned on my desk to give the woman some extra space in the small office. Mrs. Lans stared at the floor. I waited for several long moments. I wanted to be compassionate, but if she was coming to see me, time was of the essence.

“Perhaps you could tell me why you need the services of a thief taker?” I asked. She looked up with tear-filled eyes as pain and rage burned through her.

“To find the man who murdered my daughter.”

I silently cursed. I hated murder cases. They were the toughest for any thief taker. Law enforcement wasn’t really a thing in the Outer City. The City Guard patrolled the streets and did their best to keep order, but they were soldiers, not police. To their credit, some of the Guard tried, but they didn’t have the time, training, or resources to be a proper police force. The criminal factions would occasionally step in if someone threatened their livelihoods or families. Thief takers stepped into the vacuum. We were a cross between private investigators and vigilantes. Thief takers took back what was taken or extracted equivalent compensation. For murder, there was only one acceptable compensation. I hated it, but people who came to a thief taker had no one else to turn to.

“I am sorry for your loss,” I said, “Please tell me about your daughter.” After the briefest of pauses, the words fell out of Mrs. Lans’s mouth in a torrent of grief.

“Dorna was such a sweet child. Always smiling. Always so full of life. She was the sunshine in our lives. I don’t know what happened. After her braiding, she stopped listening to my husband or me. She started running around with one of the gangs. Then one night she announced she was leaving with one of the boys in her gang. We tried to stop her, but they threatened us. We heard rumors she was walking the streets, but we could never find her to bring her home. Then, two weeks ago, the City Guard and a priest showed up our door. They told us Dorna’s body was found in the Tanneries. The Guard said there wasn’t anything they could do. I asked around and they said you could help.”

“Thank you for coming in Mrs. Lans,” I said. “I can’t promise anything, but I will do what I can to find your daughter’s murderer.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mave,” Mrs. Lans managed through her sobs. I escorted her to the door.

“You always find me the interesting cases,” I said walking back to my desk. It sounded like a common enough case. Rebellious teenager runs away, falls into criminal activity, and ends up dead. Something didn’t feel right though.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Heln answered, in her normal flat tone. Heln was so serious that sometimes sarcasm was lost on her.

“I wasn’t.”

“No, I mean you don’t have to thank me, because I didn’t find Mrs. Lans. Someone sent Mrs. Lans your way. Kel, like it or not, you have a reputation for handling difficult or unusual cases.”

“Someone wanting me on this case is the second unusual fact in this case,” I said.

“What was the first?”

“The priest showing up to tell Mrs. Lans about Dorna’s death. When have you known the Guard or the Church to take enough of an interest in a streetwalker to find her family? Dorna should have ended up in a peasant grave and her mother never knowing about her daughter’s death.”

“So, what is so important about this girl’s murder?”

“That’s what I intend to find out,” I answered. I plucked my gear off the hooks by the door. Heln walked with me out of my office.

“I’m going to stop by the Guard office to look at any reports they have on Dorna’s murder. From there, I’ll see what I can find at the scene.” One of the first things I learned as a thief taker was telling someone where I was going.

“I’ll tell the family not to expect you for dinner this week,” Heln said.

Chapter 2

The City Guard’s report was helpful. Sort of. It told me exactly where the murder happened. From the references to the meat wagon needing to clean a lot of blood meant it was the actual crime scene and not just a dump site. I walked into the alley. On either side were empty three-story buildings. From the smells, the buildings were once part of the tannery trade, but the proprietors didn’t survive the recent slump. I pushed down my normal frustration. In my first life, I graduated with a minor in economics. I could see the historical mistakes of the Empire’s guild-based and class-based systems, but there wasn’t anything I could do to change them. I just had to watch people suffer. It was probably one of the reasons I took up being a thief taker. I could do some good for the people.

The heat in the Tanneries was sweltering. Unlike the Inner City, which was meticulously laid out in nice and neat grids, the Outer City neighborhoods grew like weeds outside the wall. The narrow streets and alleys trapped the summer heat with the buildings blocking any breeze from the rivers. The black wool cloak made it even worse. In my first life, I read about some foreign dignitary back in the 1800’s complaining that he couldn’t tell an American’s station or occupation by the clothes they wore. I didn’t really understand then, but it was an iron-clad rule in Kloss. If I was doing thief taker work, I was required to wear the hooded black cloak.

Even after two weeks, Dorna’s blood still stained the bricks. Sometimes the meat wagon’s sloppiness was helpful. I knelt down and closed my eyes. The Quickening didn’t unlock magic in me. It unlocked my psychic abilities. As a child in this world, I was always good at reading people. I thought it was because of my memories and experiences from my first life. After the Quickening, I discovered that knack was my powers leaking through. The best way I’ve found to describe my gift is that I’m a psychic bloodhound. People all have a unique “psy-scent” that I can use to track someone. It’s best if I come in contact with the person, but I can use close personal items – and there’s nothing more personal than blood.

I breathed deeply and focused on the psy-scents floating in the alley. I quickly found Dorna’s. The blood mixed with her intense fear and pain made her psy-scent pungent. There was another psy-scent minlged with Dorna’s. This one was heightened with excitement and fervor. I focused harder on the second scent. A streak of sourness ran through the psy-scent. Something twisted this one’s mind, perhaps mental illness or magic gone wrong. I fixed that psy-scent in my mind. Right now, it was my only clue.

A new psy-scent entered the alley. I knew this scent. Cool menthol with a touch of rancidness. I opened my eyes and looked back. A tall man in the gray work clothes of an unskilled laborer. He looked remarkably unremarkable – except for the cold look in his brown eyes. I stood up cautiously as I faced him. It was best not to spook one of the Council’s enforcers.

“Good. You did take the case,” Barnus said.

“Why did the Council want me on this case?” I asked. The Council was kind of like the mafia. There were eight factions – Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Purple, Brown, and Black. The factions ran different neighborhoods and industries of the Outer City. All except the Black. That faction kept the others in line.

“You don’t think like other thief takers. The Fathers find that helpful when there is something unusual.”

“What was unusual about Dorna’s death?”

“The murderer removed her womb.” Mutilation of a corpse wasn’t unheard of, but usually it was to send a message. Tongues cut out for talking, fingers cut for stealing, those kinds of things. Cutting out the uterus from a prostitute? That wasn’t any punishment I knew about.

“Who found her?”

“Her pimp. He thought she was taking too long and came here to get his coin.”

“I need to talk with him. If the Council wants me to find the murderer, you might want to encourage him to talk with me.”

“We will, if you can remain civilized. You have a bit of a reputation from the last time you dealt with someone in the flesh trade.”

“Then warn him not to abuse his girls in my sight,” I replied. Barnus gave me a flat look. He thought I was overly sentimental. Twenty-first century values didn’t always mesh in Kloss.

“I will arrange the meeting,” Barnus said before walking out of the alley. I was about to follow him but stopped. A whiff of something caught my attention. Faint, but clean and sweet, which made it stand out against the foulness of the alley. Magic was done in that alley.

I learned a lot about magic growing up in a noble house. All humans on this world have the potential for magic. It’s literally in their blood. Nobles have a much higher concentration of magic in their blood. Yeah, I made the midi-chlorian joke when the priest explained it. While only nobles could cast spells by using their internal magic, there was another means to use magic. Witchcraft – the use of ritual and magic infused components. In the five years as a thief taker, I learned a bit about the practice. My gut said the john was a warlock. I didn’t know what kind of ritual required the uterus, but it couldn’t be good.

Chapter 3

I covered the shop while Heln took the littles to the market. Our younger brother and sister were starting to learn the apothecary trade, and Heln was teaching them where to buy ingredients and what to look for in terms of quality. Barnus stepped into the store as I was explaining to a customer how to brew a tea to alleviate congestion. He waited until the customer left, then shut the door and pulled down the screen to signal the shop was closed.

“Please extend my apologies to your sister,” Barnus said, “This cannot be overheard by others and I didn’t want to wait until your siblings returned.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“There have been three other murders of prostitutes where the murderer cut out their womb.”

“Three? And you didn’t know about this earlier?”

“Father Black mentioned that you were working this case during a breakfast with the other fathers. They in turn mentioned similar murders in River Port, Castlery, and Southgate.”

“Wait a second.” I walked over to the blackboard Heln used for prices. I flipped it over and drew a crude map of Kloss. Southgate – as the name implied – was in the southern quarter of the Outer City. River Port was in the west where the Great White River and the Lodoss River met. Castlery was to the north. I circled the eastern quarter of the Outer City, which included the Tanneries and Market Gardens.

“Very good, Kel. You noticed the same pattern as the Fathers. Word has been sent out. The Council will find this man and deal with him. Your services are no longer required.”

“Did you set up a meeting with Dorna’s pimp?”

“Why do you need to talk with the pimp?”

“First, because I have a better chance finding this bastard than your people,” I said. “Second, the Council is not my client. Mrs. Lans is my client, and I haven’t done what I promised.”

“I told Father Black you would say that,” Barnus said. “You are meeting Bar Klig at Maress’s an hour after nightfall.”

Chapter 4

I knew Bar Klig by reputation. As a pimp, he wasn’t the worst or the best. His girls were relatively healthy, he didn’t beat them too badly, and he let them have more of their earnings than most. It didn’t mean he was a good person. His psy-scent was foul, like someone who couldn’t wipe himself properly after going to the bathroom.

“You’re Kel Mave?” Klig asked with a sneer. “You don’t look old enough for your reputation.”

“I’m older than I look.” He snorted as he took a swallow from the mug in front of him. I ordered another for Klig and one for myself. In my first life, I didn’t like the taste of alcohol. In this world, I learned to deal with the taste. Alcohol was safer than the city’s water. Still, there were many days I wished someone would figure out how to make Pepsi.

“Whatever. The Greens said to answer your questions, so I’m answering your questions.”

“You found Dorna’s body?”

“Yeah. I should’ve known that girl was going to end up dead. I never should have paid those ten gold for her.” I took a swig of the ale in front of me to hide my revulsion.

“Was there anything unusual about the body?”

“You mean besides that her lady bits were hacked out?”

“Yes, besides that,” I said, biting down hard on my anger. Klig flinched at my expression.

“Well, she was naked for one,” Klig answered.

“Why is that unusual?”

“My girls don’t get undressed for an alley meeting. Wastes too much time. But she was naked with her clothes strewn around.”

“Would the john have asked her to do it?”

“He didn’t pay me enough for that. It was just supposed to be a quick pump like the last time.”

“You know the john?”

“He ain’t a regular, but he’s come around a couple of times. I thought he had a thing for Dorna. Happens sometimes with the toffs. Didn’t peg him for one of those that fell in love, though.”

“Toff. He was Inner City?”

“Oh, he pretended to be just a servant, but I know a toff when I see one.”

“Describe him.”

“Black hair, green eyes. Maybe six foot and thirteen stone. Thin for as tall as he was. Intense way about him.”

“No scars or other anything else distinguishing?”

“I would have said so if there was,” Klig muttered as if I was just below an imbecile. He didn’t even look at me as he drank long from his mug. He slammed it back down and groaned.

“I’ll tell you one last thing thief taker, I ain’t ever buying another witch-born.”

“How did you know Dorna was witch-born?”

“I’ve seen it before. They all got something off about them. Some customers like a girl that’s not quite right. That one was just like the other witch-born I had. Except, none of the others painted their bodies.”

“Painted how?”

“Her stomach and tits were painted. Like someone painted targets on them.”

“Like this?” I asked, drawing a spiral on the table. Klig nodded. I finished my ale and placed enough coins down to cover our drinks and a decent enough tip for the barmaid.

“When can I get my money?” Klig asked.

“What money?”

“You’re a thief taker. You’re supposed to get me compensation for losing my property. So, when are you going to find that toff and get me the ten gold I lost?” I let Klig see the full weight of my contempt. The pimp shrank back in his chair as I leaned in.

“Just so we’re clear, I know your type Klig. If I hear you laid a hand on any of the barmaids tonight, I will take it off and shove it so far up your ass you will be shitting fingernails for the next decade.” I left him spluttering as I walked out into the night.

Chapter 5

I heard the voices coming from the study. The duke and the duchess were arguing. They were arguing about me again. That was an almost daily occurrence for the last six years. Probably longer, but that was as long as I could understand what was being said. It didn’t help the duchess was pregnant again. Her condition accentuated her rage. I didn’t understand why they didn’t send me away, but I knew it had something to do with magic.

“I don’t want that boy around my daughter!” The words were loud enough to be heard through the thick door of the study. In a moment of weakness, I crept closer to the study.

“Lynd said the boy was protecting her,” the duke said. Technically he was my father, but the man had said less than a hundred words to me in my seven years of life on this world. I felt more pride from my elder brother Lynd defending me than that man saying anything nice about me.

“Maybe if you told your son what that boy is, he wouldn’t defend the bastard,” the duchess shot back. “Maybe if you hadn’t let that witch seduce you, we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with!”

“It wasn’t seduction, it was bewitching.”

“She couldn’t have stoked embers that weren’t there,” the duchess said, with a coldness I was familiar with. I heard it directed at me enough.

“I have already apologized and made the amends you asked for. You agreed to letting her bear the child. You agreed to keep the boy. You know why.”

“I’m willing to gamble on a witch-born, but that doesn’t mean I want him around our children.”

I shot up in bed. Damn. Old dreams returning was definitely a bad sign. I walked down to the back of the apothecary shop. Heln sat at the table looking over a slate with the day’s tasks. I poured myself a cup of tea and sat down. The warmth of the apothecary shop eased my mind. Not physical warmth, but more the happy memories of working with Heln and Father to prepare the various tinctures and salves before the shop opened.

Witch-born. Klig said Dorna was witch-born. If true, it might explain her murder. It didn’t finger a specific suspect, but it narrowed down the pool. Confirming it was going to be tricky. It wasn’t like anyone would admit to it. Hell, the only person who knew I was witch-born was Heln. Well, her and my original family.

Using magic came with a price. The nobility paid with shorter lifespans because they pulled the power from themselves. For witches, there were other effects – some of which could be passed down to their children. The most common was known as “wildness.” If I used the psycho-babble from my first life to explain the condition, I would describe it as an almost pathological inability to control one’s impulses. A very few witch-born inherited an incredible amount of magic – more than any human should have. It was the reason my father’s wife kept my mother alive long enough to give birth. Powerful spellcasters brought a great deal of respect to a noble family, regardless of the caster’s birth.

Banging on the front door of the shop interrupted my train of thought. Heln and I jumped up from the table and sprinted through the shop. Banging on the door was an emergency. Heln threw open the door to reveal a tall man in a thief taker’s cloak holding the limp form of Mrs. Lans. Blood soaked her clothes and dripped onto the floor. Heln and I both cursed before training took over. Heln darted back behind the counter and pulled out the red bag.

“Bring her straight through,” I said.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” the thief taker snarled as he followed Heln into the back.

“Pimpernel, if you want her to live, you will do what I tell you,” I said.

“My name is Jal, not Pimpernel,” he snapped back.

“Now is not the time you two,” Heln said. She had covered the table with a tarp. Jal gently laid Mrs. Lans down as Heln and I doused our hands in alcohol. It was the closest thing we had to a disinfectant. Jal spun around as we cut Mrs. Lans’ clothes. The deep slash went down the center of her chest. Heln yanked the gauze from the bag and attacked the wound. These were the times I missed my “oh shit” first aid kit from my first life.

Heln and I worked silently to stop the bleeding. After furious effort, we were able to contain it long enough for Heln to sew the wound. I wiped the blood of Mrs. Lans’ stomach and froze. Flecks of blue paint. I carefully cleaned her chest. Jal stood across from me with a look of disgust.

“Are you groping a wounded woman? What kind of deviant are you?”

“I’m looking for a clue to who did this, Pimpernel,” I said. Just under the blood was more paint. Just like Klig described seeing on Dorna’s body.

“Once again, that is not my name,” Jal said. “Stop what you are doing this instant, or I will be forced to take appropriate measures.”

“If you want people to believe you’re a proper thief taker, maybe you shouldn’t talk like you just walked out of the Academy,” I said. Jal appeared in The Tanneries about six months ago and hung his shingle out as a thief taker. I gave the kid credit for working one of the toughest neighborhoods in the district. Although he was probably a couple years older than me, I thought of him as a kid. He tried to hide his noble roots, but I picked up on them quickly. It helped I was raised in the same environment. I knew the small things to look for. Jal flinched and shot a look over his shoulder to where Heln was working. He really thought he was keeping his big secret from my sister. I didn’t understand why she let him keep thinking that.

“One day I will discover how you found out,” Jal said, with that pompous solemness only young nobles could affect. When he gave me such a straight line, I couldn’t help myself.

“But today is not that day,” I replied, mimicking his tone.

“How did you come across Mrs. Lans?” Heln asked, ignoring our banter.

“How do you know her?” Jal asked.

“She’s my client. She came to me to find her daughter’s murderer,” I answered.

“Sweet Milla,” Jal breathed. “Her neighbors fetched me because someone attacked the family. The others were dead when I got there. She was on the ground. This was the first place I could think to bring her.”

“Very smart,” Heln said. Jal beamed at the little bit of praise.

“Did you see who attacked them?” I asked.

“No, they escaped before I arrived.” I swore as I finished bandaging up Mrs. Lans.

“Kel, go get cleaned up,” Heln said, returning with a poultice and a bowl of medicinal soup. “Jal, would you take my brother back to the Lans’ house? He will need to examine the scene to determine if it is pertinent to his case.” Heln learned way too many terms from me over the last few years. Not that Jal noticed.

“Of course, Heln, whatever you need,” Jal said. She gave him a quick smile before returning her attentions to Mrs. Lans. Jal looked like he was going to swoon before catching me smirk.

“Why don’t you get over to your office and get cleaned up as well, lover boy?” I asked, carefully using the English words for the last bit.

“I don’t know what that word means, but I know you just insulted me. However, we have a duty to find who murdered the Lans family.” Jal spun and stormed out the shop.

“Quit teasing Jal. He’s a nice boy,” Heln said.

“Then maybe he shouldn’t make it so easy.” I took the stairs up to my office. I stripped out of my bloody clothes, put on some fresh clothing and grabbed my thief taker’s cloak and various bits of gear.

Chapter Six

The City Guard was there when Jal and I arrived at the Lans house. They didn’t worry about little things like preserving crime scenes or canvassing the surrounding buildings. At least they were keeping people out of the house and messing things up further. Jal talked with the crowd of neighbors while I went through the house. The Lans’ home was above the father’s workshop. It was a cramped three-room apartment, which made the Lans family prosperous for this part of the city. It must have been a welcoming home for the Lans. The splatters of blood and gore ruined the happy home scene.

I stepped to the corner to collect myself. It wasn’t the smells of death and violence. After several years as a thief catcher, I was more or less used to those. At least enough to keep my breakfast down without effort. It was the psy-scents from the family. They should have been the sweet scents of normal people going about their lives. Fear and pain soured the psy-scents like rotting fruit. It was worse with the children. The brusque minds of the guardsmen helped, but I still needed a moment.

“Good to see you Kel,” Sergeant Kirsk said. “The bed chambers are a mess. The front wasn’t disturbed. All this mess is from my men.” The sergeant and I worked together enough that he knew my usual starting questions. All those years of listening to those police procedurals my mom watched came in handy. They weren’t the same as real police training, but at least they gave me a starting point.

First, I focused on what the psy-scents told me. Closing my eyes, I opened myself up fully. The freshest were the strongest ones. Pain. Terror. Horror. Under them were the psy-scents of the family. Mrs. Lans was easiest to pick out since I already knew her. The children were next because of their similarity to their mother. Using that I could find Mr. Lans. It was kind of like DNA that way. If I have the psy-scent of one family member, I could pick out another using the similarities.

Just under the Lans’ was another familiar psy-scent. The one who murdered Dorna. Except there wasn’t any of the excitement in his psy-scent like there was in the alley. Only frustration, anger, and rage. He was looking for something in the house but didn’t find it. A quick walk around the house confirmed my suspicions.

I found the murderer’s ritual circle in the parents’ bedroom. I focused harder but there was no scent of magic. That confirmed my suspicions. Jal was waiting for me as I walked out of the house. The crowd was mostly gone. I recognized all the stragglers as the normal crime scene ghouls waiting for the City Guard to leave so they could ransack the house. I looked each in the eye until they fled. They knew better than to cross a thief taker.

“When you were questioning the neighbors, did any of them say anything about the Lans’s? Like they brought this down on themselves?”

“There were a couple of people who thought Mrs. Lans was cursed. They didn’t say why anyone would want to murder the family though.”

“If you went back there and started talking to folks, I think you’d run into rumors about the Lans’s being involved with witchcraft. Or being witch-born.” Jal lost a step before catching himself.

“But they seemed like such a nice family,” Jal said.

“They are a nice family. The rumors aren’t true. Unfortunately, our suspect believed the rumors. It was why he went after the daughter and then the mother.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pimpernel, the only hint of magic in that house was brought in by the murderer.” Jal stayed quiet until we returned to the apothecary. As I led Jal up to my office, he finally spoke.

“What are you going to do, Kel?” Jal asked.

“This bastard is harvesting witch-born uteruses to fuel a witchcraft ritual. He’s killed more people because he mistook them for witch-born or witches. I’m not quitting until I stop him. I will take what that bastard owes the Lans’s.”

“I want to help,” Jal said.

“Thanks.”

“How do we find this man now? Do you have an idea?” I gave him my most malicious grin. Jal was going to hate what I was about to ask him to do. From the trepidation in his psy-scent, Jal knew it.

“First, I need you to talk to some streetwalkers.”

Chapter Seven

Doing a stake out in Kloss was both easier and more difficult than in my first life. Unlike cities in my first life, at night, the Outer City was a sea of darkness and shadows with islands of torchlight and candlelight. The shadows were excellent for concealment. Unfortunately, that worked both ways when the person you were watching moved in and out of the torchlight. Muffy was a hooker with a reputation for being witch-born. Her behavior was so bizarre that no brothel or pimp wanted to deal with her, so she just walked the streets on her own. I didn’t know if she was witch-born, but she suffered from some kind of mental illness. It fouled her psy-scent. I tried talking to her earlier in the evening, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t understand. She was still my best lead to find the murderer. So, while Muffy wandered the streets near her flop house, I stayed in the shadows and waited. Jal and Heln were a few streets over in case I needed assistance.

The first few men were regulars from how Muffy greeted them. I got close enough to confirm they weren’t the murderer while they were distracted by Muffy’s, um, charms. I took a swallow from my canteen as another man approached Muffy. This man wasn’t a regular. Even without getting his psy-scent, I knew something was off about him. The clothes matched the neighborhood, but his demeanor didn’t. Not noble but not working class either. I crept through the shadows as Muffy led the man into her alley. I caught his psy-scent at the mouth of the alley. The murderer. I drew my pair of sticks.

Those in the Outer City were barred from carrying bladed weapons unless part of the Guard. The restriction included thief takers. Most of my “colleagues” carried cudgels or similar clubs. While growing up in my first life, I did a lot of martial arts, mainly Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, judo, and akijitsu. I was convinced it would give me an edge when I joined the military. I drew upon those years of experience when building my thief taker kit, including a pair of iron-core tonfas. Other thief takers were amused by the odd weapons until they saw me in action.

I sprinted across the street to the alley. I was going to take down the murderer. Then, I was on the ground with stars in my eyes before I realized I was under attack. I rolled to my feet. The shadows moved and I barely dodged the huge fist. I grabbed the arm. I felt scales instead of skin. I pivoted and executed an arm throw that would’ve made sensei in my first life proud. The lizard demihuman crashed into street. That explained how he caught me by surprise. Demihumans didn’t have a psy-scent, or at least not one I could detect. The lizardman sprang at me with his claws. I slid and spun, flaring out my cloak. The cloth confused the lizardman long enough for me to strike. A pair of punches to his snout sent him scurrying back into the shadows. Lizardmen were excellent stalkers but didn’t do so well with prey that competently fought back.

I scanned the streets as I went to retrieve my sticks. Where there was one demihuman, there was always more. I caught the bearman’s musky scent an instant before he lunged out of the shadows. One of these days, I was going to figure out how to make a useful flashlight equivalent. I used every bit of footwork I could manage to dodge the bearman’s attacks. There were days I really wished this world had gunpowder. Even a matchlock musket would be useful when going up against an opponent a foot and a half taller and a hundred and fifty pounds heavier than me. As good as I was hand to hand, physics was still physics. That didn’t mean I didn’t have some tricks up my sleeve.

I reached into one of my pouches and pulled out two small capsules. The nice thing about working in an apothecary shop was coming up with analogs to stuff I used back in my first life. Like pepper balls. I waited for the bearman to lunge at me. I flared the cloak like a matador’s cape, spun, and slammed the two capsules into his face. I sprang back as the bearman roared in agony. I snatched my sticks from the ground as the bearman charged off into the night rubbing furiously at his face. Just as physics was still physics, biology was still biology.

Muffy screamed from the alley. I caught the terror in her psy-scent and the scent of magic coming from the alley. I dashed back and saw Muffy splayed out in a circle with the murderer standing over her with a blue-tipped stick in one hand and a strange wavy-bladed knife in the other. Before I could attack, another form dropped in front of me. No psy-scent, so another demihuman, but it moved too fast for me to see what kind. The demihuman dodged, pivoted and slammed a bony fist across my face. Blood flowed down my face. I shook my head to clear the sudden fuzziness. I sensed more than saw the second blow. I barely twisted in time for the club-like punch to glance off my ribs.

The scent of the magic exploded through the alley and the circle glowed with an eerie yellowish light. Muffy screamed as the knife came down. I needed to finish my fight fast so I could stop the murderer before he killed Muffy. I lashed out with sticks in a quick series of strikes. They thunked into some kind of armor, but it didn’t sound like metal or leather. The demihuman countered and slapped me with what felt like a snow shovel. The blow lifted me off my feet and threw me against the brick wall. I collapsed to the ground trying to catch my breath. A final scream and Muffy’s psy-scent spiked as she died. I tried to turn and catch the murderer before he escaped, but something hit me, and my world went black.

When I came to, Heln was standing over me. My head throbbed. It was hard to focus. Heln ran her hands over me, checking my injuries. It felt like every touch found a new injury. When she was done, I was relieved there was no more new pain.

“Pick him up,” Heln said. I was confused until I saw Jal standing behind Heln. The big noble-in-hiding gently lifted me.

“Take him to the shop and wait for me there,” Heln commanded. “Ask the littles to start tending to his injuries.”

“What about you?” Jal asked.

“Kel’s going to want to know about what happened here. I need to draw this. If you see the Guard, send them this way.”

“I should stay here in case whatever attacked Kel is still around,” Jal said.

“Jal, go.” I could sense Jal’s hurt at Heln’s stern tone. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What is so amusing?” Jal asked. “She’s risking her life to help you.”

“Those bastards are long gone,” I answered, and then groaned. Even speaking hurt. That last demihuman did a number on me.

“How do you know?”

“Because they got what they came for,” I grunted.

“So, we failed.”

“We failed to stop them from killing Muffy. We’ll learn what we can and try again.”

“How? How do we try again?”

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe something in Heln’s sketches will give us a clue.” Jal didn’t say anything further as he took me to the shop. I was grateful because I was too busy trying to breathe through the pain.

Chapter Eight

I grunted as Sairn tightened the bandages around my torse. She winced sympathetically. I smiled down at my little sister. She was such a tender soul. She hated causing pain, even if it was to treat someone. Heln wanted to “toughen Sairn up,” but Mother and I were trying to shield Sairn a bit from our older sister. Honestly, if Heln and Sairn could meet in the middle, they would both be amazing healers.

Cracked ribs were the worst of my injuries. A few more cuts and bruises completed my set. That and a nasty headache from being knocked upside the head. Even this world’s version of aspirin didn’t knock it down.

“Thank you Sairn,” I said, standing up.

“You should be resting,” she scolded. She tried hard to mimic our mother, but she just didn’t have it down yet. I rubbed the top of her head.

“Not if I want to get this case solved,” I said, getting up from my bed. I walked out into my office. Jal was waiting for me, looking at the sketches Heln made. I staggered across the room and collapsed into my office chair. Sairn put a pot of tea on my desk. She scowled to let me know she wasn’t happy I was out of bed before she went back down to the shop. I poured a mug for Jal and one for me.

“These are horrible,” Jal said pushing the sketches across the desk to me.

“What do you mean? Heln’s a talented artist.”

“Yes, she did a fine job. She just captured a horrific scene,” Jal said. That much was true. They weren’t as good as a photograph, but the sketches were excellent. Particularly considering how fast she did them. There were days I wished Heln could have gone to the Academy for art. It was one of those things that made this fantasy world a darker time for all its magic.

The first couple sketches were the scene as a whole. Muffy’s body in the alleyway. The blood splatter. The refuse around it. The next few were close ups the sigils on Muffy’s body. Then there was a sketch of the ritual circle.

I rotated the sketch. How had that bastard drawn that in the few minutes before I came into that alley? The circle was far more intricate than any other witchcraft circle I’d come across. It was more intricate than many of the standard magic circles that the nobility used in their spellcasting. Nobles used magic circles to focus their mana to cast spells. I spent many hours sketching the basic magic circles with my half-siblings when I was growing up. In the Academy, nobles learned how to form those sketches perfectly in their mind.

“Have you seen something like this?” I asked Jal, holding up the sketch of the circle.

“Put that away,” Jal demanded.

“Why?”

“It makes my head throb,” he said. Jal scrunched his eyes as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Your head or your magic?” I asked. Jal snapped his head back up and glared at me.

“What do you know of magic?” There was a dangerous undercurrent in his voice.

“Enough to know why you’re rubbing the back of your head,” I said, “Not enough to know why this circle would affect you like that.” Jal’s hands dropped from the back of his head.

“I am going to find out exactly who you are,” Jal said.

“Good luck with that,” I chided him, “Now, why does that circle hurt you?”

“I don’t know, but it’s like a concentrated circle. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“A concentrated circle? I’ve never heard of that.”

“How is it you seem to know so much and so little about magic at the same time?”

“Figure that out, and you’ll be closer to finding out all those answers you want,” I answered with a smile. “Now, a concentrated circle?”

“It was a concept one of my professors hypothesized. The idea of laying down multiple focus circles to intensify the power of a spell. No one could make it work though, but his sketches looked similar.” Well, that was an interesting clue. I picked up the last sketch. It was an unfamiliar sigil on a shred of fabric. It looked like a jagged tooth in a circle.

“Do you recognize this?” I asked.

“I’ve never seen that before.”

“Something else to research,” I said. “Mother told me to extend an offer to join us for midday luncheon after service on Godsday.”

“I would be most please to accept,” Jal said, working hard to contain his smile. I tried standing up as Jal rose, but pain wracked me up and down. I pulled out the bottom drawer of my desk and looked at the two green and two blue vials. Healing potions weren’t cheap. Those four vials cost me ten gold, and that was because they were made by the alchemist’s apprentice who owed me a favor. That was almost a year’s wages for a skilled worker. Not yet. Not quite yet.

There was something I was missing. Some thread I needed to pull on. I leaned back and sipped my cup of tea. I tasted the bitterness from the extra ingredients Heln brewed in. The pain eased a bit.

Chapter Nine

The Mave family attended religious services every Godsday. In a world with magic and the occasional proof of the dieties’ existence, all people went to their chosen church on the Godsday. Our family’s church was focused on Milla, the Mother, the goddess of home, hearth, and creation. My personal feelings on the gods of this world were somewhat ambivalent. I didn’t trust the gods to have my best interests in Their minds. They brought me to this world for some reason, and I doubted it was because they were rewarding me. Services were a good time for me to ponder whatever was occupying my mind at the time. Something was tickling the back of my mind. Something incongruous in the facts. When it hit me, I had to restrain the impulse to shout in exaltation. The church was a bit on the stuffy side.

It was the demihumans. I knew the accepted history. Some thousand years ago, the demon king invaded the human lands. The nations were unprepared and the armies of humanity were nearly annihilated as the demon king’s forces swept across the land. In desperation, some sorcerers used forbidden magic to create the various demihumans as soldiers. The demihumans were resistant to demon magic, as well as having physical gifts from their source animals. The story told by the human kingdoms was that the demihumans were supposed to be returned to their natural state once the war was over, but instead the demihumans rebelled against the weakened human nations in a bid to take over. It was the justification given for the demihumans’ outcast status in most of the human world. The tutors at the duke’s manor didn’t like it when I called bullshit on that theory. They liked it even less when I explained that how the female demihumans were proof that humans made the demihumans as slave labor from the start. The duchess threw me into her version of solitary when I explained my theory to my siblings as to why the female demihumans looked so different from the males. Particularly after her precious daughters started calling the females “nekogirls” – and the duchess figured out what that meant.

What bothered my brain was that, by and large, demihumans despised magic and magic users. Some of that was a result of how they came into this world. The bigger reason was that while demihumans couldn’t use magic, their body parts were sought after by witchcraft practitioners as components for their rituals. The demihuman authorities came down harder on practitioners of witchcraft than the nobility did. So, why were a trio of demihumans helping a warlock?

“Because that kind will do anything for money,” Jal said. I snapped out of my thoughts. It took me a moment to realize I asked the question aloud. It took me a moment longer to remember my family had left services and we were back at our home behind the apothecary for Godsday dinner.

“Careful Pimpernel, your prejudices are showing,” I snapped back.

“Well, what do you expect from those? If they were capable of real civilization, they wouldn’t need to be relegated to The Wild.”

“Or they’re making the best of a bad situation that humanity put them in,” I said, flashing back to old arguments from my childhood. Jal scoffed in that way only nobles could when hearing something preposterous. Heln shot me a warning look and shook her head. Mother and the littles were looking down at their food, trying to keep out of the brewing argument.

“Whatever reason those demihumans were helping the murderer, it’s still unusual enough that I need to follow up on it,” I said.

“How are you going to accomplish following up on this lead?” Heln asked. There was a stiffness in her voice.

“Find the demihumans who helped our murderer or find others who saw something and get some answers.”

“Unlikely. First, demihumans don’t come into Kloss unless they’re in the company of an employer. If you have no leads on your murderer, then you have no leads on who this employer would be that signed for them,” Heln said in her matter-of-fact tone.

“Very true, and that’s one place to look for them. What’s the second?”

“Second, even if you could find the ones who attacked you, your normal interrogation techniques don’t work on demihumans.”

“I have other interrogation techniques.”

Heln scoffed and the table fell silent. I took another bite of vegetable stew as I thought over Heln’s comments. She wasn’t wrong, but the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I was on to something. It wasn’t just that demihumans were working for a warlock. It was three demihumans from three different clans working for a warlock. My gut was telling me this was the key to finding the murderer.

“Pimpernel, would you go to the southern gate and check the log books? Just on the off-chance the bas–, um murderer, slipped up and brought the demihumans inside the walls legally?”

“Um, sure,” Jal said, amused by my near-swearing in front of my mother.

“If you’re sending Jal off to do that, what are you planning to do?” Heln asked. My sister knew me too well.

“I’m going to The Wild. You’re right. My normal techniques don’t work on demihumans. Still, the murderer would’ve needed to go there to at least recruit the demihumans. Among those folks, the murderer would’ve stood out like a beacon, which should make it easy to find him,” I said.

“Are you insane?” Heln demanded, standing up and glaring at me. Everyone scooted back from the normally stoic Heln’s anger. “Going into The Wild isn’t safe for full humans in the best of times. Going into The Wild as a thief taker is even worse. Going into The Wild as a thief taker with bound ribs and a probably low-grade concussion is borderline suicidal. Even assuming your able to pick up the scent of your murderer.” Heln’s mouth snapped shut as she realized how close she was to letting my secret spill out.

“Do you think I should just let the murderer go without doing everything in my power to stop him? Even if it’s dangerous for me?”

“No, you shouldn’t,” my mother said, startling both Heln and me. Mother didn’t usually get involved in these discussions. Since Father died, she was content with letting Heln run the shop while she took care of the littles and the household. She never asked or talked about my work as a thief taker.

“You do not give up this case,” Mom said, with a passion in her voice that I hadn’t heard in a long time. “I know you are very careful talking about your cases around me, but I’ve heard enough. Enough to know that whoever this man is, he must be stopped. You follow any lead and question any person you need to find him. And when you do…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at me. My kind mother couldn’t speak the words. She couldn’t ask her adopted son to do what was needed. Yet she wouldn’t deny that it needed to be done.

“I promise I’ll be careful,” I said to the people gathered around the table. Heln just gave me her patented “I don’t believe you” look, while Mom and the littles smiled. Jal wisely said nothing and focused on his stew.

Chapter Ten

What Heln and my mother didn’t know was that I spent a great deal of time in The Wild not too long after I came to live with them. I never told them about it, because I didn’t need to hear them go on about how dangerous those people were or it would be too easy to get mixed up with them or so on. To be fair to my mother and Heln, they were both more progressive than the average resident of Kloss, but neither really thought of demihumans as “real” people. It kind of reminded me of listening to my grandparents and their generation talk about blacks in my first life. They really weren’t trying to be offensive; they just couldn’t comprehend that their attitudes could be offensive. It didn’t help that most people’s knowledge of The Wild only extended to the “entertainment houses” just outside the South Gate.

On both sides of the main highway were, well, brothels would be the most polite name. Standing outside were female demihumans from various clans, in very revealing clothing, beckoning to travelers and workers. It was hard to tear my eyes from what were essentially gorgeous women who happen to have some animal features and offering some very explicit services. The mostly male crowd of travelers, merchants, and adventurers didn’t even notice my black thief taker’s cloak or when I shucked it and tucked it into my satchel. I slipped past the brothels and into neighborhoods of The Wild.

I walked down the twisty dirt path that served as The Wild’s main road. There wasn’t a whole lot of order in how the neighborhoods were laid out in The Wild. The demihumans put up their homes and stores where they could and used whatever materials they scrounged, begged, or bought at outrageous markup. The only real “order” in the chaos were the clan neighborhoods. The full humans tended to lump all demihumans together. It didn’t help that most of the times humans dealt with demihumans, there were often multiple clans working together. I knew better. If there weren’t humans around, demihumans tended to stay with their clans based on the animal they were merged with way back during their creation. It was why I was so surprised to see a lizardman and a bearman working together.

Running up the center of The Wild was the Commons. It was a bazaar with various stalls, stores, cafes and restaurants where all the clans mingled. I would never tell my mother or my siblings, but it was the Commons that felt the most like home to me. At least, it echoed my first life the most. There was that dynamic entrepreneurial spirit, combined with the tension between clan and person. The best way to describe the vibe is I don’t usually care for that clan, but Joe’s okay. Besides he makes the best widgets in The Wild. I’d heard some variation of that phrase so many times in the Commons.

The Red Café was one of the first small restaurants in the Commons. It was a shack thrown together with whatever lumber could be scrounged. Whatever money the owners put together was used to construct the chimney and stove. It was one of the reasons the food was so much better. I sat down at one of the outside tables and ignored the looks of anger and fear from the other patrons. I understood their feelings. Humans showing up in The Wild was rarely a good thing for the residents. I dropped a few coins on the table. Paying upfront didn’t guarantee service, but it told the people around me that I wasn’t a tourist. I saw the others relax just a smidge.

I focused on the faint psy-scents around me. There weren’t many. The “freshest” psy-scents I recognized immediately as nobles doing charity work. Most were self-serving, vain-glorious assholes, but there were a few filled with the true empathy of helping society’s outcasts. One I recognized immediately. Fortunately, that psy-scent was several days old. I didn’t want to run into the duchess’s youngest daughter.

“At least you were smart enough not to wear your cloak,” a soprano voice said and a catwoman dropped into the chair across from me. She was about my height and age with hair somewhere between black and purple. Her blue eyes were big in her narrow face, which accentuated her cat ears sprouting from the top of her head. Her gray cloak hid a well-endowed body. I pushed down some interesting memories and focused on why I was in The Wild.

“Can I treat you to something Marrin?” I asked. Marrin smiled but shook her head.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you Kel, but why are you in The Wild?” Just as the black cloak identified me as thief taker, Marrin’s gray cloak identified her as a member of The Eyes. The clans tended to handle most matters internally. The Eyes were an informal group that handled those “in-between” matters. They also kept an eye on humans that came into The Wild. Criminals were dealt with, do-gooders were herded to areas they could actually do some good, and many years ago a wayward boy looking for help was guided to those who could help him get his unusual powers under control. As a rule, thief takers didn’t have a good relationship with The Eyes, but that was mostly on the thief takers. There were too many instances of thief takers simply finding any demihuman to take compensation from rather than the demihuman who was actually responsible. Too many also didn’t bother with the niceties of working in The Wild.

“I’m tracking a warlock for a murder case. I laid an ambush for him, but when I went to capture him, I was attacked by a lizardman and a bearman. There was another demihuman, but I didn’t get a good look at that one before he clocked me upside my head.”

“And you think these three were working for a warlock?” Marrin asked, disbelief filling her voice.

“There are always folks willing to do things for coin, no matter how despicable.”

Marrin’s eyes went stormy, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment. I hated bringing up those memories. Not too long after I was adopted into the Mave family, I was still struggling with how to deal with my powers and the sensory overload. I was keeping it somewhat under control with a draught that Father made for me. Then I saw the City Guard use some dogmen to track a warlock. I had a brilliant and stupid idea that involved me sneaking into The Wild to find someone to train me. The Eyes found me skulking around the shadows, and I somehow managed to convince them I wasn’t a thief. It helped that it impressed the demihumans that a fourteen-year-old took down three of them. I was informally apprenticed to The Eyes as they helped me learn how to use my powers and I taught them martial arts among other things. I met Marrin during my apprenticeship when I freed her and her three sisters from a slavery ring. To be honest, it was less me rescuing them and more helping them execute the escape plan Marrin came up with. We grew close after that, and I found out exactly how horrific her time in that place had been. I was pretty sure that experience was why Marrin took up the gray cloak.

“What do you need from me? Or The Eyes?”

“I caught his scent. I am hoping you could direct me where I might be able to pick it up in The Wild.”

“You think he came here to recruit them? Not up at the pleasure houses?”

“There’s something sick in his scent. My gut tells me that if he tried recruiting at the pleasure houses, the bully boys would have run him off. I’m hoping your folks could tell me about everyone they tracked in the last few weeks.”

“You want me to check the database?” Marrin asked, using the English word I taught them when I helped The Eyes put together their records. I taught them more than just Brazilian Ji-Jutsu in my few years working with them. They didn’t have computers, but I borrowed a concept my parents in my first life brought up every time I had to do a research paper – a card catalog. It was probably the first time I got to use my computer science skills in this world.

“Or let me help you check the database,” I said.

“I guess that would be okay.” We stood up and walked down the main road. Her hand brushed mine and it sent electric shocks up my arm. I swore under my breath. Even after a couple of years, Marrin still had that effect on me. By the sidelong look she shot at me, I still had the effect on her. I tried to focus on the work and not what was under that cloak. There were times I hated being trapped in a young man’s body. It made it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.

As we walked to The Eyes’ headquarters, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I stopped and looked at the sigil carved into the door of a shop. I went through my bag until I found the paper. The unfamiliar sigil of the jagged fang Heln sketched. I held the paper next to the etching on the door. They were the same.

“Where did you get that?” Marrin asked, a wariness in her voice. Her ears were flat as her tail twitched nervously.

“It was at the scene when I was attacked by the demihumans. What is it?”

“I can’t help you,” Marrin said with a stilted formality.

“Why not?”

“I can’t help you,” she replied angrily. She stepped close to me. “Don’t show that to anyone in The Wild.”

“What’s going on?”

Marrin didn’t say anything for a bit. She just stood close to me, which was the catperson version of hugging me close. I could see things warring in her eyes. Things she wanted to tell me but couldn’t. Finally, something broke and she kissed me. It was scandalous and I knew it would be bad for her, but I still kissed her back. Damn me. Finally, she broke the kiss off and looked at me with those blue eyes.

“You shouldn’t be looking into that symbol in The Wild. You really shouldn’t be looking into a place in between the Bear and Lizard neighborhoods.” Before I could say anything, Marrin sprinted back down the street. I felt cold in the street even in the summer’s heat. Nope, those feelings weren’t done with me yet.

I followed the main road to where Marrin suggested. In between the neighborhoods were usually open areas that acted as buffers. Sometimes kids played in the buffers, but each clan was careful to keep their children on “their” side. Which was why the stone building in the dead center of the buffer was so out of place. Like all the buildings in The Wild, it was of a simple design – barely more than four walls of stone and a thatch roof. As far as I could tell, there weren’t any windows. The only way in was a simple wood door. On the door was etched that sigil. As I took a step closer, I sensed the faint psy-scent of the murderer. The psy-scent was too old to make out anything other than its owner. I walked closer, hoping the psy-scent would get stronger.

A crunch behind me was just enough warning. I crouched and spun as a giant fist whistled through the air where my head had just been. The Bear Clan demihuman was confused that his strike didn’t connect. I took advantage and reached into a belt pouch. I threw the pepper balls into his face and slid away as he exploded into a coughing and sneezing fit. I drew my sticks and darted back in. Since I didn’t have any ranged options, my best bet against the bearman was speed and focused violence. While he was bigger and stronger, the bearman still had the same weak spots as humans.

I slammed both sticks across the bearman’s knee. His screams muted the crunching of bone and joint. Then I was flying through the air as he backhanded me faster than I expected. As I hit the ground, I rolled and came to my feet. I shook my head to clear the stars as I tried to ignore the pain from my ribs. I was going to hear “I told you” from Heln.

A shape moved in my peripheral before I was slammed into a stone building. I was amazed I managed to keep a grip on my sticks as I stood back up. I turned to face my new opponent and froze. It was a demihuman, but unlike any other I had seen or even heard of. It was almost ten feet tall with a thick red shell covering its body. Instead of normal arms, the demihuman had two massive claws. A fucking crabman? There wasn’t a Crab Clan. Where the hell did this one come from?

“You are the thief taker from the other night,” the crabman said. “How did you find us?” The voice warbled, like he was talking while gargling. It would have been comical if I wasn’t in the middle of a life-or-death fight.

“That answer is going to cost you,” I said, bracing for the next attack and looking for a way to escape.

“Considering the only reason I didn’t kill you was because Merlin was rushed to harvest the witch-born, your threat holds little weight.” I froze and stared at the crabman. Inexcusable, but between the pain wracking my body and the shock of hearing the name “Merlin,” my mind just couldn’t handle more. The crabman saw his opening and charged. For such a huge creature, he moved with the speed of a track star. Before I could recover, he brought both of those huge claws down on me. I barely brought my sticks up enough to keep them from killing me. The force was still enough to drive me to the ground. My strength evaporated, and I just laid there waiting for the killing blow and swearing at myself. Maybe I would get it right in my third life.

“Don’t just stand there whimpering. Go get some rope and tie him up,” the crabman ordered.

“Why not just kill him?”

“Tempting, but after two run-ins with the same thief taker, I want to find out what he knows and who he’s talked to,” the crabman answered. “Plus, Merlin will want to talk with him as well. We are too close to success, and I’m not going to let anything prevent us from getting what is ours.” As if to emphasize the point, crabman walked up and kicked me in the head. Pain flashed before blackness consumed me.

Chapter Eleven

I was still rubbing sleep from my eyes as the duchess dragged me into the room. It was under the oldest part of the manor. In my twelve years on this world, I had never been anywhere near the room. Candelabras threw dim light. The walls were covered in red and white tiles. The light was too dim to make out the designs, but my gut said they were magic circles of some kind. In the center was a stone table with leather straps. This was the Quickening Chamber.

Two large men in cleric’s robes grabbed my arms and dragged me to the stone table. The duchess was speaking with another cleric as two more walked around the room with incense burners. They filled the room with an unfamiliar pungent smell. I was roughly tossed onto the table and then bound down with the straps. I didn’t know why, but I was sure that the clerics in the room were afraid.

“Your Grace, I am not sensing anything from the boy,” the cleric said. “Perhaps he is not ready.”

“I have endured that witch-born for a dozen years. I will not endure him for another night if he does not bring power to this house.”

The chanting started. I didn’t recognize any of the words, but the cadence sounded like Latin or maybe Greek. I remembered my ‘faith finding’ days in my first life and visiting Catholic and Orthodox churches. I didn’t see the two clerics walk up to the table and empty their incense burners on my chest. I screamed as the hot oil burned my flesh as it rolled down my chest. The room exploded in scents. I didn’t smell all of them with my nose.

There was screaming around me. Angry screaming. The pain from my chest masked the words, but I heard someone yell “Execution!” and “Abomination!” Rage at the injustice filled me and my head exploded in pain. I heard the clatter of metal surrounded me followed by screams of terror. Not just screams, but I could almost smell the fear. Then blood.

The smell of burning incense brought me around. I panicked from the remembered dream before I realized the incense I smelled wasn’t the incense from my dream. Satisfied I wasn’t dreaming, I tried to figure out where I was. My body hurt all over, and my ribs sent waves of sharp pain with every little movement. The ropes holding me upright didn’t help. If I survived this case, I was using one of those healing potions in my desk.

I opened my eyes. I was in a church. The stained-glass windows and the well-crafted candelabras told me the church’s parishioners were well-off, but not rich. The benches were pushed along the walls, and a large magic circle was painted on the floor. From what I could see, the circle looked like the one the murderer painted in the alley before he murdered Muffy. Four brass bowls were placed on the outer edge of the circle at the cardinal points. Muffy’s psy-scent – spiked with terror and pain – emanated from the bowl closest to me. Rage bubbled up in me as I looked at that bowl. It was like the murderer was taunting me with my failures.

The bowl tipped over. The rage evaporated as I stared at the bowl and the blood spilling out. Memories of my Quickening ceremony flashed in my mind. The debris flying around like a tornado in that room tearing apart the clerics. What was the same between when I was in that room and in this church?

“What happened here?” the murderer asked as he came from behind me into the church. He knelt down to the spilled bowl and gently tipped it back up.

“Merlin?” I asked. He turned around carefully and examined me for a long moment.

“I don’t know if I’m surprised or annoyed that you discovered my name,” the murderer said. “You are a persistent one.” His psy-scent was tainted by twisted amusement and anticipation.

“Why did you choose that name?” I asked, in English. He gave me a blank look. I repeated the question in Spanish. Nothing. Finally, I tried Japanese. The murderer grew more concerned with each sentence, but there was no spark of comprehension in his eyes.

“How hard did that crab hit you?” Merlin asked. He checked my head with practiced motions.

“You’re a doctor,” I said. His hands froze and he stared at me.

“How uncommonly perceptive you are,” he said. His demeanor changed in an instant. “I see why my minions wanted me to dispose of you.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“Because it seems proper that the birth of a new world should have at least one full human in attendance to witness the act.”

“And that’s what you think you’re doing with this perverted ritual?”

“Perverted?” Merlin asked, “What an unusual choice of words.”

“You are using uteruses to fuel your ritual. Perverted seems appropriate.”

“You are unusually inquisitive for a thief taker, but you are limited by your low birth,” Merlin said, in a condescending tone I knew far too well.

“Spoken by someone who is little more than a tool,” I said, mimicking his tone and accent perfectly. “Do you even know what this ritual will do, even if you somehow manage to pull it off?” Rage spiked in Merlin’s psy-scent.

“Who are you? Who are you really?” Merlin demanded.

“As I told your minion, that answer is going to cost you.” I mimicked the slow, haughty smile I remembered from my childhood. It was the smile someone of higher birth bestowed on an upstart. The smile of someone looking at the pathetic. A smile burned into my memory. It had the desired effect and stoked Merlin’s rage. I misjudged his reaction. The kick knocked whatever I was tied to down to the floor. My breath whooshed out of me as stars filled my eyes from the impact.

“You are just a lowly thief taker! How dare you act so impertinently to your better!”

“Why is it always the social climbers who get so hung up on class?”

“What would you know about what it takes to climb to one’s proper station?”

“Do you want to know the really funny thing? Your master, whoever he is, won’t make you a noble if you manage to complete this ritual. He’ll just murder you like you murdered those girls.” Merlin screamed in anger and drew the wavy-bladed bronze dagger. Unfamiliar symbols were carved into the blade.

“Sir, you cannot kill him with that, and you cannot spill life in here while the circle is set,” the crabman said. “If you wish him dead, I will take him outside and deal with him.” Merlin spun and glared at the crabman.

“Do so. And remember who you are addressing,” Merlin said, sheathing the dagger and storming off to examine the circle. The crabman said nothing as he grabbed me by my feet and dragged me out of the church. Thankfully, there weren’t any steps as we went out the doorway. The rough cobblestones were doing enough to carve me up. Finally, the crabman dragged me into a dark alley behind the church.

“Why are you working for him?” I asked. “You know that he’s going to go back on whatever he offered.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not working for him then,” the crabman said. There was an undercurrent of smugness in his distorted voice. He looked behind me. “Kill him.”

I craned my head to see the lizardman and the bearman. The bearman held my sticks as the lizardman flashed his claws. I strained against the ropes, but whoever bound me did too good a job. The two demihumans slowly stalked towards me. I didn’t have to sense their psy-scents to know they were relishing their revenge. My mind raced as I tried to come up with a solution.

The pain in my head flared. Flashes of memory back to the dream. Suddenly, it was like I pushed through a locked door. I had no words to describe the sensation or what was happening to me. The two demihumans screamed as they were lifted off the ground and slammed into the brick walls. The screaming was cut short with the snapping of bones. The pain in my head stopped like someone flipped a switch. The two demihumans fell to the ground like marionettes whose strings were just cut. I just lay there concentrating on my breathing.

“Five Gods protect us, Kel. What just happened?” Jal emerged from the darkness. My head was so messed up that I didn’t even pick up his psy-scent.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked in response.

“How badly did you hit your head?” Jal asked, “You’re talking funny again and using strange words.” I must have been truly messed up if I slipped into English. He produced a knife and started cutting the ropes.

“How did you find me?” I asked, making sure I used the proper language.

“I didn’t. I found this church. I was about to go in when I saw that strange demihuman dragging you out here.” Finished with the bindings, he helped me sit up. Pain flashed from my ribs as I moved. Heln was going to be insufferable. Assuming I survived.

“Pimpernel, start from the beginning. How did you find this church?”

“You asked me to go check the logbooks at the Southgate. There was a name that looked suspicious. I followed up on that, and it led me here.” Jal was being cagey, which he only did when it involved his past life as a noble. I wasn’t in any condition to call him on it. We needed to stop that bastard from completing his ritual. I staggered to my feet and walked over to the two demihumans. Both were dead. Their limbs bent in odd angles. I ignored the odd twisting of their necks as I retrieved my sticks.

“You didn’t answer me, Kel. What just happened?”

“As soon as I figure that out, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, we need stop the witchcraft ritual.”

“Kel, you’re in no condition to continue. Just tell me what I need to know, and I will finish this evil.” There it was. The reason I called him Pimpernel. Gleaming in his psy-scent was the courage, resolve, and idealism of a hero. I wasn’t sure the circumstances of why Jal was hiding in the Tanneries, but I knew why he chose to become a thief taker.

“Jal, I need you to keep that crabman busy. If you can capture him, all the better, but killing him would be good. I will handle the murderer. This is my case.” Jal was so shocked hearing me call him by his proper name, that he just nodded. Gripping my sticks, I followed him back into the church.

The scents of magic and blood filled the room. Merlin was striding around the outside of the circle, rhythmically chanting. I recognized some of the words. Latin. I looked back at Jal. Confusion spiked in Jal’s psy-scent. He didn’t understand the words, but he knew they were critical to the ritual. I couldn’t see the crabman from the foyer of the church as we crept deeper into the church. As we neared the edge of the foyer, I gripped my sticks tighter and mentally mapped the distance between Merlin and me.

Violence exploded. The crabman materialized in front of us, lunging with his heavy claws. Jal was suddenly in front of me. He deflected both with a long thief taker’s sword – a long metal bar with a sword hilt. Jal counterattacked and pushed the crabman back. A gap opened, and I sprinted towards Merlin.

Frustration raged through Merlin’s psy-scent as I sprinted towards him. He couldn’t stop the ritual once he began. The bowls smoldered as the magic of the components was released into the circle. I swung my sticks at his hands and knees. Pain flashed up my arms. It felt like I struck metal. A ripple appeared in mid-air like I hit the surface of water. I tapped the air next to Merlin. My stick thocked into the invisible shield. Merlin flinched but continued with his chanting.

I started searching around. If I had a shield protecting me, I would be feeling confident. Merlin’s psy-scent was filled with frustration and concern. I looked down at the floor. The magic circle was painted on the church floor in a pastel blue. I didn’t know if that was significant or just what paint Merlin could get his hands on. Just outside the circle was the faint etching in the wood. I first thought it was decorative, but the more I looked, I saw it was another circle.

“Hey Pimpernel!” I yelled.

“I’m a little busy Kel,” Jal yelled back as he dodged the crabman’s lunge.

“Why would a church have a magic circle etched into the floor?”

“Is that really important right now?”

“Considering Merlin’s using it for a shield? I would say it’s important.”

“It’s a physical circle? Damn. You’re not going to break that.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“The Church used those to protect its clerics and parishoners against demons during the war.”

“Now you understand how futile your fighting is,” the crabman bellowed. He cackled, which sounded doubly eerie with his gurgling voice. As the crabman boasted, Jal pressed his attack. He lashed out with his thief taker’s sword across the crabman’s legs. The cackling turned to screams of pain as the crabman hobbled in retreat. He managed to block Jal’s follow-up attacks, but the crabman wasn’t moving with the same lightning speed as before.

Satisfied Jal had the crabman under control, I looked back at Merlin. He was three-quarters around the circle. The bowls burst into flame as their contents were consumed by the ritual. I circled to where Merlin was and attacked with a flurry of strikes. My blows bounced off as the shield rippled. Fear spiked in Merlin’s psy-scent with each strike. Again, if the shield was protecting him, why was he not confident? Why were my strikes worrying him? The shield had to have a weakness. Something could get through. I looked up as the smoke danced along the roof of the church. The smoke.

Instinctively I looked around the church again. In the corner, I saw my thief taker cloak. I sprinted across the room and flung the cloak aside. Just as I hoped, my utility belt was laying on the floor. I grabbed it and sprinted back across. I found the correct pouch and pulled out two small vials.

“Pimpernel, it’s about to get spicy!” I yelled as I smashed both vials against the shield. The fine particles floated through the shield and filled the air with what was essentially pepper spray. Pain flashed in my eyes, nose, and lungs as I forced myself to stay on my feet and watch the cloud surround Merlin. For a second, Merlin continued to chant as the cloud swirled around him. I cursed. Was he one of the few who weren’t affected by the concoction? Then tears and snot poured down his face, and Merlin erupted in a violent coughing fit. He collapsed, and without the ritual to guide it, the magic violently dispersed.

The last thing I saw was Merlin torn apart by the magic before a brilliant flash blinded me. Then everything went black.

Chapter Twelve

When I woke up, I was in a cell. It was an occasional hazard in a thief taker’s life. Usually when we annoyed the City Guard. This was a much nicer cell than I found myself in before. There was light in the cell and an actual cot. I was surprised enough by my surroundings that I didn’t notice at first. When I sat up, I didn’t feel pain from my ribs. Or any pain at all. I finally recognized the slight “off” feeling from healing magic. One of my tutors growing up explained the feeling as the mind reconciling with unnaturalness of magical restoration. It was then I recognized a psy-scent I hadn’t sensed in over a decade. The man was standing on the other side of the bars in some shadows.

“I wasn’t sure it was you until I found that scar on the back of your leg,” the man said, stepping into the light. He was tall and broad with a mane of dark hair, all of which came from our father. The hazel eyes and thin mouth came from his mother. He wore a dark blue military uniform with the piping of a captain.

“Hello, Lynd. Been awhile,” I said to my brother. Technically, he was my half-brother, but Lynd never treated me as anything less than a brother – much to the annoyance of his mother and my half-sisters. His psy-scent was more mature, but there were sparkles of happiness and consternation as he looked at me through the bars.

“Eleven years, Kel,” he replied. There was a weariness in his voice that made me feel guilty.

“Like I said, it’s been awhile.”

“Where have you been all that time? Why did you leave?”

“What did the duchess tell you about the night of my Quickening?”

“She refuses to speak about that night. Only that you were gone and you murdered Priest Sollit and his acolytes.”

“So, is that why I’m in a jail cell?”

“No, you’re in that cell because you were found unconscious at the scene of a witchcraft ritual,” Lynd said.

“I wasn’t the one doing the ritual. I was the one stopping the ritual.”

“All of the evidence shows otherwise,” Lynd said. His voice and demeanor were stern, but he couldn’t hide his true feelings from me.

“Don’t try to bluff me. You know I wasn’t performing the ritual, so why I am in this cell?”

“You can still do that,” Lynd said, shaking his head. “After all these years, I don’t know why it surprises me you can still tell when I’m lying.” He waved his hand, and the scent of magic filled the area. He sat down on an invisible chair.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“The reason you’re in that cell, Kel, is because you managed to stumble into a clandestine investigation on a new strain of witchcraft being performed among several recently formed factions. The ritual tonight was to be a culmination of certain plans by one of the factions. While I am pleased you managed to prevent that from occurring, your actions prevent us from continuing the investigation. So, I want to know everything you learned while you were tracking Pallick.”

“Who?”

“The man who was performing the ritual.”

“He and his followers called him Merlin.” From there, I walked Lynd through my investigation. He asked questions as needed, but mostly just let me talk. Then we came to the confrontation at the church. I skirted around some details, like how I knew Merlin was just a tool and how I escaped from the two demihumans. Lynd’s psy-scent told me that he knew I wasn’t being completely truthful, but he never pressed me.

“And what do you know about this Jal? Your fellow thief taker?” I looked at Lynd as I felt his psy-scent. He was fishing for something.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“We would, but he was gone, as was the crab demihuman you described.”

“Well, I can tell you right off that Jal wasn’t involved with Merlin beyond his working with me. As for the crabman, I think he was the go-between for Merlin and whoever was pulling Merlin’s strings.”

“How can you be so sure about this Jal? How do you know he wasn’t the one pulling Pallick’s strings?”

“The same reason I know when you’re lying to me,” I answered. Lynd sat back on his invisible chair.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Kel, just as you are always able to know when I’m lying, I can tell when you’re not telling me everything. When we were younger, I could let that pass. As an Imperial officer investigating a heinous crime, I am obligated to demand what you know. Now, and what happened the night of your Quickening.” I could tell by the emotions warring in his psy-scent that Lynd wanted to trust me, but duty to his family and to his Emperor demanded otherwise.

“You know how when we were kids, you and our sisters could do little bits of magic?” I asked.

“Yes,” Lynd answered, confused by the apparent non-sequitur.

“Remember telling me every time I failed to show any magic that it would show up when I went through my Quickening?” Guilt flooded Lynd’s psy-scent. He knew as well as I did that if I wasn’t showing sparks of magic when I was a kid, it was unlikely I would show any during the Quickening.

“You were right – and you were wrong,” I said.

“What does that mean?”

“The Quickening unlocked my abilities, but not magic abilities.” I paused as I gathered up my courage. “I’m a psychic.”

“What is a ‘psychic’?” Lynd asked, completely lost. I was ready for Lynd to curse me, try to kill me, or even just turn and walk away. I was not prepared for him to not know what a psychic was.

“Um, I can do things with my mind,” I said, stumbling how to explain what my abilities.

“So can I. That’s magic,” Lynd said.

“No, I don’t do magic,” I said. I thought back to our tutor’s explanations of magic when we were kids. “When you do something like your chair there, you pull mana from the world’s ley lines and reconfigure it to what you want through your own magic and spell casting.”

“Yes,” he said, as if I was saying that water was wet.

“Even witches pull mana from the ley lines. They’re just coaxing it with their ritual and components.”

“Agreed,” Lynd said with a distasteful look on his face.

“I don’t do that. I can just do some things without needing to pull mana. I just do them.”

“How is that possible?” Lynd asked, intrigued by the concept.

“No idea.”

“But, if you can do things with your mind like I can do with magic, how did Merlin’s thugs manage to capture you?”

“Well, I can’t do a whole lot with my mind. Really, just one thing.” I explained psy-scents to Lynd and how I could detect them.

“So, explain how you unlocking this psy-scent ability resulted in the deaths of three clerics who should have been able to contain you.”

“Let me ask you something first. When you went through your Quickening, you didn’t just unlock your magic, you felt exactly how powerful you were going to become. That part of the ritual you’re never supposed to speak about.”

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“I’m at thief taker. I’m good at finding out things.”

“So, what does that have to do with what happened in your Quickening?”

“Psy-scents are all I can do now. They weren’t all I could do in that room.” I took several deep breaths. “I think the reason you’ve never heard of a psychic is because the church considers people like me abominations. When the high priest realized what I am, he ordered his clerics to kill me. I think I reacted with all of my power.” The dream came back to me. A tornado of weapons tearing through the people who wanted me dead. As I looked back up, I found compassion in Lynd’s eyes.

“You don’t need to tell me more,” he said. “I understand why you disappeared and why Mother never spoke of what happened.” We both looked at each other in silence for several long moments.

“These psy-scents are why you know Jal was not the one controlling Pallick.”

“Yeah,” I answered.

“There’s more, though,” Lynd said. “About this associate of yours.”

“Jal’s secrets are not mine to divulge,” I replied, hoping that would satisfy Lynd.

“An hour ago, I’m not sure I would have agreed,” Lynd said. “Now?” The silence enveloped us again. Finally, he stood up and opened the cell door. As I walked out, Lynd wrapped me in a surprise embrace.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“I tell my superiors that Pallick died after the fortuitous intervention of two thief takers. I also pass along that it’s likely he was a pawn to someone else, but we have no leads as to whom that might be at this time. In the meantime, I try to find out what the church knows about people like you.”

“Don’t Lynd. Just let it lie,” I said.

“Why?” Righteous anger flushed through Lynd.

“Because I’m worried about what you’ll find. I’m worried about the backlash. To you. And because I know you’re trying to get me accepted back into the family.” I gripped my brother’s shoulder.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t want back into the family. I don’t belong in that world. Not anymore. I’m not sure that I ever did.”

“What do I tell our father?”

“Nothing. You tell him nothing.” Lynd didn’t like that answer, but he nodded in agreement.

“What about you and me?” Lynd asked. “I just found you again.”

“Lynd, I may not belong in the noble world, but that doesn’t mean we won’t see each other again. Kloss’s not that big of a city.”

“I guess not,” he said. A warm smile spread across his face.

Chapter Thirteen

“Do you think he will keep your secret?” Heln asked after I finished telling her the events of the last couple of days. We were in the back of the apothecary. She was compounding some medicines while I was replenishing my utility belt’s irritants.

“Yes, I do.”

“You are too trusting, Kel,” Heln said. “He’s a noble. They have different rules than we do.”

“Yes and no.”

Heln scoffed at the comment but didn’t say anything else. We worked in silence for a while longer. Then Heln walked over and hugged me from behind. I stood there shocked by the rare display of physical affection. Her normal stoic demeanor slipped, and I felt the wetness of her tears on my back.

“I know being a thief taker is dangerous, but you were reckless this time, Kel,” Heln said into my back. “Let Jal be the hero if he wants, but this family needs you. Don’t leave us like Poppa.”

“I can’t promise that. Whoever was pulling Merlin’s strings is still out there, and I need to stop him or her.”

“Why can’t you let Jal handle that? Why does it have to be you?” Heln demanded. I turned around and hugged my sister back. I made a decision.

“Because I think that person and I are very similar. I need to tell you about my first life.”

“You told me about that years ago.”

“No, not my childhood. My first life. Before I died and woke up in this world.” Heln, to her credit, listened to me the whole night. After I finished talking, she sat silently drinking her tea.

“That’s why I need to be the one to stop this person. Because I think he or she is from the same place as my first life.”

“You’re wrong, you know,” she said.

“Wrong about what?”

“You are not the only one who can stop this person. You have family. We will help you.”

Chapter Fourteen

A few days later, a note showed up at the shop. It was cryptic, but I recognized Marrin’s handwriting. She wanted to meet me, but the where was a bit of a surprise. I followed the instructions and went to one of the higher-end demihuman pleasure houses. I handed the madam the note when I walked in and was ushered to a room in the back. With some trepidation, I opened the door.

An older catwoman was sitting on the bed. It took me a moment to recognize her as Marrin’s grandmother – Dela. I could see where Marrin got her dark hair and bright blue eyes. Then I saw where Marrin picked up her mischievous smile. She beckoned me inside.

“I know I wasn’t who you were expecting,” Dela said. “Don’t worry, you may get a chance to talk with Marrin after we have a small chat.”

“Is it going to be the same chat as last time?” I asked. Marrin’s family made it very clear that while they were grateful to me for rescuing their children, they did not like me having a relationship with one of them.

“Perhaps. I want you to tell me everything about the last several days.” I didn’t say anything for a long time. I don’t know what instinct told me to trust Dela, but I followed it. I started with Heln and Mrs. Lans coming to my office. Dela asked questions on certain points as I walked her through the investigation. Then we came to the confrontation with Merlin. I didn’t hold anything back about how I killed the bearman and the lizardman, even if I didn’t fully understand it myself. The one part I couldn’t fully tell was how I knew someone was pulling Merlin’s strings. It was one thing telling Heln about my first life, but I didn’t know how to explain it to the catwoman. Of course, she picked up on it.

“How did you know someone else was behind Merlin?”

“Um, yeah, about that,” I stammered, trying to figure out how to put it into words.

“Was it because you know the name from somewhere else?” Dela asked in English. I stood there stunned. The words sounded odd, as if she wasn’t a native speaker, and it took me a moment to recognize the accent. “Nihongo de hanashita kata ga kantandeshou ka?”

“Your Japanese is worse than my English. Let me guess, you learned to watch anime.”

“Yeah,” I answered sheepishly.

“An honorable effort. Better than most Americans.”

“How did you know I was American?”

“My husband was an American. In the before time. So, I understand something of dishonorable relationships. And I understand some of the issues of being reborn on this world. Were you married in your before time?”

“Engaged. She broke it off for another guy about a year before I died.”

“Good, you know both love and loss.” Dela was quiet for a long moment. “First, the bad news. You will never be able to marry or even openly acknowledge your relationship with Marrin. Not just because of the prejudices of this world on both sides. You are starting on the journey of why you were brought to this world, and you will have enemies who would use your Marrin against you.”

“How do you know that?”

“That explanation will come later. Probably much later. Do you understand?”

“I understand the point you’re making, but not why I’m here.”

“Again, that will come later. The good news is that Marrin knows about my before time. She knows about people like us. And she knows that you are one. She’s thought long and hard about it, and that strong-headed granddaughter of mine still loves you. She even joked about how older men were more appreciative of what they have.”

“How did you navigate it?”

“I realized that this is my life and my old life is simply a ghost that I talk with. And I still have to live a life here. I suggest you do the same.”

“That makes sense,” I said, absorbing the woman’s wisdom. “And I do love her.”

“Of course you do. Anyone who watched the two of you could see that.” I laughed at the dismissive tone. “All I ask is that the two of you meet here. It wouldn’t be the first time for such an arrangement, and it will keep the talk down. I also ask that you take the proper precautions.”

With that, Dela stood up and walked to the door. As she opened it, Marrin stood in the doorway. She was dressed in a simple dress and held a small basket of food. The two women exchanged knowing smiles as the grandmother left and the granddaughter came in. Marrin slowly closed the door before walking across the room. She set down the basket with a slow seductiveness. It was all I could do to stay where I was standing. She finally came close, and I pulled her into a long kiss. As we parted, she smiled.

“You will tell me everything about your before life. After.”