Holmsteader didn't look too out of the ordinary if you ignored the scar.

She looked younger than I expected, not much older than me, colored pale green, with a long scar running next to her eye down to her jaw, and skin turned white along its surface. As pale as her skin was, a scar shouldn't leech all the color out.

Holmsteader wore a fetching dress of teal ending just above her ankles that I looked at through the peephole with jealously. It even had ruffles. When you had to spend money on clothes resistant to burning and acid, and ones for prowling about at night, the clothing budget tended to not cover nice dresses as often. Or at all.

I still had mine from Lord Montague's party, and that was it.

Two toughs flanked her, blue and crimson respectively, one of them idly cleaning his fingernails with a knife. I was almost tempted to open the door just to lecture him both about health hazards and walking cliches. Given the size of the knife, it was shocking he hadn't cut his finger open yet.

I could keep the door shut. This had to be Holmsteader. Either that or I'd irritated some other female gang boss who'd decided to bring muscle. At a bare minimum, the snow was still out there; the sun taking its sweet time melting it. A few minutes in the cold to pay for the pain they were sure to be.

I didn't have much choice, though. This was the courteous side being shown first, instead of the discourteous side if I didn't open my door. Who knew how many of her gang might be lurking out there, waiting for the right order to either lay siege to my shop or directly assault it.

Besides, I actually had to live here. Having Holmsteader convinced I was blowing her off would have consequences. So, with a quiet sigh, I put on my best smile and opened the door.

"Good morning! While we are closed, I am delighted to make an exception for you, Miss Holmsteader."

"See?" the woman said to her two bodyguards. "I told you she would open the door if we knocked first."

"Truth be told, Miss Holmsteader," I said. "I wouldn't normally, but you're one of the first surprises in the past day that has bothered to knock first. Although surprise might be an exaggeration, I anticipated you coming."

"Aw, did you?" She said with a smile that bled sugar.

I inclined my head. "I humbly apologize for coming to your section of the Quarter last night without checking first, but I figured you would not appreciate my presence. I also wish to make clear I am not operating under the orders of Giovanni Versalicci, simply confirming rumours I heard and took an interest in. Ah, and one more thing."

She seemed somewhat taken aback for a second, but quickly regained her composure and that sickly sweet smile. "Yes?"

"Between circumstantial evidence and my own suspicions, I believe one of your employees may be involved in the disappearances of several people, and may use diabolism to arrange this. At least to keep track of them. Nothing concrete yet, but I believe a Donald Tyler has been hooking your temporary laborers with diabolic tracking spells. Not entirely sure, he seems to be the only person who has been around them long enough to hook a spell like that in place. I could be wrong, or you could fully know Mr. Tyler's activities, but it seemed pertinent to inform you. I should have sent a letter. While I would understand not wanting me to look into the veracity of that, I would suggest at least looking into-"

"Mr. Tyler is dead," Holmsteader said, and one tough deliberately reached for something within his coat. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Melodramatic a tad? "Which is precisely why I want to talk to you. Where were you last night?"

I pretended to eye the outside carefully and noted a few suspicious-looking figures out in the street who I hadn't seen before. Still couldn't be sure about them being Holmsteaders. The one on a roof crouched near a chimney, covered up to resemble a pile of bricks more than a living person? They probably were Holmsteaders.

"Are you sure you want to discuss it in the open?" I asked her. "This seems a conversation best held indoors. Where it's warm?"

She considered it for a second, balancing the possibility of a trap with the fact that it was frigid out there.

"Certainly. Just inside?"

"If you wouldn't mind," I said, already moving from the door towards my counter. "Hands off the merchandise, unless you want to make a purchase. Tea? I need to brew a cup, anyway."

"No thank you," Holmsteader replied, probably not wanting to risk poison. Smart. I'd have to skip on the hemlock. One of her toughs closed the door behind her as they fanned around the room. She actually was browsing, looking among the various herbal wares and potions on display. "Seems less than what I expected, to be honest."

"Well, ingredients are expensive, and licenses more so," I said. "And just because the Watch doesn't come here rarely means I'm willing to risk being sent to the Coffin."

"One would think you'd no longer be at risk of that," she noted, and I didn't fail to notice how the two thugs were trying to get on opposite sides of me as I set a pot of boiling water on my stove. "Does working for Voltar not offer much in the ways of protection?"

"Alliances do not make monoliths," I noted. "Especially when one's line of work often involves showing up said allies. I imagine more than a few members of the Watch resent Voltar solving cases they struggled with, taking all the public glory, and walking over them. My association transfers some of that to me, and that's not even beginning to discuss our shared history before all of that. But we weren't talking about that."

Her smile was just as friendly, but her eyes were hard now as I broke out a teacup, grabbing a few leaves from one of my storage cupboards.

"What were you doing on Glee Street last night, Miss Harrow?"

"Investigating," I answered. "But more specifically, looking into a string of disappearances pointed out by Versalicci. Not the most reliable of sources, nor is our relationship anything I consider friendly, but unfortunately, ignoring him is not an option I have. Spent all the evening confirming the disappearances, talking with the various people on the outskirt of your territory. Discovered that someone was using Diabolic spells to keep track of them and came back home. Diabolists aren't something one should leap into confronting unprepared."

"So you deny going to Donald Tyler's house," she said in a careful, measured tone. "You did not shoot him, you did not break into his cellar, any of that?"

I poured hot water into my pot over the grill containing my tea leaves, then set it aside to steep.

"I could have," I admitted, turning around the face her, my gaze firm. "And the ways I could convince you it wasn't me are rather thin. On the other hand, why is it me?"

"You seemed quite certain it was Mr. Tyler," she said.

"He was the first on the list of suspects because he's the only common name that came up," I said. "The spell that was being used to track them needs to be affixed to its target. I was going to determine if it was him or not tonight. I suppose that's pointless now."

"The watcher I have posted near his house was choked out," she commented. "The last thing he could remember seeing was a blue arm choking him out."

I inclined my head at her left bodyguard, his own blue skin just a shade lighter than my own.

"While the classical red seems most common among us, blue is hardly uncommon."

"That is true," she said. "I suppose most of the evidence is circumstantial. Including the alchemy we found on the site."

I yawned. I didn't even need to fake it. I felt tired, and this blatant interrogation was only making me tire faster.

"What is it?" I asked, ignoring the glares of the two toughs and the slight cracking of her facade.

"I'm not sure myself," she said cheerily. "All I know is that it knocked my watcher out!"

"Well, if you'd brought a sample, I could maybe help you," I said. "Check my records, see if I sold any fast working knockout air-delivered chemicals. I know a few that would do the trick myself, but again, without a sample, I couldn't say for sure. We can check my stores, I can show you my notes, but then again, I could have just as easily fabricated them."

"You aren't helping the case that it isn't you, are you?" Holmsteader said, grin fading. I'm sure gears were turning inside her head on why I wasn't even bothering with hard evidence on it not being me.

"The circumstantial evidence against me is quite a large array," I said. "Denying that would be foolish. The question is, am I the target you want to set your eyes on?"

Because unless she had been using Tyler's services as a diabolist, I'd just done Holmsteader a service. I hadn't even done it in a way that challenged her authority unless she went public with the details, which she had no reason to.

A muffled grunt from downstairs, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor. Shite.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Holmsteader raised an eyebrow as she looked down at the floorboards.

"I'm entertaining a couple of friends," I said. "I sent them downstairs. It seemed more convenient for everyone involved."

"Really? One of them wouldn't happen to be Gregory Montague, would it?"

My nail scratched across the surface of the teacup with a painful screech. My expression flickered as I winced, then pulled my hand back into my lap, putting on my best grin.

The wince wasn't entirely theatrics. I hated I had to scratch a perfectly good teacup just to sell that.

"Gregory Montague," I said, forcing a smile as much as I could. "I wasn't aware he had visited Glee Street last night. Did he come to any harm?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Holmsteader said, watching me closely.

"Pity. I'd have loved for someone to clip his wings, but the world can be such a disappointment in that regard. If you suspect he's down there, you're welcome to look?"

She wouldn't, and both she and I knew that. Downstairs, in a place I could have prepared, with only her and the two toughs? Instead of here on the ground floor, where someone could have a rifle trained on me through a window? Nope.

"I'll pass. I think we're done here." Her eyes narrowed, that smile finally turning into a frown. "Don't let me ever catch you on Glee Street, Miss Harrow."

I smiled sweetly back, hand firmly on the revolver. "Don't let me catch you inside my store again, Miss Holmsteader."

She and her goons didn't even bother browsing, leaving my door with a nasty slam that made it shake. I needed to get a big, heavy one when I had the spare money. One that could withstand a battering ram if needed.

It didn't take long to get downstairs as quickly as I could, opening the door to my practice chamber to see Gregory sitting on the same stool.

"What was that noise?" I asked, glancing over at Melissa. She still seemed to be asleep, having not moved an inch since I'd gone upstairs.

"Got tired of sitting, tried pacing, forgot the stool was there," Gregory said, shying away as I turned my gaze to him. "Bad timing with whoever was upstairs?"

"That was the former Mister Taylor's employer," I said. "Here to find out if I killed him. Tssk, it seems I've been banned from Glee Street without having ever been there. Probably you as well, Gregory."

"Once was enough," he replied immediately. "I've seen a dozen streets like it. They're all the same. There are a few unique features to each, but honestly, it's the first one to utilize a gibbet for flavor. She just left?"

"I think she got what she wanted," I said. "Or as much as she hoped to get. She can't confirm things one way or another, but she probably thinks she's guessed close enough. Did my other guest do anything?"

"Not really," Gregory said. "I think she stirred a few times, but she hasn't done much. It's not a faked sleep either, either that or she has really excellent breath control."

"Well, we're about to find out," I said, then stepped on her tail.

Melissa woke up with a yelp of pain, cursing me and the world in general as she struggled against her restraints.

"Harrow, you'll pay for this. I swear on my-"

The revolver's hammer clicked as I pulled it back, and Melissa went quiet.

"Sorry?" I said, finger on the trigger guard for now. "You wanted to say something?"

"Must you do that?"

I turned my attention to Gregory, who was looking on uncomfortably. "Gregory, the last time Melissa and I were alone when she wasn't under the supervision of an adult, she beat me till the point my jaw broke and I couldn't even speak. All because she felt her pride got wounded. Oh, and me leaving the Flame."

Melissa hissed, but she didn't say anything, her eyes locked onto the muzzle of the gun. Gregory still seemed uncomfortable, but didn't look like he would interfere.

"The boss will have me out of here soon enough," she whined, expression sullen.

I shrugged. "The boss might, he might not. You admitted you went behind his back on this one, so he might not even know you're here. He might not even know you went to Glee Street. The fact of the matter is once he does, I doubt he's going to be happy. He doesn't like people acting against his orders, and even if he's not said a single word about not doing this, I can guess what his reaction would be to you potentially starting a fight with Holmsteader."

She scowled, defiance building back up behind her eyes.

"He sent you there-" she started.

"I'm an ex-member," I stated. "Something he will play up if I ever do anything that puts his hide at risk and play down whenever he needs to pressure me to do something. You? He's not got as many options as playing the 'she left my gang years ago. I do not know what she was doing. Feel free to go after her.' You, he actually has to make amends for what you do, and that comes out of your pocket and hides. Hide being quite literal, although he favors heads if you screw up badly enough."

"He wouldn't-"

"He would, but that's besides the point," I interrupted. "You clearly felt the need to investigate Tyler on your own, and clearly something related to diabolism. Something that has got you worried enough to go behind Versalicci's back. Something that you think needs to be handled, and the boss has the wrong solution. So, what was it?"

"Does he have to be here for this?" Melissa said, looking over at Gregory, pulling further away as he gave her a friendly smile.

"Yes, he does," I said. "Turns out Mr. Tyler is in some way mixed up with the church murder yesterday morning."

"Church murder?"

She seemed genuinely puzzled by the statement, and I was a little at a loss for words. Did she not read the newspaper? Any of them-no, no, there wouldn't have been enough time for them to carry the story. Even if an evening edition had been put out, would she have read it before sneaking out to Glee Street?

"There was a Priest of Tarver killed in his church," I said. "One connected to Mr. Tyler. One who was murdered with diabolism. Enough to deconsecrate the church itself."

Her eyes widened for half a second before she got control of them, forcing them to narrow.

"That…how related could that be?" she asked.

"I think that's for us to determine, miss," Gregory said brightly. "Ideally, we'd all pool our information together, and get this solved real fast."

I raised my eyebrow at that. I suppose he had said he wasn't in favor of keeping the existence of the Diabolism program from us, but still.

"If you think I'm going to share anything incriminating with him, let alone you, your brains have rotted since you left," Melissa snapped at me.

"Considering I left before you ever joined," I said. "I'd consider you a poor judge of that. But it's either us or someone else. Do you think the Watch can't eventually get answers out of you? The church?"

"You wouldn't hand me over to the Halspus church," she said, a slight quaver on that faked confidence.

"Ordinarily no," I said. "However, I am even less inclined to have another excuse handed off, leading to them targeting the Quarter as a whole. Besides, they aren't the only church tied up in this. Honestly, there are half dozen others I'd try first who'd be better at it."

"You're asking me to betray Versalicci," she hissed.

"No," I said. "I'm asking for you to give us something where he's less likely to be a suspect. Because the timing is rather suspicious."

"He directed you to Tyler," she said, idly playing with the cuffs. Trying to make sure the links were obscuring whatever she was doing. My tail grabbed the links in the middle, pulling it forward. Her forehead pressed against the muzzle of my revolver.

"Yes, he did, and at what a convenient time as well. Right when diabolic murderers started happening, the person most likely to be first suspected provides information leading to one rogue diabolist getting caught right after. Almost as if he knew what was going to happen, and was setting up a fall person. Or if a rogue element of his organization committed the murders, and he needs to cut all links between him and them as quickly as possible. Versalicci is already on people's mind after the shape-changer incident, Melissa. Who would you wager will get suspected first for the killing?"

"He had nothing to do with the shape-changers!" she protested, pulling back.

"You and I know that," I corrected. "But everyone else? Even people who were there for most of it probably have their own suspicions. Gregory?"

He seemed startled to suddenly be a participant in this, but recovered quickly. "I can't comment. I never knew enough about the Flame til the end, and even then I only looked into a few specific things. My father, though, remained convinced it was some kind of Black Flame plot for quite a while, and still is."

I raised an eyebrow, choosing to ignore how those few specific things were probably my criminal record. "He thinks the Black Flame was responsible? He was the one controlling things towards the end."

"Well, there are appearances to be met. He's hardly going to admit that in public."

"Point stands," I told Melissa. "There are people who will blame Versalicci regardless of if he did it. Or even if there's hard evidence. He's not very popular with the authorities, to begin with, so it's easy to point the finger at him. So we need something for why he's not mixed up with this. Concrete evidence can wait later. Right now I need to know why I shouldn't suspect Versalicci?"

She remained silent, and I sighed, maybe a touch too dramatically.

"Melissa, clearly something happened. Tyler didn't kill Father Reginald. He ran a very tight ship specifically picking off people no one would notice missing. Eventually, someone did, but there's a leap between killing enough of the vagrants in Glee Street people can actually tell, and murdering a priest and deconsecrating a church in Belton of all places."

"Nothing ever happens in Belton," Gregory commented. "Last time I was there the fact someone had brought their cow from the country with them was the piece of local gossip."

"Precisely," I said, as Melissa's expression turned stony. "And someone did a flashy murder, whose consequences led to a Diabolically possessed statue pulping an awful lot of people into a paste. We're barely a month past the last near-riots against the Quarter, and that ended in gunpowder. People will already assume the worst, so-"

"There's a deal," Melissa said, looking up at me, her gaze firm. "I never heard it, but it's there."

I paused. Deal. Shite.

"I'm assuming not some kind of trade of goods and services?" Gregory asked me.

"No," I said. "Devil's deal. And when it's being offered from the other side, it's unusual. Usually, the diabolist approaches the devil. How many heard it in the Flame?"

"All of them," Melissa said. "All of the Flame's diabolists."

I froze. All of them? All of them offered a deal? Lower level devils might be desperate to make deals, but they'd need a diabolist to bore a hole to the Hells to communicate, for a devil to communicate. Versalicci needed me just to talk with the creature that spawned us, so a devil able to reach through the other way into Anglea…

More powerful than the Master. The Imp confirmed in my head.

Damnations, what had Alice said when she'd snuck in here and held me at gunpoint? 'Got a little whisper in my ear on the way in that's tempting me first.' Not just the Black Flame. How far did it extend?

What archdevil was behind this?

"Who's offering it?" I asked her. "Name, rank, what sin they might associate with?"

"I already told you," Melissa said tiredly. "I never heard it. Some of the others talked about it because they didn't realize I hadn't."

I froze. A thought occurred to me. One I did not like entertaining, both because of the implications it had for me, and the implications involving Melissa.

"Gregory," I said quietly. "Could you wait upstairs for just a minute?"

He looked quizzically at me. "Malvia, are you sure? If this involves Father Regi-"

"It does relate to it," I interrupted firmly. "But you've already heard the relevant parts. What's left doesn't just fail to add anything to solving the case, it is private. If it is, I'll tell you. So, please?"

He seemed reluctant, but eventually left the room, shutting the door behind him. And to my enhanced hearing, went all the way up the stairs.

"I understand why I didn't hear the offer," I muttered. "It's why I never hear any offers. I'm claimed, a direct descendant of a royal line of the Hells. You don't offer your rivals' scions deals, and you don't offend allies or subordinates by doing anything that may claim their bloodlines' souls. If you're lower rank than them, especially don't do this or you might get eaten. Or worse, they inform the devil who spawned them, so you just don't contact anyone who is truly half-blooded. And I only know one who's been able to sneak into Anglea in the last century to spread their line."

The Imp cackled in my brain, but I ignored it, and focused on Melissa.

She seemed tired as she mutely nodded, then considered her cuffs for a time before speaking up.

"Brother will be angry, that I helped you figure it out. He was hoping to hold it secret for at least a while longer, Sister."

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