Chương 191: 181. A small break

I was happily going back to my car, looking over the city slowly coming back to life. The sun was barely coming up as the sky changed color, taking on lighter shades of gray.

"Wait," I heard a voice from behind me. I stopped and turned to Rey with a question in my eyes.

"You need something?" I asked.

"Cut the bullshit," he said as he came closer.

"What do you really want?" I raised my eyebrows at the question.

"Were you always this sharp, or is it a recent thing?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Always have been. Now what would it take for you to help?"

"Why do you think I'd even want to help?"

"You were all over the previous case. Quite eager to stick your nose into others' business. But once we have this whole magical installation and an empath—who you yourself said was rare—you're all of a sudden not interested. I don't buy it," he said, looking me in the eye. I nodded slowly.

"It's not that I'm not interested. It's that I don't think there is anything here worth sticking my neck out for."

"You could do some consulting. Help us with the empath thing. And we can pay you, or—" My laugh stopped his words.

"Pay? You think it's a matter of money?"

"Why? Are you scared of the killer?" he asked, a slight tone of mockery in his voice.

"You won't get me with the 'are you scared' strategy. I'm not five."

"But you don't want to stick your nose in this because of it. There is no other reason I can think of."

"As I said, I'm just not interested."

"Bullshit. You looked like you were having fun just a few minutes ago." I stopped myself from clicking my tongues. I could act out some emotions quite well. Mostly fear, disgust—things I lacked. But stopping myself from showing amusement, something I had been missing for the past few years, clearly wasn't my strong suit.

"Okay. Honest answer for an honest answer. Deal?" I proposed.

"Deal."

"Why do you want to catch this killer so badly?" I asked.

"I don't," he answered without hesitation. That took me aback.

"Huh. Never saw you surprised before," Rey chuckled.

"I'm not after the killer. I'm not rooting for a psychopath, don't get me wrong; I do want to catch him, but… I've seen my fair share of death and injustice, usually done to innocents. After all the domestic violence calls or drug-den deaths, seeing gangs wiped out without bystanders caught in crossfire is almost refreshing. It's just that I feel cases like that will keep showing up. They already do." I nodded slowly, still slightly surprised by his answer.

"I simply believe this case might be to the evolution of law enforcement what the hunt for David Meirhofer was to profiling."

"You want to stay in touch with the job?"

"I have no interest in being the foot soldier when people controlling fire start committing more crimes." I looked him in the eye, but he held my gaze without flinching.

"Your turn," he said.

"The killer is a mage. It's obvious. And in the magic community, we don't get in each other's way. This one knows what he's doing. Someone who can do this kind of ritualistic damage in a few hours knows his blade and his runes. I'm not getting into a feud with another mage or another organization."

"What would it cost?"

"Unless you have magical knowledge or artifacts, then I'm afraid you can't afford me."

"How about access to the FBI's information network for just that?" I paused, hoping my surprised face was good enough.

"Filip had a theory," Rey continued, "that there is an internal division within the FBI working with magic, or at least one aware of it. They might have something for you. And even if they don't, then it's still the FBI. We have a substantial information network. We could look for something just for you."

"You can make that call?" I asked, clearly skeptical.

"No, but Filip should. We report this to that division and stay on the case. Once we're in, we can get you brought in. Friends in high places and all that." I looked at him, searching for any falsehood.

"And if you don't stay on the case?"

"They have to be understaffed, and—""Are you sure?" I cut in.

"No," he answered after a few seconds.

"Okay. Then let's do it like that. You report what you need, reshuffle the case, and give me a call when you can pay up," I finished. He nodded and then extended his hand. I shook it with a light smile. After that, Rey turned around to go back, but then stopped and turned back to me.

"Do you know anything about the kid? Did he—""Peter's all right. He should recover," I said, and saw a light smile bloom on the man's face.

"How about your friends?"

"I'm not sure. But they had trouble accepting it all the last time I checked. They need time." I nodded and turned around.

"Have a safe drive," I shouted as a goodbye. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. After the conversation, I returned to my apartment and then threw myself back into the whirlwind of magic. Peter would take a few days to talk everything over with his mother and think through his own feelings. So I had a few days of uninterrupted research. And I was getting closer and closer to unraveling the staff I brought from the mansion.

Right now, it was still in bracelet form, but I could slowly feel its core, its pulsation.

"You look like a madman, you know?" I heard Ophelia speak from the side. I lifted my eyes from the magical circle in which the artifact lay and looked at her. She was currently also studying spells, adding death attack magic to her repertoire.

"You need something?"

"I would appreciate it if you stopped chuckling every time you find something," she said in an irritated voice.

"It's distracting."

"Put on headphones." I saw her freeze at my words.

"What? You think magic will get offended by a bit of technology? Put on some funeral music. It will help with death magic."

"Or you could just stop chuckling."

"I could, yes. But..." I pointed to the book lying in front of me. It was the tome I had gotten from the Butcher, the book with nine rings on it. When I got it, I never would have thought that it would help with a family artifact like the staff, but here we were. The tome spoke at length about souls and the creation of abominations, but its entire first part was devoted to artifact attunement. And most interestingly, this was what the machine we dragged here from the Butcher's laboratory was related to.

"You'll be chuckling too once I figure out the Butcher's theory," I said, looking at my grumbling apprentice.

"Doubt that."

"Oh? And what if I told you it's a skill that could give you an edge over any other mage of the same level?"

"The pile of junk would make me stronger?"

"No, the junk is just what he used to study and confirm his theory. It's that knowledge and experimentation that lead to power." Ophelia raised her eyebrows, her hand going to the rapier, which by now most likely felt like an extension of herself.

"You know the attunement process, right?" I asked.

"One artifact attuned to the spark, and then one more for every major circle, so at the third, sixth, and, if gods permit, ninth."

"Right. What if I told you the Butcher tried attuning one artifact per orbit?"

"What?"

"Yeah. The additional artifact would have to be weaker, but the theory should allow attunement of lower-ranked weapons or storage items. Useful stuff."

"Did you figure it out?" she now asked, some excitement in her voice.

"No. As someone keeps interrupting my chuckling," I gave her a look before continuing.

"And the theory must still be confirmed, and the machine repaired. It will take time." She deflated at my words.

"And how is your magic going?" I changed the subject.

"Good," she answered and brought her eyes back to the book.

"I'm learning the decay spell. Or rather, figuring out the knowledge I prayed for," she explained, a note of irritation present in her voice.

"And how about your Faith?"

"Fine." She gave a short answer, yet this time didn't follow it up, letting silence hang in the air.

"Mhm. You sound like you had a fight. Are you not on speaking terms? Your deity sleeping on the couch?" Ophelia raised her eyes from the book, looking at me with a disapproving gaze.

"It's gods we're talking about, you know?" I shrugged.

"I'd expect them to be the bigger man and take some comedy."

"I'm not sure they have a sense of humor."

"You'd be surprised." I chuckled.

"And what does your god want that got you irritated?" Ophelia hesitated for a few seconds, but finally sighed and spoke up.

"She wants me to sacrifice a man or a woman to her who killed someone's sister. And do it in a ritual," she finally said.

"Other than that, I've hit a wall in my prayers."

"Well, I'm not sure why you're angry about that. They clearly communicated. Isn't that the hardest part women always talk about?"

"God, you're annoying when you're happy about something," Ophelia grumbled.

"And before you ask, I'm not hunting your sacrifice for you. Call the cats for info."

"Mhm." Ophelia sighed.

"Will you help in the ritual?"

"Sure." I saw her give me a surprised look.

"What? I'm still your teacher."

"Thanks," she said, nodding her head. Before I could tell her anything about the price for my help, I heard the door open, and in came none other than the old cat lady with Q'Shar in her arms and Bakari trotting by their side.

"Speak of the cat, and he will appear!" I greeted. We all exchanged pleasantries as the feline delegation began unwrapping a couple of bundles. As it turned out, Q'Shar managed to procure a few books that should mention empaths and decided to deliver them himself.

"Those are borrowed from the mermaids," he said, pointing at two tomes.

"And those we got from the auction houses," he finished, pointing at three more.

"I want you to check if—""That one's a fake," I said, pointing at one of the books he borrowed.

"You sure?"

"I have Solomon's originals. That's not his signature."

"Well, the mermaids are not gonna like it," the cat said, clicking his tongue, as he pushed it to the side.

"Those two are real, although I'm not sure they will help much," I said, pointing to two of those he bought. But then my eyes went to the last two. The one from the mermaids was a genuine journal written by someone working with an empath, but it was the last book that drew my attention. It was a genuine grimoire, the Arabic Picatrix, and it looked like an original work.

"How the fuck did you get that?" I asked, frowning.

"Clans are selling what they don't need. The market's alive once again. Although the gnomes still didn't stabilize obols, so it's mostly bartering."

"Gnomes?" Ophelia asked, confused.

"Like green clothing, bushy beards, and a pot of gold?"

"It's a pot of obols, to be exact, and those are gnome debt collectors. If you ever see one at the end of the rainbow, it's most likely there to break your kneecaps. The luck thing is just propaganda, so you don't run," I explained, still looking over the tome.

"Who would sell that as not needed?" I changed the subject to the irritation of a still-confused Ophelia.

"No one, most likely. The cat council is in disarray. Auction houses are cozying up to new backers." I smiled a wide smile.

"Divide and conquer, huh?"

"Exactly." The cat mirrored my smile.

"You two deserve each other, you know that?" Ophelia decided to take Q'Shar's role as the party pooper.

"Thanks for the books. But you could have sent anyone to carry them here. So what's up?" I asked after putting the book aside.

"The church has some initial results on that burned archive." As Q'Shar spoke, the mood became serious once again.

"We can't tell what was taken yet, but they did eliminate quite a few works from the burned remains. And most of the remaining titles are related to mortals' involvement in the war."

"Weird," I said, looking in front of me with an unfocused gaze.

"But why? Most of them had barely any magic. The majority would lose any connection to our world. And the few..." I paused.

"The few who kept their knowledge and disappeared off the radar would pop up in the mortal world. Advisors, priests, scammers. Some later worked in government programs related to magic, mostly during the world wars," Q'Shar finished.

"But what would they want from that?" I asked, still weirded out.

"And what was in there that made them burn the entire archive? Something we would have figured out and connected to them."

"The pope figured out as much, but nothing matches that pattern. They're still looking for people who even know what was in those books." I sighed.

"Well, good luck to them. Let me guess, you want me to speed up cozying up to the FBI?"

"Yeah. We'll look for a way to get more people on the inside. You try not to cause a disaster."

"Just for you," I answered with a smile.

"Actually, I would appreciate it if you could find some cases and slip them to the magical division. Preferably ones involving some form of mental magic. Something to push the empath."

"I thought you had that handled."

"Hey, proper murder takes time, I'll have you know. You can't rush art. And I can't leave training exercises each time. There has to be some runaway cryptid or demon somewhere to put it on their radar once I'm on the inside."

"I'll try." I nodded, and after some small talk about what was going on in the world of cats—which sounded like politics and business—the cat left us to our devices. I cleared my head of the distractions. For now, there wasn't enough information to do anything further about the miracle cult, and I had an artifact to unravel. Focusing back on the staff, I took a deep breath and extended myself to it, finally managing to sense a pulse of the core. A smile bloomed on my face. That was a good day.

Now, to just attune it, and I would have a new staff. Still not sure what it could do, though.