One by one, the beacons were going dark.

I couldn’t contact Benedict or Akshainie while they were in the metaphysical realm, since phones didn’t exactly get reception there, but I could mark their progress by observing the order in which beacons on the other side of town were snuffed out. I didn’t know exactly what they were doing with the cultists—the result from my end would be the same whether the cultists were dead or unconscious—but it hardly seemed important. I was already able to ambush and arrest three lone cultists, but I was carefully watching the beacon on the move. One of them, it seemed, was staying a step ahead of me, and after the third ambush I stopped to study its direction. I checked it against my map when I got suspicious, and grew concerned that it was heading toward the estate.

The estate, of course, could probably defend itself. Roderick and mother were sufficient to handle most isolated threats, and the estate has its own defenses, and of course they had the option of recalling father from London. But I was still concerned, and kept an eye on it until I saw it go dark as well. There was still one more isolated cultist I was tracking, but by this point the line of the other team’s progress was leading directly to what seemed to be a hub of beacons, and I didn’t want to leave them without backup.

On the way there, I received a call from mother. She informed me that Matteson had taken down a cult priest, who was now in the dungeon, and Alice had delivered some paperwork from that priest that indicated the next steps of their plan. I agreed to collect Benedict and Akshainie as soon as we were done with our next strike and return to the estate to study those documents. I also asked how Matteson fared against the priest, and she hesitated before telling me to brace myself for seeing some collateral damage when we returned. I made a mental note of that and we disconnected.

I arrived at an abandoned warehouse outside of town and meditated to sense the presence of people in the metaphysical realm. I waited about ten minutes before I felt the others arrive, and then exited the car as a massive flaming demon and a naga, unmistakably Akshainie, stepped out of the metaphysical realm.

“Is this what you normally look like, Father?” I asked.

“Normally? No,” he replied. The fact that it was Benedict’s voice unnerved me but I couldn’t put my finger on why it should.

“Do you know how many are in there?” Akshainie asked.

“Looks like about thirteen,” I said, “but these things have room for error above five or so.” They both nodded, and Akshainie drew her swords. “What have you done with the others?”

“They’re waiting to be collected, in a shed over there,” she said, pointing back toward a few old houses. “Didn’t seem otherwise occupied.”

“Right.”

“What’s your play, boss?” Benedict asked.

“Do those wings work?” I asked. He nodded. “Then I would like you to start at the top. Stay out of sight until you’re inside, no need to worry the whole countryside with visions of the apocalypse.”

“Of course.”

“Akshainie, you start at the loading area over there, and I’ll start at the front entrance. We can all move in toward the center until there’s no one left.”

“Results?” Akshainie asked. I considered that we already had their plans and someone reliable to interrogate, and that we had that information because they had attacked the estate.

“We don’t need any survivors,” I said. “If you want to bother with dragging them back, that’s your problem.” With that, Akshainie and I split up and Benedict vanished. As soon as I was reasonably sure we were all in position, I charged up some offense spells and blew the door open. Inside was a robed figure frantically shoving a pile of trinkets into a suitcase; I threw a bolt of lightning that fried them before they could react. I could hear commotion beginning to echo from other parts of the building, even some gunfire, and raised a mystic shield as I made my way forward.

The other front rooms were empty, and when I entered the large main room I intercepted three people running from Akshainie with another bolt of lightning that arced between them. Split up like that, it wasn’t enough to kill them, but I summoned a sword and finished them off as I passed. Akshainie already had five slain in her path and as I made my way forward she dispatched a sixth. Benedict crashed through the catwalk above us, two figures in each massive hand. They were unconscious, I realized as we all approached each other.

“You’re bringing those ones back to the estate?” I asked. Benedict confirmed he was. “Fine. We need to return, Alice and Matteson have information for us. I don’t suppose you’ll fit in the car with those,” I said, nodding toward the cultists, then turned to Akshainie. “Will you ride back with me, or accompany him?”

​“I’ll grab the others and meet you there,” she said. I nodded, thanked them for a job well done, and walked back to the car alone.

The locus at the cult was corrupted, and feeding too much power to the cultists. It had to be decommissioned until this matter was under control. It simply couldn’t be allowed to continue playing a role in this investigation if we expected to resolve it effectively. I didn’t tell the others the plan, of course. Matteson knew his part, but he didn’t need to understand what I was going to do with it and I didn’t have time to explain anything unnecessary. And the others…well, I don’t know how much Alice even understands about magic yet, and I know how badly the other two would react to the idea of neutralizing a locus. I knew the damage from doing so would be much more widespread than we needed, but the ley network will recover in a matter of hours, drawing energy from other loci. It was a price worth paying, even if they wouldn’t see that.

I could sense the presence of Benedict and Akshainie as they lingered in the house for a minute or two after stepping into the spiritual realm, but I didn’t concern myself with them. Soon they were gone, and I was able to focus on the task at hand. The concept was simple enough; tracking spells usually look for some kind of trail to follow, and all I had to do was isolate the trail formed by the specific magic used by the cult. I drew from my pocket a trinket I’d pulled from the body of the cultist I’d interrogated. It was likely this small runic inscription was meant to be destroyed when his body was—it did appear to be made of a flammable material after all—but since he wasn’t clothed when he died I still had it. Once the ritual was set up, I used it to isolate the magical signature he’d been using and seek any trail it may have left.

At first, there was too much noise. Between the recent spell and all the magic flowing along the ley line, I could barely make out anything specific. But magic using this much power is uncommon, and if I could just get a lead in a direction different than the ley lines I would be able to track movement. So I waited, and focused, and after a while I started to get a vague sense of what I was looking for. I stepped outside of the house, and was able to see a fuzzy path. It was too fuzzy and wide to reliably trust for tracking, but it pointed me in a general direction, so I took a few steps along, checked my watch, and waited. If I had mapped out Matteson’s travel time properly, and my studies on what would be required for him to silence the locus were accurate, things would change within the next few minutes.

​Sure enough, four minutes later, I felt the ambient magic in the air shatter, and the line before me suddenly came into focus in the lack of distracting energy. In the distance, I could see pillars of light, no doubt marking the location of concentrations of Nechashic magic; the cultists. I smiled, ran to the car, and made my way to the closest beacon. It would be hours before they would go dark, but only hours. Now was the time to strike.

After we separated from the other two, Akshainie, Michael, and I made our way back to the farmhouse where we had captured the cultists. The goal today was to track any connection we could find to other cultists. Michael had materials for a tracking spell to see if he could find where the cultists had come from before the farmhouse in the hopes he would find a hub of some sort; Akshainie and I were asked to slip into the spiritual realm and follow the ley lines connected to the site, splitting up if needed, to seek out any other ritual locations on the network. We entered the house, did a cursory investigation to make notes of anything particular to this branch of the cult that should stand out to us at other sites, and then stepped aside out of the physical realm. Both of us took our more spiritual forms once we crossed over, since they were able to cover ground more quickly than our human forms. We stood for a moment and watched Michael continue to take notes on the site, then turned our attention to the ley line and followed it away from the town.

“I think Alice has some legitimate concerns about our employer,” Akshainie finally said, after we were well out of earshot of the house. We didn’t know how much Michael’s spell would allow him to see or hear, and it seems we both felt it prudent to assume he could hear us while we were close.

“Are you saying that because you think something is off, or because you consistently haven’t trusted him?” I asked. She sighed, slithering slightly slower.

“Both, I suppose.”

“There is little we can do about the latter at this point. I doubt anything there will change until he actually has his audience with your queen.”

“If he seeks an audience.”

“If he seeks an audience,” I repeated. She gained pace and resumed her place at my side. “But about the former.”

“Yes,” she said. “I didn’t want to consider that Alice might be right about the capture of the cultists. I haven’t really thought of them as people we have reason to consider for some time now.”

“They have chosen a path of darkness.”

“So it suits our purposes to just wipe them out?” I stopped and rested my hands on my hips, looking at the sky. She turned back and rested in coils in front of me, holding her head just high enough that she could look me in the face.

“They have chosen a path of darkness,” I said again, slowly, trying to wrap my head around how to say the rest. “But it was a choice, and given reason, they may be willing to make a different one.”

“So we have to give them a chance.”

“I don’t know. But I think I need to. It’s pretty important to my religion, you know, getting another chance.”

“Important like your oaths? Or important like transparency with your supervisors?”

“Like my oaths.”

“So the death of the cultists during Michael’s interrogation, then, does not sit right with you?”

“I gather it doesn’t sit right with you, either.” I lowered my gaze to meet hers, and she frowned at me for a moment before turning and continuing along the line.

“I want the cult to be destroyed. I’m willing to kill every member if I need to.”

“But what if we don’t need to?” I asked. She paused.

“You have something better in mind?”

“I…I don’t know yet.”

“Then we can talk about it when you do.” With that, she continued, and I jogged to meet her. We walked in silence for a few more minutes. We were approaching another little town by this point, and I could see a nexus point just on the edge of it. As we approached, a sudden shudder rippled through the ley line, giving the air a faint metallic taste. Akshainie’s eyes grew wide. “Get off the line!” she yelled, diving to the side. I jumped the other way, and suddenly the line exploded with energy and then crumpled into a dark, frozen shard.

“What was that?” I demanded.

​“Matteson,” she said, staring at the line. “What the hell did he have Matteson do?”

Name: Gerald Flashman (from government identification)
Sex: Male
Arrival: 21:43, 14 February 2007
Condition on arrival: Unconscious, broken nose, lacerations to left side of face, swollen left eye, bruising on back and arms
Possessions: Ceremonial robe; wallet containing government identification, two bank cards, and £18.30; components pouch (unopened); slacks, shoes, and silk shirt.
Notable features: Serpent tattoos on upper arms and across back easily hidden by shirt, spiral brand on left pectoral over heart
Inquiry method: Runic circle of truth, collar of magical suppression
Results: Subject was resistant and attempted to attack with what appears to have been a fire spell. Collar prevented execution. Inquisitor was forced to bind and levitate subject to gain compliance. Subject ultimately confessed to plot against Church of England, with agents at multiple key churches prepared to strike on signal with ultimate concentration on Canterbury and the Crown. Subject was able to overcome collar enough to light self aflame before revealing further details; attempts to resuscitate failed. Subject pronounced deceased at 23:57. Apparently on queue, other cultists followed suit before Inquisitor could bring them in for further questioning.
​
I, (Inquisitor’s Name) Michael James Hudson, do solemnly affirm these records to be faithful and true to the best of my ability.

Matteson had given us his location and that he was following a ley line, which was enough for us to get started in the right path. So Michael paid the tab and asked Aslaug about the ley network nearby, as he hadn’t thought to bring any maps into town with us, and she took us into the back room where she had her own information on the matter. After some review of what line Matteson would be following and some of the key points along it, we loaded into the car and started looking. I don’t know what we were really looking for; none of us could, in the physical realm, track the energy signature nearly as well as Matteson apparently could, so I suppose we must have been seeking something that would stand out as being a ritual site. We never found it, at any rate; but we were not far from the location when Matteson called to tell us he’d found it.

We sorted out the plan quickly, or as much of a plan as we could. Matteson would cut off the ley line from outside, and we would apprehend the four cultists inside. Akshainie and Michael were certain we would know when he cut the ley line off, and that he could reopen it when we were done, but I was not sure how any of that would happen. Shortly after we arrived, however, I felt it. It was as if the air was suddenly drained of some vitality, and a part of me recoiled and knew that it was what we were looking for. The look on Akshainie’s face told me she felt the same thing, and without further ado we threw the door open and charged in.

Akshainie never dropped her human form, but moved with a grace and power that betrayed her serpentine nature. In a flash, she was past the foyer, and then a jump and flip put her on the other side of the four robed figures, cutting off the other exit. One figure tried to get around us, and I sent him flying back into the room with a kick as Michael called on spectral chains that shot from his wrist and wrapped around another’s ankles. The three who had not felt my boot yet began trying to call on their own offensive spells, one hitting me with fire that burned off a sleeve but managed no other harm. It was weak, I could feel how mundane the fire was when it met my skin, and I wondered if Matteson’s work would limit us all.

Michael, for one, did not seem affected, at least not to any degree I could recognize. Akshainie, aware we aimed to arrest and not kill, did not draw her swords, and I saw for the first time just how dangerous she was at her weakest, no magic, no weapons, and no powerful form. Just decades of training and a body that could execute a move before most people could even think of it. A single punch to the figure I’d kicked knocked them out, and I turned my attention to the round mirror in the center of their ritual circle. Whatever they had been looking at was gone, probably lost when their extra magical energy dried up, but I grabbed the mirror in case we could use it to learn anything of their activities.

The battle was over quickly, and Akshainie darted off to check the rest of the building while Michael and I bound the figures, who we now learned were three men and a woman. She found no one, and around the time she returned we felt energy surge back into the area. Matteson and Alice walked in shortly afterward, but Michael told him to stay back a bit. He had a difficult spell he could do to bring the cultists in for questioning, he explained, and absolutely would not be able to do it with an Anchor hovering around. So Matteson shrugged and went outside, lighting a cigarette as he went, and Alice hesitated. Michael waved her over, and she entered the room and watched as the ritual was carried out. A glowing door finally appeared in the wall, and when Michael opened it we could see a dungeon on the other side.

“Where is that?” I asked, concerned about the look of the place.

“It’s a secret wing of the estate,” Michael answered. “Not every crime is something that gets turned over to police, so we were given clearance to carry out our work in privacy when needed. Would you be so kind as to help me with these?” I lifted three of the unconscious cultists as Michael carried the other, and Alice watched me with a noted curiosity. When we returned, Michael stopped in the doorway. “Do any of you know how to drive on the proper side of the road?”

​“I’ve had some practice,” I answered. He nodded and handed me the keys and told me to bring the rest of the party back to the estate, then returned to the dungeon. As soon as the door closed behind him, it vanished, and we made our way outside to gather our Anchor and head back.

The town centre nearest the Hudson estate looked much newer than the estate itself, and as we made our way through Michael explained that extensive damage in the early 1900s caused a redesign that unified the look of the place in the then-popular styles. Akshainie rode in the back seat, and when I glanced back to see if she was okay she made it clear she was fine aside from being bored by all the architecture talk. The Horn & Thistle was of a different era entirely. It was a mostly wooden structure, standing independent of the rows of buildings on either side of it, with a sign that had clearly been hand-lettered some generations past. It leaned slightly to the left, with a slate roof and small windows framing a crooked wall pierced by a narrow wooden door. The light from the windows was a warm glow in the fading evening light, and I found myself hoping for a cozy little fire in a quaint English pub. As we approached, however, the door flew open and a man was launched into the cobblestone walkway in the front, losing two teeth when he hit the surface, and an athletically-built dark elf appeared in the doorway.

“If I see your face round here again long as I live, Martin, I’ll slice it off!” she yelled. The man moaned without moving, so Michael stepped over him. “Mind what you bring to me today, Hudson,” she practically hissed, pointing at her new target. Akshainie smiled.

“He’s a priest, Aslaug,” Michael answered, gesturing toward me. “Surely you can behave yourself for a man of the cloth!”

“We’ll see,” she said, before turning around and heading inside. Michael turned back and shrugged, and Akshainie and I stepped over Martin and followed our host inside. The interior was actually much like I was hoping; there was a large hearth with a roaring fire off to the right, with booths lining the walls to our left and tables scattered around the room between us and the bar. The place was quiet, four men playing cards in one corner and one person at the bar. We took seats at a table near the fire.

“Good evening,” I said, when Aslaug brought us menus. Her eyes narrowed on me, then she slowly turned and stared at Akshainie for a moment. She grabbed another chair, sat down at our table, and leaned in.

“What’s the church doing with one of your ilk on their payroll?” she asked, leaning close to me.

“The people that know, trust me,” I answered. She smiled.

“But there are people who don’t.” She then turned to Akshainie. “And what are you doing here?”

“I’m with him,” Akshainie said, jabbing her thumb in my direction. “We have a mutual goal.”

“The Brood?” When we nodded, Aslaug grumbled and turned to Michael. “I told you to call the priest, I didn’t tell you to bring him here.”

“How did you know about me?” I asked.

“The Two told me to pass along a message.”

“But you knew he was an expert. Did these Two tell you that, as well?” Michael asked.

“That was someone else. You people eating or what?” She stood and put her chair back at the neighboring table. Akshainie and I picked up our menus to look them over.

“I’ll have my usual. If someone in your network knows about Benedict’s work, we would very much like to talk to them about what else they know.”

“Good luck with that.”

“You can’t put us in contact with them?”

“No better than Benedict can.”

“What makes you think that?” I asked. “The only people who know much about this work are in the Church, or Iravati, or…” I set my menu down. “Do you mean Tadzio?”

“The Iberian and I go way back. You pick something there?” She asked, tapping my menu. I nodded and ordered a shepherd’s pie and Akshainie ordered fish, and the three of us sat in silence while Aslaug collected the menus and slipped off to the kitchen.

“Who is this Tadzio?” Michael asked, softly, when we were alone.

“He’s a friend,” I said. “Human, but cursed with immortality for some five hundred years now.”

“There are surely worse curses.”

“That depends on what’s waiting for you on the other side.” Michael thought about that for a moment, then nodded slightly, before I continued. “He’s spent that time learning a great deal about the supernatural world, but he’s secretive and flighty. Sometimes I don’t hear from him for decades at a time, it’s always hit or miss whether I’ll be able to find him at all, and there’s no real way to know if he’s telling you everything when he does bother to show up.”

“So he’s useless to us, is what you’re saying.”

“Unless he shows up at the estate one day,” Akshainie said. “I’ve not known him long, but it seems his style.” Michael steepled his fingers and stared into the fire for a minute.

“We’re running out of leads,” he finally said.

​“Well,” I said, “if Matteson isn’t able to track the energy by then, we’ll slip into the spiritual realm tomorrow at the site and see if we can.” That seemed to satisfy him, and by the time Aslaug returned with our drinks we had shifted to more casual conversation. She was much more amenable to that, and we even got a couple stories about Michael out of her once the other patrons started slipping out. It quickly became a very pleasant evening, until Matteson called.

​On returning to the estate, it took Mr. Matteson most of the day to coordinate information with this Jackie and begin to draw answers. In the meantime, I was informed Roderick had come home, and I convinced Akshainie to come with me and discuss the nature of the family work in Iravati with someone who knew what wasn’t written down. Benedict came as something of a bodyguard, though it was difficult to tell who he thought he was protecting.
Roderick was able to give our guest more insight into the Iravati case. It was under the order of the crown, he explained, on the grounds that native religions and magic were seen as a threat to the stability of the empire. The orders still stood, of course, but the Queen hardly has jurisdiction in Pakistan anymore, so he agreed that even if she would disapprove of my reversing the spell, there was little she could do about it. Nevertheless, I decided it would be best to simply not tell her.

While the records I had found focused on the Anchor’s work in severing Iravati from the fabric of the region, it was Roderick who remembered the process by which the task was actually accomplished. It turns out, the work of Mr. Lysander was instrumental, but was not done alone. The actual work of stabilizing the division was done through a spell cast by Lord Hudson himself, after Mr. Lysander was done and safely away from the site. So Roderick, Benedict, Akshainie, and I began to work out a counterspell that would render the division unstable. At that point, another bit of magic would need to be used to safely guide the realm back into alignment. Each component was actually less difficult than I expected; I could probably do the counterspell myself, and the Queen of Heaven could surely do the alignment without my help. The difficult part was determining the counterspell, which may have been nearly impossible without accurate memory of the original spell, and the timing. Making the position of Iravati unstable was incredibly dangerous, and the work to realign it would need to begin even before my counterspell was cast. We worked out a plan for me to present to the Queen of Heaven, and for the first time, I got the impression Akshainie was actually, though barely, beginning to appreciate my efforts.

Alice came to collect us shortly before we actually completed our plan, telling us Mr. Matteson had something for us. We followed her back to the library, where he had pulled a few tables together and laid out an assortment of papers and printouts of photographs. I recognized how heavy the tables were and asked how they had been moved, and he simply said he had slid them over. I determined to consider that matter later and focused on the images.

It turns out his personal library did, in fact, have records of these runes, and after some digging from his contact in the States he was able to determine that the script was True Enochian, the language of angels and spirits that had been lost and allegedly rediscovered in the 1970s. He briefly explained that the thing people called Enochian was mostly a farce, but offered no means of confirming that this was the real thing except for its age. At any rate, he claimed that the runes were actually an amplification rite, and would not have been used in the same place as a great spirit was trapped. In fact, he argued, it shouldn’t even be active unless someone was tapping into it in that very moment, which suggested that we had actually found evidence the Brood was actively preparing to do something in Britain and had reactivated the site in their attempts to access old channels of power.

​This case is not simply a matter of sorting out the owners and their intentions any longer. We must learn what they’re doing and assess the threat it poses to the United Kingdom.

I was waiting at the airstrip with the drivers when the plane landed. We had made sure to bring a vehicle capable of holding the four people I was told to expect, and another to handle baggage. Once the plane came to rest, we made our way forward, the drivers focusing on receiving baggage from the crew on the plane as I waited by the stairs. It was some surprise when the first person to emerge was an American cousin.

“Alice!” I called, and she ran down to give me a hug. As she pulled away and we both looked over each other, a black man stepped off the stairs and came alongside her.

“Michael, it’s so good to see you! How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, of course. You’re involved in this?”

“Well,” she said, grabbing the man’s arm and pulling him closer. “I’m involved with John Matteson here, and when he said he was coming to do work for your family I just had to come along.”

“I’m glad you did. Mr. Matteson, I believe you’re expecting some pay for your services?”

“That’s what I was told,” he said.

“And what, exactly, are your services?”

“I do some investigation and break magic.”

“An Anchor?” I asked. He nodded. “Well! I don’t think we’ve known one of your ilk in—”

“Hudson!” a woman shouted. I looked past Alice and John to a woman who looked to be of Indian descent, storming out of the plane with her hands on the hilts of swords.

“You must be the associate of Father de Monte,” I offered, smiling hopefully. “So glad you agreed to come.”

“Benedict convinced me that the Brood was enough of a problem,” she said, stopping next to Alice but not moving her hands from her weapons, “that I should at least hear you out about your offer before I kill you.”

“Very encouraging. I’ll have to thank him for that.”

“I am not known for my patience,” she said, her eyes narrowing. Behind her, the priest descended from the plane.

“Yes, I see. I did look into what happened at Iravati. Nasty business, that. However, I think I know how to repair it, with your Queen’s permission, of course.”

“You expect me to believe you’re willing to stoop so low as to ask permission of a spirit?”

“If you will spare my life long enough to see this job through, I think you’ll find I’m not quite so bad as my dear old ancestor.” We stared at each other for a long minute, then she said something under her breath in another language that I assume was a curse of some sort.

“Fine,” she said, finally, as if it was painful to say it. “But only because the Brood really is a big enough problem to warrant it. I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”

“I would expect nothing less. Father de Monte, I presume?”

“Mr. Hudson,” the priest answered, offering a handshake. I accepted it, and then directed them all to the waiting car.

“What happened in Iravati?” Matteson asked as we walked.

“Well, that’s actually to do with the last Anchor we had pass through the estate,” I answered. “Man named Jules Lysander. He was employed by one of my great-grandfathers, the Lord Hudson when the empire first established rule in the Indus Valley. It seems Mr. Lysander was tasked with dealing with what was then considered unsavoury spiritual practices and entities.”

“Unsavoury?” Alice asked. The other woman growled.

“They were far more rude about it, of course, but I think it conveys the general view they had. At any rate, Iravati is something of a key site for the naga in the region, and Mr. Lysander and the Lord Hudson determined that the way to stifle their activities would be to cut the city off from the physical realm.” We climbed into the car and waited as the driver closed the doors and made his way around to his station.

“They didn’t care about the damage they did to us all when they cut us off,” the other woman practically spat the words out.

“That is true. I would like, while you’re here, to learn more about that. Then-Lord Hudson didn’t bother writing any speculation on the matter, and it would be most helpful in knowing exactly what I need to do to make things right.”

“You can’t make things right.”

“As close as we can get, then.”

“You said you had a way to reverse it?” John asked. “How do you undo the work of an Anchor?”

“Well, normally, we don’t. Your kind are very thorough, when you choose to be. But maintaining a wall like that takes a lot of energy, and there has not been much active reinforcement of it for at least a generation. I believe it will be weak enough now that it can be brought down, with sufficient force. Which, having my magic focus the will of Iravati itself in a specific way, I think we can muster.”

“You do magic?” Alice asked. “Why was this never brought up before?”

​“That,” I said, “is something you will have to ask Mother.”

​We had found no leads in months. Whatever system Henry had expected us to know for his book to help with ours was not as obvious to us as it apparently was to him, and now we had no way to ask him for help with it. We were still hopeful we could find something if we reviewed everything we did know, however, and were walking through Pittsburgh on our way to check on a possible source when a child stepped on my shoelace and pulled it just enough that I needed to stop and retie them. I knelt out of the way to do so, with Akshainie leaning on a wall between me and a pay phone. Just as I finished up, the phone rang, and before I realized I should tell her to ignore it Akshainie had answered it. I sighed and stood, realizing I was going to have to wait until she finished whatever was happening before we could move on.

“Yeah, he’s right here,” she said, then handed the phone out to me. “It’s for you.”

“They asked for me, specifically?” I asked. She nodded, and I stared at her for a moment in confusion before taking the receiver. “Father de Monte.”

“Father, hello,” a male voice, British accent. “I was hoping you had a moment to talk.”

“Where are you? How did you get this number?”

“It was given to me. I was told to ring this exact number at this exact time to speak to a Father Benedict de Monte about an unusual red spiral.” He must have heard my hesitation, as he added after a moment, “is this unexpected?”

“This is a pay phone. We only just happened to be walking past it when it rang. I would be very curious about your source.”

“As would I. Unfortunately, they had at least one intermediary. I suspect we will get much more done if we focus on the matter at hand.”

“The red spiral.”

“Indeed. I’m told you’re familiar with the cult who uses this symbol?”

“The Brood of Nachash,” I said, softly, as if anyone walking by was paying attention. “I’ve been working that case for some years.”

“Good. I have reason to believe they are active in my territory, and I would like to bring you in to shine some light on the matter.”

“And your territory is what, exactly?”

“The British Empire.”

“Not much of a British Empire left, is there?” I saw the color drain from Akshainie’s face at that, and her hands ball into fists.

“Who is that?” she hissed through her teeth.

“I suppose it’s a matter of perspective,” the man said.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked.

“Oh, goodness me, of course. My name is Michael Hudson, son of Lord Hudson, acting emissary to the magical population in service to the Queen.”

“Michael Hudson,” I whispered, covering the receiver. Akshainie’s eyes narrowed.

“You tell that posh bastard I’d rather clean up the mess after the Brood burns his whole nation down than work with a Hudson.” The words were dripping with venom, and I wondered if there was any real venom involved when she spit as if the name itself wasn’t suitable for her mouth.

“What’s this all about?”

“Is everything okay, Father?” Michael asked.

“Ah, it seems my associate has some…hesitation to work with you.”

With that, she ripped the phone out of my hand and spoke into it herself.

“Listen here, Hudson,” she was barely stopping herself from yelling into the phone, “whatever problem you have with the Brood is on your own head.” There was a pause, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m from Iravati. Check your records, if you don’t know. I doubt your dog of an ancestor bothered hiding his work.” There was another pause, her expression only growing more stern. “Fine. Ask what you want, but know that if you show up looking for us I’ll slit your throat before you can spit a single curse from your foul lips.” She slammed the phone back into my hand and stormed down the street a little bit, where she began pacing.

“So,” I said, watching her, “that sounds like it went well.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened at Iravati, but I will find out,” he said, suddenly sounding much more tired than he had before. “The fact is, I am at a complete loss here, and fear there is a real danger that only you can help address. If there is something I can do that will begin to smooth things over with your associate to ensure you can come, know that I am more than willing to entertain the idea.”

“What’s the nature of the problem?”

“There is much I am not going to discuss over a transatlantic phone call. It will have to be enough to know that I have found evidence they are still active, and a possible hub of their power.”

“How, exactly, do you plan on us getting there?”

“Well, I would send a plane, naturally, for you and anyone else you need to bring along.”

“If there’s a site, I think I’ll need to call in someone specific.”

“Very well. It’s not like I’m paying for individual tickets.”

“Fine. Send the plane, let me try to work on things on this end. What number can I call to confirm details with you?” I wrote the number down as he said it to me, then thanked him and hung up. Once she saw that, Akshainie returned.

“Well?” she demanded. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I’d see who I could get involved. I would very much like you to be involved, and he is willing to make some amends if they’ll get you there.”

“It shouldn’t require that! What his family did to us was wrong, and if he can’t see that—”

“He says he doesn’t know what happened yet. But he’s going to check, and hopefully he will have by the time I call him back.”

“And what do we do in the meantime?”

​“We should get back to the hotel. I’ll have another call to make first, and I am very curious to hear what you hate so much about this man’s family.”

If any of our ancestors knew anything concrete about the Red Spiral, they didn’t write it or pass it down. I was going to have to seek alternative sources of information. So today, I made a stop off at The Horn & Thistle. It’s well known among the locals that the place dates back to the Danelaw; less commonly known is that the owner does, as well. She doesn’t hide it—hell, she doesn’t even try to look human—but people always seem to have some other explanation for her odd look and their aversion to the place. With her piercings and tattoos and white hair, the reigning theory for the last few decades has been that it’s a punk bar with a barkeep surprisingly fond of plastic surgery.

“Business or pleasure today, Mike?” Aslaug asked, fixing her solid black eyes on me as I sat down at the bar.

“Maybe a bit of both,” I answered. She snorted and leaned on the bar.

“I warned you, you’re no good doing both at once.” I chuckled.

“Then I’ll start with business.” She sighed and stood as another man sat down next to me.

“You at least planning to spend some of that money while you’re at it?” I nodded toward the bourbon, and she turned to fix my drink. As she drifted off to her task, the man next to me watched her go with a soft hum. He was clearly a few drinks into his day, which his breath confirmed as he turned to speak to me.

“You think she’s blue all the way down?” He asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. She is, of course. That’s just how her kind is when they aren’t trying to hide as human. The problem is that Aslaug is not a kind lover, and the places he wanted the conversation to go would be dangerous if realized. I still have an elbow that always knows when it’s about to rain.

“One of life’s great mysteries, mate,” I said, focusing my attention to getting the notepad from the inside pocket of my jacket. He either took the hint or got lost in his own reverie; either way, we were done discussing the bartender. She returned with my drink and took care of the other man as I waited. Once he was squared away, she turned back to me, and I laid my notepad on the bar.

“No,” she said, pushing it back toward me and stepping back to lean on the counter with her arms crossed.

“Oh, now you have to,” I said, flashing a smile that always gets me what I want around here, as I slipped the notepad back into my jacket. She growled, but after a minute gave a huff and threw her arms in the air.

“Fine. When I close to switch over for dinner.”

So I ordered some lunch and took a booth to wait. It was a couple hours and bourbons before she threw the last straggler out, locked the door, and slumped into the seat opposite me with a bottle of mead. Aslaug is a dark elf, native to one of the realms below Midgard. She doesn’t talk about how she got here, or why, but she did so alongside the vikings and then just never left. She’s a registered magical citizen, and part of that arrangement includes the occasional bit of information when the Hudson estate needs it. Her longevity and connections have made her contribution invaluable to us, but she’s well aware of what she holds over us and how much she can ask for it. So it was some surprise to me when, this time, she didn’t open with a demand.

“I hope you haven’t just been flashing that symbol around,” she said, before knocking back a large swig of her drink. I finished mine and slid the glass to the side.

“Would it be a problem if I started?”

“Not for me.” She glanced at my glass. “You want some?” I nodded, and she poured me a share before setting the bottle down.

“So what is this?”

“It’s called the Brood of Nachash. Very old cult, fancy themselves dangerous.”

“To who?”

“The gods.”

“Are they?” She considered the question a moment, then shrugged.

“Wouldn’t know. They’re not in my network.”

“Is that why we haven’t talked payment yet?”

“Oh, you’ll pay, Hudson. Just not me.” She reached into her bra and pulled out a small paper, with a phone number and a time written on it. “Some birds told me you’d be needing this.” I looked the paper over, then folded it and placed it into my pocket.

“And who will I be calling?”

“Catholic priest, one Father Benedict de Monte. He’s almost the closest thing to an expert walking the earth today.”

“Almost?”

“There’s one expert. If he wants you to find him, he’ll turn up. The priest is more reliable, and I know how you nobles love reliability.”

“Thank you, then. Do I happen to know these birds?”

“Everyone does. They just don’t all know it. But you’re on a schedule.” With that, she left the booth and went back to work. I knocked back the rest of my drink and let myself out.