The police station was small, and bursting with agitation. Officers were heatedly debating what to do with the prisoners. Some advocated making them disappear for the safety of their community, others just wanted to contact the MHL and have them deal with it. All fell silent when Catherine and Damian stalked into the building. Both wore matching scowls and made a beeline for the sergeant on duty. The man was clearly unnerved to have their attention focused on him. He broke into a cold sweat and stammered when he spoke.

  “Honored I-Inquisitor, E-E-Exterminator welcome to-o-o our station. What c-can I do for you?”

  Catherine spoke up with a tone that would suffer neither argument or fools, “Get me the keys for the corpse seller’s cell. Then we will interrogate him.”

  The sergeant gulped and fumbled with the keys on his belt. His hands kept shaking and would drop the keys before he could get them off his belt. When he finally pulled them out, he extended his shaking hand to Catherine for her to take them. She just snatched them and stormed to the adjacent room in the building ready to get answers. Damian nodded at the sergeant and gave him just one warning.

  “No matter what you hear, do not interrupt the interrogation. Under any circumstances. Am I clear.”

  The sergeant frantically nodded his head, mimicked by all his subordinates when Damian turned his frigid glare on them. Damian strode after Catherine and entered the part of the building housing the cells. The room housing the jail cells was only capable of holding two cells, metal bars keeping the prisoners away from each other. Both cells were lined up side by side one holding a glaring Nkosi and the other an indifferent man with greasy hair and pallid skin.

  Catherine was standing in front of the pallid man’s cell key just inserted into the lock. She looked over at Damian and gestured him over, as she opened the cell door. The pallid man gave a gap-toothed grin at them as they entered his cell.

  “My, my, two MHL officials visiting little old me. What do I owe the pleasure to? His voice was as oily as his hair and as unpleasant as the site of his cracked and yellow teeth.

  Catherine pulled a metal folding chair out from her inventory, set it up and sat down across from the man. “We want to know who runs your operation and where to find them.”

  The man laughed, “And why would I tell you that? I say nothing and I just have a few months in jail and a fine to pay. I speak to you and my friends will have me floating in the ocean before the week is out. Try again sweet heart.”

  Catherine just gave a cold, tight, smile. “Because I am asking you, my partner won’t be as nice.”

  The man just laughed harder, “That’s the best you got? He might be mean in his interrogation? That’s it?”

  As the man grinned, certain they wouldn’t do anything to bad to him, he could endure a beating, Catherine flicked her eyes to Damian.

  “Well, I tried. Your turn”

  Damian nodded, stepped forward and grabbed the man by his throat. The man’s shock at being grabbed gave way to pained grunts, as Damian proceeded to slam him into both the walls and bars of his cells. He proceeded to throw the gross little man against the back wall and summoned the flaming sword of judgment his blessing gave him. It was a large flammenschwert, a two-handed sword with a wavy blade to simulate fire. Which seemed unnecessary as the blade was covered with holy silver fire that pulsed with righteous fury. Damian thrust the blade through the wall next to the prisoner’s head.

  When next Damian spoke his voice was cold, low, and held nothing but the promise of violence. “Your friends will kill you quickly, I will not. I will torture the info out of you if I must and when I am done, I will be able to sell my methods to any demon who is interested in improving how they torture mortal sinners. So go ahead. Try me. I dare you.”

  Catherine spoke up with a dispassionate voice, “You know torture is a poor method to get information Damian.”

  “Only when I don’t know for certain they are in possession of the information I want. He knows who he works for and where to find them. He admitted as much earlier. The torture is just motivation to speak quickly.”

  The smell of piss filled the air as the man stared at Damian in horror. “You’re a monster.”

  Damian just smiled and grabbed the pallid man’s arm and held it in the edges of the swords flame. The sword gave an uncertain pulse, as if questioning the interaction, but once the flame touched the corpse seller’s arm, all uncertainty vanished from the blade. It only released waves of revulsion and anger to everyone in the room. The man screamed as his arm burned. Instead of showing signs of typical burns, the man’s arm began to undergo a horrific transformation. The limb turned a yellowish red and began to twist. The bones snapped and reformed the limb itself into a mark of Cain. The limb had goat heads flash into existence all along the once arm. Damian dropped the arm away from the sword before the transformation could reach beyond the shoulder.

  Damian watched with morbid fascination, as the prisoner’s arm settled after its transformation. The man had effectively lost an arm from the shoulder down, and with how it pulsed, it would surely never let the man forget about its existence.

  “What did you do to him?” Catherine asked with a morbid curiosity.

  Looking back at her he noticed that she was struggling to keep her mask of indifference in place. “I didn’t do anything. This is the sword of judgment used by the Arcangel Uriel. I believe it decided to show the man exactly what it sees him as. A sinner worth no redemption to be twisted so he as just as monstrous on the outside as in.”

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  The man, could barely speak through pained sobs and whimpering, “I-I’ll t-t-talk. I’ll talk, please don’t do it again.”

  The man spilled everything in halting gasps and whimpers. He gave up drop locations, others who, like him, were middlemen in charge of corpse retrieval and distribution. He had never met his boss in person but knew he operated out of the German community in the Five Points. His boss was called the Puppenspieler. He operated a network that claimed and sold bodies to anyone with an interest in necromancy. Payment was always in forms of research notes or magical texts related to the practice. While the man himself didn’t know where to find the Puppenspieler he did know that his boss had an incident with the local gang operating in the area the Dead Rabbits. When the sword confirmed the man’s words as truth Damian unsummoned it and left the room with Catherine, their exit chased by whimpers and sobs of fear.

  The station was as silent as a grave when the two emerged. None of the officers were willing to meet their eyes. The duo made a quick exit from the station and made it a few blocks away before Catherine had to rush into an alleyway. The sound of retching and vomiting echoed and Damian made his way over to a hunched over Catherine. He gathered her hair away from her face and held it behind her while he rubbed her back.

  “Let it out, it was horrific and there is nothing wrong with reacting to it.” Damian soothed.

  When Catherine finished emptying her stomach, she wiped her lips and pulled out a water bottle to clear what remained in mouth. She gave Damian a shaky smile as she put the bottle away.

  “Thanks for tha’. Sorry fer the loss of composure. What’s the next step, I’ll recover faster if I have someting ta focus on.”

  Damian nodded and thought for a moment, “I believe we should make a visit to the Dead Rabbits. See if they can give us a location.”

  Catherine started to walk out of the alley and asked Damian as he followed, “Do you think they will talk to us?”

  “They should. We did the Irish community a huge favor by stopping the dearg due. Plus, body peddlers and necromancers are bad for business, they should want the bastard gone as much as we do.” Damian reasoned.

  “Sounds like a plan to me now let’s get to it.” Catherine said and strode off with purpose, the only sign of her previous state was a slight tremor in her hands.

  The duo flagged down a cart and had it deliver them to the Irish district. There was a notable measure of relief in the people walking about. The defeat of the dearg due was a win that the community that renewed their hope. Those that recognized Damian and Catherine gave them respectful nods and welcoming smiles. The duo returned the gestures and made a few inquiries to passersby. While hesitant the people they asked did point them to where they could find the current leadership of the Dead Rabbits gang.

  The location of the Dead Rabbits gang was a large warehouse near the docks. The sound of rowdy voices and bare fists on skin echoed from the building. Outside was a group of ten men and women watching passersby and shooting the shit. Before Damian and Catherine could make their approach, a pale of water came flying at Damian from out of nowhere. He managed to doge out of the way much to Catherines amusement and the displeasure of a newly appeared Reynold. Damian straitened his jacket and fixed Reynold with a glare before pulling something out of his inventory that caught the pixie’s attention.

  “Take this and stop your pranks Reynold.” Damian held out a biscuit, honey dripping out of its center, but pulled it back when Reynold tried to swipe it. “Is it a deal pixie?”

  Reynold glanced between Damian and the delectable treat. The miniscule fae struggling between his fun and the sweet, delicious honey. Eventually his stomach one out.

  “Fine it’s a deal. In return for this honey biscuit I will no longer play pranks on you. There, happy?” His voice was a high-pitched squeak of self-importance.

  Damian nodded and handed the treat over to the Pixie. “Quite yes. Make sure not to choke and, savor, each bite, you damned miscreant.”

  He stepped back next to Catherine and let loose a devious smirk when Reynold took his first bite. The pixie froze for a split second before spitting his mouthful and dropping the rest of the biscuit to the ground. When he proceeded to swipe at his tongue while shrieking in pain, Damian couldn’t hold back his vindictive glee.

  “What’s the matter Reynold? Biscuit not to your liking?” Damian asked in a saccharine tone.

  “What did you do?!” The fae demanded as he glared at the laughing Damian.

  “What? I thought you might like a bit of a savory taste to go with the sweet honey. So, I added a bit of salt to the treat.” Damian grinned evilly at the horrified fae.

  “You bastard you broke the deal! I will have vengeance!” Reynold swore.

  “Oh, how so?” Damian asked with a vindictive gleam in his eye.

  “You promised a honey biscuit not a trap that causes pain!” The pixie screeched at him.

  “I do believe you are mistaken. The only thing I said was take it and stop your pranks. I never said what it was or that it was meant to be eaten. That was your assumption. I broke nothing.” Damian crowed in victory.

  The pixie spluttered, “That…. but you…...gaaahhh! I swear I will have vengeance on you villain!”

  With a dramatic point the pixie flew off to nurse his wounded pride. Damian broke into a small victory dance in his glee. Catherine just shook her head and giggled at him. “That’s going to bite you in the arse, right? Reynold will comeback once he finds a way around his deal. The only thing you stopped was pranks not attacks.”

  “Nope, he won’t. His pride won’t allow it. Because if he starts to attack me due to this, it will admit to himself and every other fae, that he was bested by a human. He would admit that he can be taken advantage of by just the mere appearance of a sweet treat. No, he will wait until I do something that will give him a reason to come at me.” Damian said, mood still high at besting his nemesis.

  Catherine shook her head and led the way over to the warehouse entrance. They were stopped once they set foot inside by a group of toughs looking to brawl.

  “The feck do you tink you’re doing here. Get lost before we beat, ya’ into the ground lassie.” The lead man threatened.

  Catherine tried diplomacy first, “We just want to ask your boss a question. No hassle and nothing that would implicate him in anything.”

  “I don’ fecking care! Last warning, you and your boytoy ain’t welcome here. Leave or face the consequences.”

  It seemed that diplomacy failed. Just when Damian was about to draw a weapon an authoritative voice cut through the crowd that had circled around them. “Micky, quit you’re damn posturing! I’ll not have you attempt to harm the people who avenged me brother! Now back off before I have you join Connor in the ring.”

  A large man walked out of the crowd. He had no shirt just long trousers held up with suspenders that looped around his wide shoulders. “You wanted to talk to me; well, I’ll hear you out. It’s the least I could do for the two who put down the dearg due. Names Aiden, now what can I help you two with?”