The sun was still up. I needed to keep that in mind, because the moment I stepped over the threshold, the light from outside vanished.

  The sun wasn’t at my back. Even still, you’d expect some light from outside to leak in, a shadow of me on the floor as I took another step inside.

  Nothing. The only light was from a few nterns hanging on…walls I assumed, but my eyes strained to see if they hung on walls or floated in mid-air. I gnced back at the door, and the light beyond was dimmed, the te afternoon sky repced by night’s, my eyes barely able to see the picket line of Watch. The crowd of kneeling worshippers beyond them I could not see at all.

  I clopped in, breathing out. The others waited further inside, there should be nothing to worry about as I moved in, wincing a little at the pain. The tip of my tail occasionally scraped the floor, the wood squeaking and squealing as it dragged. The bite marks on my hand had faded thanks to the healing potion but still burned and itched as I moved my fingers. They’d removed the shrapnel from the grenade from my flesh, I’d checked with a quick scan of biosculpting. The wounds still remained. I’d closed them, but they still hurt, same for the cut on my other hand and the stab wound in my belly.

  I should be sleeping. Should be in bed, gathering strength for tomorrow when I tried to fix the dozen wounds carved into my body. Instead, I was here? Why was I here?

  I stumbled, nearly going to the floor. Bck obsidian reflected a tired, weary face. Still, I needed to prove my use. Needed to. I didn’t need any reminders my head being on my shoulders relied on being useful.

  I continued onward, trying to see further into the cathedral’s interior.

  The entirety of what I could see was polished, shining obsidian, the glossy bck stone everywhere. The pale light from the nterns illuminated it just enough to see the center of the hall, but the outskirts were wreathed in darkness. I couldn’t spot the ceiling, just inky bckness above my head.

  “Imp?” I muttered, uncertain if the little Devil was awake or if my recent brush with unconsciousness had affected it.

  It’s not Diabolism, The Devil said. Why call on me?

  “Because I doubt you only know that,” I chided gently. “It would be ridiculous for you to have no acquaintance with the divine, and I’d prefer an unb-. Let me correct that, a biased source in the opposite direction.”

  Two cows, The Imp said.

  I frowned, not wanting to py that game. “No cows. And no negotiations either.”

  Go consult that Vesper creature if you want advice.

  “Are you sulking?” I asked it.

  It might be, or at least pretending to in an effort to get attention. Not that I believed for a second it would actually act so btantly able to be maniputed. The best course of action would be to ignore it.

  The air here itched, a sign the church remained consecrated but not as hostile as some deities. Some deities, you would feel pain the moment you stepped inside their consecrated grounds. Halspus, your flesh would sear and boil before you burst into white fmes that would devour all of you, even your bones.

  Either Baltaren was more considerate, or there was some deeper thing at py.

  “Good evening.”

  I spun around, turning to confront a cloaked figure.

  The cloaked figure had no discernible features, and I shivered as I tried to perceive something, anything. They weren’t wreathed in darkness, rather even as I looked directly into their face, I couldn’t name or remember a single thing noteworthy. Skin tone, Height, gender, hair color, hair length, I was looking at those. The details fell from my mind. Trying to grasp sand in my hands. I looked down at their hand. They must have four fingers and a thumb. Surely. But…did they?

  I backed away. Quick, hurried clops as the figure neared. My hand darted for the pistol in my dress. Bones ached, flesh hurt. But I wouldn’t let this creature get any closer. Was I looking up at it? Down? Ignore that thought. Pull the gun out-

  “Peace,” the cloaked figure said. “You are Malvia Harrow are you not? I am the senior most-priest in service to Baltaren. Violence is not needed.”

  Tension fled the air, and I let out a breath. Still, the hand did not leave the gun.

  “And the proof?” I asked, keeping the revolver in my pocket but ready to be pulled.

  The figure spun around, gesturing to the door outside. “If you doubt, you can leave night’s embrace and enjoy the tyranny of the sun until the moon rises and only brings a reflection to bear. Your companions will be out to join you when they finish their work.”

  I eyed the doorway, considering it, but hells, would I feel foolish to flee only for it to turn out to not be a problem. Still, this was unsettling.

  It was one thing to distrust what your eyes told you. To wonder if they were being tricked or weren’t telling you what you could see. It was another to realize your mind couldn’t tell you a thing that you were looking directly at.

  Their robed head inclined slightly.

  “Sister Harrow,” they said, their voice a whisper that I couldn’t make anything out about right in my ear. “Welcome to the church of Baltaren, Treader of Night.”

  I put another foot between us reflexively, not letting nervousness show, but that voice was the absence of details. Focusing on it even now, I couldn’t remember a thing about it, emotion, tone, male, female, something in between. I got a general sense of politeness, but I couldn’t tell why.

  “Sister isn’t the friendliest greeting to me,” I said. “Most people left alive who use it aren’t very well-liked by me. And hanging titles on me makes me think you’re buttering me up for something.”

  “I apologize for any discomfort,” the shape replied, inclining the hood slightly in my direction. “It was not my intent.”

  “Clearly knowing who I am when I don’t know you doesn’t help my unease,” I continued.

  “Nightdweller Timmel, you may call me,” they answered. “If it helps, knowledge of you was only known because of our association with the two worshippers of Halspus and Zaviel you’ve attached yourselves to. And Sister is merely a term of acknowledgment.”

  “Of a retionship I don’t have with you,” I said as politely as I could manage. “And of the one I know for certain can call me that, it is far from cordial.”

  “True, but when all is tested? When exposed to the darkness that strips all things which bind deserve the stronger title?”

  Okay, this was hopefully to be a brief and uneventful acquaintance because already this Timmel was getting on my nerves. I ignored the question, choosing to focus on something else.

  “That,” I said, inclining my head towards them, “is a very neat trick. How you make your features impossible to perceive. Don’t suppose you’d be inclined to share how you do it?”

  “Tis a blessing of Baltaren,” the Nightdweller said. “Induction into our ranks and earning our deity's blessing through service would be the swiftest way to get it.”

  “Swiftest?” I asked them.

  “He occasionally grants it to those he deems worthy. But it is rare. Come, to the scene of the murder, and your companions, wait further inside our halls.”

  We continued to walk, in what may have been a massive hall or instead just a simple passageway. Impossible to tell, and it was hard to discern if the darkness was of the normal variety or if something was physically there. The floating ntern lights left just enough illumination to walk by.

  “What did you call me back there?” I asked the Nightdweller. “Treader of Night? I don’t believe I’m a member of your congregation, so I’d appreciate no insinuations that I am. Since you’ve already made it clear I’m not.”

  “Many work in the night,” Timmel said as we continued to slowly walk through the halls. “You work in it quite often, which is why you are a Treader. It is not a cim, simply an acknowledgment of fact.”

  “An acknowledgment that sounds like a cim,” I said.

  They didn’t reply, and I didn’t feel a need to press further as we continued through the halls.

  “How long will this walk be?” I eventually asked. It had been what felt like..half an hour, perhaps of simply walking through these halls, the ck of detailing making telling distance and time difficult.

  Polished obsidian reflected everything as we walked, adding to the offsetting nature of this all. Not quite as reflective as a mirror, but many times I thought I spotted movement in the corner of my eye only to find out it was a reflection of Timmel or me traveling along the wall.

  Every movement driving fresh spikes of agony through my flesh wasn’t making it travel any faster.

  “One second,” Timmel said. “Let the night’s curtain pull back some more, and reveal what was always there.”

  The darkness ahead of us suddenly dissipated, revealing a hall stretching out in front of us. Obsidian pilrs stretched up into the darkness, nterns hanging from them, and in between were smashed apart wooden benches, shroud-covered bodies, and collected around the only body not covered in a shroud, Dawes, Voltar, Derrick, Forcreek, and Galspie. No Tagashin, no Gregory.

  I paused, taking in the sight. It wasn’t just smashed benches and broken bodies; scorch marks were on the ground, and some of the pilrs had cw marks, missing chunks, or entire sections ripped out. A stone altar further back was caved in the middle, obsidian cracked where something had been rammed forcibly into it.

  “Miss Harrow,” Dawes said, rushing over to me and Timmel, concern on his face. “You’re-”

  “Late,” I said. “But here, and willing to do my part. We seem to be missing a person?”

  My tone was calm, but the ambushes that had occurred, Gregory's absence was troubling. He wasn’t nearly as good a fighter as anyone else in this little circle, and if he’d been attacked while on his own…

  “With Barnes,” Voltar said, getting up from the body. “Attempting to track down something Barnes recognized.”

  I drove down a twist of irrationality about hearing of Gregory and Tagashin together. Fool of a girl, they were probably chasing a scent Tagashin had noticed. And even if they were together in that way, you should not care!

  Derrick gave me a nod, and to my slight irritation seemed to be just how I’d talked to her earlier today. Petty, that her healing had clearly been much more comprehensive than my own, but I remained jealous that she seemed no worse for wear. Forcreek was avoiding my gaze, seemingly embarrassed. If Malstein hadn’t lied about his suggestions to the Watch Captain, for damn good reason.

  “You seem to be missing someone as well,” Voltar continued. “Captain Walston?”

  I smiled innocently. “Declined to accompany me into the cathedral, and in fact left shortly after kicking me out of her carriage.”

  Galspie frowned, expression curdling. “What did you do, Foulhorn?”

  “Why, risked life and limb to save both your colleague and your assistant,” I said as cheerfully as I could.

  Silence, then Timmel chuckled. “Night’s veil pulls back just a little more.”

  Okay, they definitely were just saying things to fuck with the rest of us.

  “Have I arrived too te to help?” I asked.

  “No,” Voltar said. “The bodies have been examined, but an additional point of view is usually appreciated. Especially when our killer has broken with their previous methods so thoroughly.”

  “Bodies?” I repeated, looking over the multiple shroud-covered forms strewn across the battered hall.

  “The attack happened during our ritual,” Timmel said, walking over to the uncovered body in the center. “The attacker brought several devils and brute forced their way through the defenses on the cathedral before liberally spending the lives of their summons. We slew most of the powerful ones, the lesser ones fled, but he touched our Sister and slew her, then fled as the st of his host spent their lives.”

  “They didn’t deconsecrate the church, though,” I muttered. I could still feel the mild prickling of divine magic across my skin. Something was missing.

  “No,” Timmel agreed. “Although the attempt was made, one does not dissolve the cathedral of Baltaren’s protections so easily.”

  One did apparently force its defenses open so powerful devils could slip inside, but I didn’t say that out loud.

  “You should be somewhere recuperating,” Dawes said, having looked me over while others talk. “And I want to take a look at some of this stitching, especially on your tail. Who did this?”

  “Not sure,” I said. “I woke up with it already treated. Captain Malstein might know?”

  “Captain Malstein?” Voltar asked sharply. “He’s involved in this now?”

  “Yes?” I ventured. “He was just nearby when the ambush happened.”

  “Who?” Galspie asked Derrick.

  “A Watch Captain. No one to worry about.”

  Ignoring them, I gave Dawes my best smile. “It’ll be alright, doctor. As long as you don’t need me to fight any monsters, I’ll be fine. I’m assuming the unfortunate over there is our test victim?”

  She was the only body left uncovered, and while there were races that resembled pigs, it seemed too rare to be pusible. Voltar nodded.

  “Not hard to guess what sin she is intended to represent,” he stated, and I couldn’t disagree.

  Being the hells, her new porcine appearance was hardly that of the sweet little pigs from children’s books. Thick, heavy bristles covered rough skin, her face partially changed into a boar’s rough visage. Pointed tusks were pushing their way out of her existing cheeks, covered in blood as they tore through existing flesh. Gluttony.

  “Four out of seven now,” I said. “Pride, Envy, Greed, Gluttony. Do you think sins will start repeating once they go beyond seven, or will they go for more esoteric concepts?”

  “Or perhaps the killer only intends to kill seven,” Derrick said somberly. “May we hope that is the case.”

  Not so, but I couldn’t say that if the Deal was to be kept secret.

  “Was Sister Lelieth particurly gluttonous?” I asked Timmel.

  “Before this diabolist decided to attack her, Sister Lelieth was not very stout of frame,” Timmel said. “Nor did she eat much beyond anyone normally would, nor enjoy the taste of things more than others. But what I see as restraint, others might see as gluttony. Or metaphorical gluttony? Seeing the consumption of anything could be seen as gluttony. When one ascribes seven subjective things to the pce of sin then cims that any-”

  Galspie’s growl cut off the Baltaren priest’s musing, the Halpsus bishop looking like he was one more word away from getting up from the corpses and assaulting Timmel.

  “A matter of opinion, perhaps,” Timmel said

  “You cim far too much as that,” Galspie spat out. “Every time, ciming it to make your foolish god look better. There is nothing subjective about the sins, and our suppression and management of these has safeguarded this city from diabolic-”

  “Summoning?” Timmel said, and for a second,d that strange inability to observe them flickered, as I picked up anger in their words. “Like you prevented this, Galspie?”

  Galspie got up now, squaring off against the Baltaren priest, and I tried to move back as fast as tired hooves and aching limbs could carry me. Tearing the recently healed parts of me, or have Galspie probably bst me with divine energy on ‘accident’, what a choice I had.

  “Doctrinal differences are perhaps best saved for another time?” Derrick interrupted, moving between the two of them. “Now is hardly the time or pce.”

  Galspie hesitated. “No. But I will not tolerate being nettled.”

  “It is not Halspus’ house in which we dwell,” Timmel said. “Nor his light that has provided refuge.”

  Galspie’s eyes narrowed by he let the barb pass.

  I traded uneasy looks with Dawes. This sounded like bitter arguments being rehashed, and not ones we should stick our noses into. Voltar didn’t seem unsettled but did hold his tongue, as did Forcreek. Gregory’s absence was concerning, with the ambush, but if Voltar said he was safe, I’d trust the detective. For now.

  “I think it’s safe to say that either it’s based on assumptions made by the killer or the magic itself,” I said calmly, and no one started swinging physical or metaphorical bdes. Good. “So the murder was done during a public event involving the priests?”

  “Our killer struck in the middle of a ritual,” Voltar said. “One the priests are reluctant to say the details of.”

  “Because they are unnecessary, detective,” Timmel said. “Nightsister Lelieth was neither participant nor practitioner, merely an observer there to lend ear and eye to something blessed by our god. “

  “He just wants to know who knew about the ritual beforehand,” I said, tiring of the dancing around. Just say what needs to be said. “To see who might have known she would be here doing this instead of anything else.”

  Timmel stilled, and for a second, I thought they might be trying to push this off. It wasn’t like asking for the members of the ritual was much better than the details of the ritual itself.

  “Ah, that I can provide,” they said in that strange non-tone. “Give me a few minutes and I will write it for you.”

  “Appreciated,” I said, ignoring Voltar’s irritated gnce towards me. As if dancing around it was going to help or make the priest any more willing to spill the details of this ritual. Search it out on your own time if it was that important, or expin why it was that important!

  “Baltaren’s priests might not be the only ones to know of the rite,” Derrick noted. “Unless this was kept a secret Timmel?”

  The Nightdweller paused, having almost vanished entirely into darkness. “Many knew, and the details did not need to be secrets. A simple acknowledgment of someone’s further drenching in the dark.”

  The Nightdweller disappeared, and a few seconds ter, Galspie and Derrick traded gnces.

  “We should go to make sure he actually is getting the right list and not just writing down random names,” Galspie half-snarled. “We know enough about their rituals, we can tell if he’s lying. Forcreek, with me!”

  The three of them exited, heading in the same direction as Timmel had. I stared after them, wondering if that was supposed to fool us? Was it such an inept attempt that it was a bluff instead?

  Either way, I think we’d just encountered a candidate for the third person heading this diabolism program.