I’d gotten too used to Biosculpting on myself. It was easy by yourself, nothing but you, the room you were in, and the perfect calm of rearranging skin and flesh and organs in ways that should leave you unable to properly function until you got it finally set right. Doing it on yourself meant no squirming, no sudden movements, no firm reassurances to the patient to please hold still, or you might die during the next part.
I couldn’t even blame the Mourner for my current discomfort. He was being the perfect patient; still, quiet, clearly indicating when he was going to ask something. In this case, it wasn’t the patient. No, it was the other two.
“The angle’s not going to match. You’ve got the first one too far forward.”
“Don’t listen to him, just push the second one’s base further forward.”
“You’ve not seen her work before; it’s harder to adjust flesh that’s already set. Easier to adjust the horn itself. Also, they wouldn’t match.”
“Not every Infernal’s horns are symmetrical. Hells, I’ve seen some with three horns all in different spots.”
“Yeah, and they stand out. The entire point of this is not to stand out at all.”
“Please let me focus,” I said irritably, a horn half-pressed into a raised lump of flesh on Kelson’s forehead. “I don’t want to stretch how long I’m down here to the point they think I fell asleep in here instead of just having a breakdown. And I don’t want to leave the Mourner half-finished.”
“Yes, let’s please have none of that,” the Mourner agreed fiercely.
The man was probably not feeling very comfortable after I’d spent the last few minutes sculpting the flesh available on his forehead and then made a few additions from my stores to form a base I’d then mount the horns in. Given the look on his face when I’d brought out the beaker of still-living flesh, he had opinions on it. Luckily, he was keeping them restrained.
“We could leave,” Tolman offered. “I just wanted to be here, so I’d know what he would look like. In case you weren’t here. Since we already discussed what he’ll look like, I can head home.”
I considered the other person in the room. “Melissa? Do you want to try sneaking into the diabolism room and sleeping there?”
She debated it silently, sitting in the corner on a stool. Her body language was tense. Probably still processing what she’d discovered in that alleyway. What she said next didn’t come as a surprise.
“I need some time to myself,” she told me. “Clear my head some. I’ll be back in the morning.”
I didn’t press anything. But the obvious needed to be said. “Go with Tolman. Tolman, whatever Arsene asks to do me a favor, I’ll pay it for Melissa to stay the night with you two.”
Melissa wanted to protest. I cut her off before she could get any real effort started. “You’ll have the Flame looking for you, Melissa, and probably not kindly after tonight. And Intelligence, and the Watch. For much as they normally stay out of the Quarter, the former has made this entire case an exception, and the Watch certainly will feel like putting pressure on anyone who might have so much as seen a Black Flame member tonight.”
“We can set up a seperate room for you,” Tolman told her.
Melissa still wanted to fight against needing to stay the night somewhere with friendly folk around, but a lot of the energy had gone out of her. She did not want to admit her former comrades were probably aiming to cut her throat. That our half-brother had fooled her.
Eventually pragmatism and caution won out over stubbornness, but it was a close thing as her shoulders slumped.
“My own room?” she asked Tolman. Right, she’d probably be used to barracks in the Flame, and quiet stressful nights in houses with others hoping none of them knifed her before that.
“We got the storage room,” Tolman replied. “Got a cot in there. If that works.”
Probably still better than most places in the Quarter, and soon the two of them were squeezing out through my tiny tunnel once again.
“Come back when you’re ready,” I called after Melissa before she completely disappeared. “But until then? Keep your time outside limited. Even if they don’t want to kill you, there’s plenty of people who will want to know what happened tonight.”
I didn’t get a response. I would try to go by Arsene and Tolman’s place tomorrow, assuming Arsene didn’t throw me out the moment I stepped inside.
Some of the tension went out of the Mourner now that it was just the two of us.
“Thank you,” he said. “It was awkward having them here while you do this.”
“About what I figured,” I said. “It’s come up with patients before. I figured you would want them gone before we needed to take your clothes off.”
Kelson sputtered, sounding like he was choking as I chuckled.
“You won’t need to disrobe completely,” I said, positioning the horn push into the lump of flesh I’d added to his forehead. “Just enough I can see most of your skin to make sure the pigmentation change takes. Now. Say still.”
He winced as I pushed, the dead horn pressing against his living skull. The melding wouldn’t be perfect between the dead and the living. I couldn’t join his skull to the horn like I would if we had more time. It would be strong enough to hold against most things. Even a strong punch if the Hells’ Own patrons became rowdy.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. He would try to keep his head down, and the job Edwards had available should mostly be menial labor.
Ten minutes passed as I used the magic to first part his existing skin to expose the skull while deadening his nerves. Then I began to bond bone to bone, starting the process that should finish on its own overnight.
“Okay, so I imagine that itches as badly as the other one does,” I say, indicating the first horn I’d pressed in. “Same thing as I said for it: do not grab it, and avoid doorways or anything that might hit it until it’s finished setting. I’ll finish it by tomorrow morning by the time Tolman comes. While it will be set by then, trying not to hit it on anything still while you’re at Edwards. It will stand up to blows, but repeatedly striking it on something or hitting something hard enough will make it snap off.”
“Ruining the disguise,” The Mourner said, hand already halfway to the horn. My tail slapped it away.
“That takes a chunk of your scalp and potentially your actual skull with it,” I told him, and he paled, the crescent-shaped scar under his eye standing out even more. “Also, we’ll need to fill in that scar.”
His hand went to it. “Really?”
“No identifying marks,” I told him. “Don’t worry, your body knows what it should be like. Once we need this disguise to come off, making you look like yourself again shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll be adding some as well. Potentially giving you a nose that looks like you’ve broken it repeatedly. We don’t want you to stand out, but you should have marks that are different from your current ones. And also, it’s the Quarter. Having no scars is more suspicious than having many. Any specific locations you’d like some?”
“The chin, perhaps,” he ventured, then stilled as I pulled a knife out.
“Oh, don’t worry,” I told him. “This is just in case we need more flesh to add. I’m not going to start chopping.”
He laughed shakily, “Not how I imagined spending my evening when I woke up this morning. I expected to be busy preparing for the coming religious holiday, not being sculpted in someone’s basement.”
“The roads life takes us down are certainly strange,” I agreed. “Your assistant mentioned that. Solemn Ground and Open Skies?”
“The Day of Closing Skies and Solemn Ground,” Kelson corrected me, voice firmer. “When we reaffirm our protection of bodies in the earth and the release of souls to the sky.”
“Metaphorically,” I replied. “I asked Gregory about that part when I first heard about it. Unattended souls would certainly be at risk during a time like this.”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Metaphorical for certain,” Kelson said. “But it’s still an important day. If we were dealing with someone closer related to death, I’d be concerned.”
He shifted a little as I started working the magic in earnest, focusing on the arm first. The magic went deep, and started altering what lay beneath his skin.
“That itches horrendously,” he said, wincing.
My tail intercepted his hand again, stopping him from scratching.
“It will,” I said. “Your body isn’t built to make skin of this color, so I’m having to alter the skin itself. It won’t be perfect.”
Trying to fully alter those would be a losing proposition. Devils and other creatures could interbreed, but skin color was created from parts modified by diabolism. Trying to introduce that to Mourner Kelson would require modifying his body to handle that diabolic magic, and I did not have time to fully alter him into an Infernal. Instead, I’d be recoloring skin layer by layer until I buried his natural tone deep enough not to show.
“We’ll do this, then the tail, and the teeth, and that should be enough,” I said.
Kelson thought about that for a second. “A tail? Is that really necessary?”
“Infernals without tails exist, but they’re rare, and again, we don’t want you drawing attention,” I told him. “We’re going to do a hacked-off stump instead of an actual tail. I don’t have time to build a nervous system capable of functioning with it. As is, doing your teeth will probably take until three in the morning, at which point I am going straight to bed and collapsing.”
Silence for a bit, as I began to seed the change further inside. The idea was a self-propagating change, one that would slowly spread across all of his skin during the night. I didn’t have time to do it all myself, so it would be less precise. A necessary sacrifice in order to get this actually done. If I could concentrate on setting it up, I could maybe shave half an hour-
“I have to apologize,” the Mourner said solemnly. “For something important.”
I paused, biting back a moan of frustration. The world hated me sleeping. It was the only explanation. Even my own attempt to change course on getting enough rest couldn’t hold against reality itself pushing against me getting proper rest.
“Mourner Kelson, if the next words out of your mouth are ‘There’s more than one Zaviel priest in the program and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t trust you’,” I told him as politely as I could muster. “I am shoving you back out the other end of the tunnel and letting you find your own way home.”
“Nothing like that,” he said quickly. “Just earlier, when we first met. My castigating of you for robbing the dead. I didn’t think properly that I was passing judgment on someone whose crime was ignorance. It didn’t occur to me until after that your ignorance might just be because of the pantheon not regularly preaching in the Quarter.”
“People who can fry Infernals with a bit of magic have never been too popular in the Quarter,” I note as clenched my hand tighter around his biceps. “Trust me, Mourner, at least it was for an actual reason besides just being an Infernal.”
“You don’t understand,” he said, a little pained as the magic wove its way down across the skin of his arm. “It’s because of something the church of Halspus itself enforced, to keep any Infernal out of the-ah that stings!”
He didn’t wrench his hand out of my grasp, but it clearly hurt. I could have used something to dull his nerves, but he didn’t want anything affecting his brain.
“Trust me, I’ve heard a decent bit about that over the last few days,” I said. “From Gregory Montague. From Harper Metrill. Halspus controlled all access to the Quarter, and those who dared opposed that didn’t receive the best of receptions when they made it through.”
I’d leave unsaid how much I might have helped make some of those who got through meet their ends. It had been so easy to believe Versalicci’s talk about competition muscling its way in when members of the Thieves Guild started appearing inside the Quarter.
“Perhaps I could remedy that some,” Mourner Kelson said. “Not just for you, of course. Perhaps that could fix the afflictions of this part of the city.”
I would keep my opinions on that to myself, if only so the Mourner would stay still. I doubted pantheon worship would actually be the fix for the Quarter.
I sighed. “You’re talking to the wrong Infernal, Mourner. Not that I’m opposed to the idea, and I’d be happy to attend whatever you’re thinking of setting up inside your head. But I am not some community leader. Most people tolerate me because I’m useful, and because I’m Flame, which adds a little fear. That is probably approaching its end. The Quarter will put up with a lot happening just down the street, but powerful devils and Imperial agents and racist harpies dueling with kitsune in the night sky is going to endear me to my neighbors. I know a few people who might be better suited for that.”
Tolman maybe. Or maybe Melissa knew someone. Or getting in contact with Edwards, assuming he was approachable about this.
“I wouldn’t mind lessons at some point,” I told him. “Or even just some general pointers, given how limited my education is. My life has gone from bereft of priests to swimming in them in a matter of days.”
Even ignoring this scheme involving thirteen deities, the number of priests I personally knew had gone from Gregory to him, Harper Metrill, Forcreek, Gallaspie, Derrick, and now Kelson.
“Once this is all over,” Mourner Kelson said.
I nodded, then let go of his arm. He looked at it, a little confused.
“The color is spreading,” I told him. “It’s just starting deep. That’s the best way to make it look correct. We let it work for about half an hour, then see if any adjustments need to be made. Meanwhile, we'll get your tail stump ready.”
The look of disgust returned to his face as I scooped out some of the living flesh, beginning to work on molding it.
“While we wait, what do you plan next?” Kelson asked me.
“Right now?” I said. “Waiting, for the most part.”
He seemed taken aback by that answer as I continued work on the lump of flesh we’d make the base of the stump.
“Really?” he finally got out. “Waiting? That’s what this entire thing led to?”
I paused, putting the lump of flesh down on the table where it slowly settled, the Mourner looking at it wearily.
“Mourner, I am not Imperial Intelligence or the Watch,” I said. “I do not have the resources to search a thousand corners for ritual circles, to collect every person who might be targeted by the diabolists, or to even figure out who is or isn’t in your program. And as for faking the deaths of everyone we do know for certain, I’m pretty sure I burnt a lot of what allowed me to be that overt tonight.”
Even if the Voltars were willing to make those allowances to keep me still involved, I doubted those protections would extend to anything even approaching last night. Ignoring whatever their superiors in Intelligence may be planning, even if they were trying to stop the Hellgate, they would want me off the board to stop any reckless moves like that from occurring. So I would need to stay relatively unnoticed and not dangerous for the rest of this.
“In terms of leads to follow and so on, the current plan is to sit back and see what happens,” I told him. “If more leads pop up, I’ll of course follow them, but for right now, I think what will help us more is seeing what they do. Right now, depending on how much they know, they are stuck in a bind. Was it the Queen of Masks who killed you? Melissa in disguise? Did Melissa make a separate deal with their patron that Versalicci wasn’t aware of, or is Versalicci playing the others for fools with a hidden asset?”
“Versalicci?” Mourner Kelson asked, seeming a little overwhelmed.
“Giovanni Versalicci. Head of the Black Flame,” I told him. “His involvement was questionable, but after tonight I’m firmly convinced he’s part of this. And whoever is involved on the church side would be a fool not to keep a way eye on anything he might be doing. And that’s my point. I know from having unintentionally dipped into the memories of some of the sacrificed that control is not very tight and information isn’t being widely shared either. Otherwise, one of the conspirators wouldn’t have been selling diabolism reagents on the side to the first target in the weeks leading up to Singer Reginald’s death. Otherwise, a group of them wouldn’t have panicked, summoning devils without direct orders to. Various diabolists brought together by this. But they need to have church resources. It can’t just be one or two members of the program going rogue. Someone with the ability to get warding sigils, and specifically Halslpusian ones.”
By now Kelson seemed like he might be about to take a fall, so I held my tongue while he mentally worked through that. “Halspusian ones?”
“Yesterday, Gregory Montague, me, and several others were investigating a location where a diabolist killing crew of the Black Flame had been sacrificing victims to a ritual circle to open the Hellgate,” I told him. “They had wards preventing their diabolism from being detected, powered by several sigils of Halspus. The working theory we had was that someone may have stolen them from the graves of Halspusian clerics?”
Kelson seemed a little more comfortable as the conversation turned to something he was familiar with. “Possible, but we would notice. Or others of their faith. They visit graves often.”
“Not every grave, surely?” I said, and he immediately began to color. “My apologies, Mourner. But I think my point stands. The sigils didn’t seem significantly worn when we found them. Gregory said that the dead ones have their sigils mounted on the tombstones after their death?”
Mourner Kelson nodded.
“Well then, these are likely new ones,” I said. “Still charged with holy energy, but not used. Which means someone had to get a hold of them. And other resources. The Black Flame has some, but enough to pull this off? No, I think it’s more than a few priests from the program involved in this.”
“Who?” Kelson said, gone completely still.
“We had some theories earlier,” I said. “Discussing who could benefit from this. Who might be tempted to try a full scheme like this?”
“No one benefits from a Hellgate being open. No, wait, some might benefit, but they aren’t involved. But even Maldeura has other targets to focus on before he would have his priests agitate to open up the Hells.”
Maldeura. God of War, patron of Her Majesty along with Halspus, and some said the one closer to her of the two of them. That much I had picked up, eavesdropping on Halspusians back in my days on the Flame. The fact that she considers the foreign deity equal to theirs apparently rankled quite a bit with them.
“Someone benefits,” I told him. “Someone might have cut a deal before the program even started, setting the groundwork for a Hellgate long before whatever devil they made the deal with started whispering in the minds of others.”
Kelson’s eyebrows rose. “Do you think someone set up the program with the intention of causing this?”
“Someone who was the initial person to push for it,” I said. “Someone who has kept their identity hidden very well so far. And the sudden push for diabolist priests so close in time doesn’t feel coincidental.”
“Perhaps,” the Mourner admitted. “But if those loyal to the pantheon tempted by the powers of the diabolic have been around for as long as deities and the Hells have been. Eternity.”
“Not loyal people. It has to be priests,” I told him. “If it were just worshippers, they could pick people off the streets, coerce them into a deal with a devil, then sacrifice them. They could still do that with priests, which is why we needed your death faked.”
Not just so nobody would look for the Mourner after he disappeared, but so they wouldn’t try to kidnap a worshipper of Zaviel and coerce them into becoming a sacrifice.
“I could maybe help?” The Mourner offered. “I am fairly high up in the Church of Zaviel as an administrator. A lot of that is dealing with the fellow religions of the pantheon. And it will take my mind off this itching.”
I considered the offer. “Well, it’s not like we’ll have much else to do while that color sets.”