The ground floor of the precinct.
Scarlett had just come down the stairs when she saw Thea walking in through the front door, a pizza box cradled in her arms.
After she'd upgraded Light in the Blood into a Transcendent trait, the Sanctum had logged the trait as a Forbidden Book and slotted it onto the shelf, ready to be drawn on at any time. For now the shelf held only a single Forbidden Book and a single Esoterica. She'd tried tossing The Book of the Furnace in as well, but whether that would actually do anything, she hadn't the faintest idea.
And for some reason she couldn't quite work out, she'd been ravenous lately. Thea had put away half a pound of bread that morning, washed down with a whole tin of baked beans in tomato sauce — and yet, not long after she'd left the house, the hunger was already clawing back.
She gnawed at the pizza for a while as she walked, telling Scarlett about the bottomless-stomach problem.
The young officer had been cramming Transcendent lore lately, and she nodded in sudden understanding. "Oh, that's a real thing. Generally speaking, advancement reinforces both the body and the spirit. The weaker your body was to begin with, the more exhausted your soul — the better the reinforcement takes. But it means you have to eat enormous amounts to make up for it."
"The body part I can accept. I really don't get enough exercise…"
Thea still remembered how the recoil from those few elephant-revolver rounds had very nearly snapped her arm clean off. It ached faintly even now.
But an exhausted soul? That, she would not be accepting.
"I feel like my soul is in excellent shape," she objected. "I read every single day."
Scarlett shook her head. "No, no — the soul isn't the same thing as the intellect. As a rule, a cluttered, anxious mind, too many burdens to carry day after day — or, you know, frequenting, ah, places of indecent entertainment, letting the soul get all filthy — those are what wear the soul down." She pressed on, earnest as a study guide. "It's like how, um, self-abuse weakens the body. If your head's full of, well, lewd pictures all the time, surely the soul gets feeble too?"
…Tsk. By that measure, then, she really was running on fumes.
Just then Scarlett remembered that Thea had been a top student back in school, and curiosity got the better of her. "If I may ask — what have you been reading lately? I'd like to buy some books for the children to look at…"
Thea thought of the well-thumbed adult magazines buried in the back of her bookcase. Absolutely not.
She arranged her features into something profound and left the girl with a single word. "General relativity."
"…What?"
Before Scarlett could press further, Thea had relieved her of the records-room key, on a mission to dig up everything she could find on Quickhand Pete.
It turned out the gentleman crime boss had hidden his identity exceptionally well. Three or four constables turned the shelves inside out, pawing through dozens of document folders — and not one of them named Quickhand Pete's true identity.
So this is the Seer path… Thea mused. He foresaw every possible way he might be uncovered, and then plugged every last hole, one by one?
She had the constables refile each folder, then pressed on. "Find me the family that lived at No. 244 Cedar Street, North Harbor, sixteen years ago. Pull everything you have on them. One of them should be named Orlando."
The constables snapped to it at once.
Thea held no rank in the precinct, but internally Roman had put it about that Miss Thea Sorelle was a specially-appointed inspector — and, what's more, a distinguished archaeologist and chemist.
This was an age in which science had only just begun to flower, and people regarded scientists with a kind of reverence; it was not at all uncommon for an academic salon to be packed to the rafters, the lecturer treated like an idol. Young as she was, the moment Thea was hung with the title of "chemist," the constables admired her from the bottoms of their hearts.
As for the title of "archaeologist" — that one the constables had embroidered in their imaginations into a noblewoman with the résumé of an explorer.
Before long the constables returned with a scattering of buff paper folders. "Miss, there's very little from sixteen years back — most of it was probably lost over the years. But fortunately the tax rolls had a record, and we traced it forward to the more recent files. Here, take a look…"
Thea took them and skimmed carefully.
The addresses on the tax records were, in truth, maddeningly vague — rarely more specific than a street or a particular apartment block — which made the trail hard to follow.
What was more, in the resident files dredged up afterward, Quickhand Pete's true self — Orlando Duke — was listed as deceased: died in the great fire sixteen years ago. So the tax records weren't really a sound method.
But here was the absurd part. The tax bureau had gone on collecting Orlando's taxes for three full years after his death — and that was the thread the constables had spotted at a glance.
"The father's retired now, the mother runs a flower shop… hm, his little brother and sister are even still alive — the brother's a factory worker, and the sister actually earned a letter of recommendation to Crown National University last year."
"The whole family's doing rather well for itself." A sunny, radiant smile bloomed across Thea's face. "Now that's interesting."
Great Harbor, before the gates of the Mercurie manor.
Scarlett had only just stepped down from the carriage and pressed the bell set into the iron railing when a long, wheezing whoooo of escaping steam sounded from within.
A servant came trotting over in short, neat steps to open the gate, and Scarlett pressed a fist to her chest. "I'm Scarlett Leon, from the Suppression Bureau. Director Roman has asked me to deliver a gift to Miss Annelise."
The servant nodded. "Right this way, please. Miss Annelise is out trimming the flowers in the garden. The Master and Lady are both away today, so afterward you can hand the gift to Miss Annelise's head lady's maid, Madam Evelyn."
Trim… trimming the flowers?
Scarlett found it hard to picture the bumbling “Miss Idiot" from the Nightmare clumsily pruning a flowerbed.
She didn't dare yet be certain the woman in the Nightmare had been Annelise — but no matter; the answer should reveal itself soon enough.
When the servant led her out to the garden, there before the flowerbeds stood a stunning blonde girl in a gardener's smock smeared with soil, snipping merrily at the stems. Only at the sound of footsteps behind her did she turn and wipe the sweat from her brow with her sleeve.
Beside her, the head lady's maid Evelyn stood holding a handkerchief, exasperated. "You really ought to present yourself more decently — at the very least, mind yourself a little in front of guests…"
"We're at home — can't we drop all the fuss and rules?" Annelise wheedled, clinging to Evelyn's arm.
It was only when she noticed the blue-and-white of the officer's uniform that she sheepishly let go and asked, politely, "Have you come to see Papa? He's just left for a candidate's campaign salon — he won't be back until evening."
"Ah…"
Seeing Annelise react that way, Scarlett suddenly lost her footing. The girl looked nothing at all like someone who'd taken part in last night's ritual. Or was Annelise putting on a disguise?
"Actually," Scarlett said, "Director Roman heard that Miss Annelise's birthday is coming up, and sent me to deliver a gift… and besides that, miss, might we talk a little further?"
"Since it's Uncle Roman who sent you," Annelise answered brightly, "then please, let's talk in the tea room."
Evelyn nodded and led Scarlett first to a tea room off the side hall.
Tea room, it was called — but it was astonishingly large, a fair bit bigger than the parlor in Scarlett's own home, with floor-to-ceiling glass that let the sunlight pour right in. Beautifully lit. And yet, sitting there, Scarlett felt small and ill at ease.
Meanwhile, at Evelyn's insistence, Annelise had gone to change, and only after a while did she enter the tea room. The two of them sat down across from each other.
"Do go on, Miss Scarlett. What is this about?"
"I wanted to ask — that is, please — did you perform a ritual last night? An advancement ritual, I mean."
At the question, Annelise's eyes went wide and she set down her teacup. "Last night I went to a banquet with Mama," she said, startled. "Are you telling me you saw someone in a ritual who behaved like me?"
Transcendent knowledge was deeply secret — but only as far as commoners were concerned. For nobles, a certain amount of entry-level lore wasn't so mysterious; not a few noble houses even passed down rituals through the generations.
"To be precise," Scarlett said, "it wasn't that she behaved like you. She used your name directly…"
"That's not right! How could anyone do such a thing?"
Annelise was suddenly indignant. "If it were a masquerade ball, that would be one thing — but with a forbidden ritual, casually using someone else's name could get the true bearer of that name marked as a target! Miss Scarlett, you absolutely must catch this loathsome wretch, or next time he'll only do the same to someone else. I'm not afraid of being marked myself — not because I'm brave, but because my family's standing and my station shelter me. There are so many people without my advantages. They'd be in real danger!"
Scarlett said, awkwardly, "I don't know her identity, but she may be connected to a certain friend of yours."
"Who? You must have him tell that impostor — she can't keep doing this!"
"Er… it's Miss Thea Sorelle."
"…Eh? One moment — let me catch my breath… Do you mean to say my classmate Thea has already entered the Nightmare, and had her friend use my name?"
"All I can say is — it may be so…"
Annelise had foreseen long ago that Thea would conduct some Transcendent ritual.
Someone like Thea — wiping out a cult's stronghold in a single stroke — was clearly the sort of figure you found in novels, wielding tremendous power while hiding among the ordinary; perhaps even a member of some Transcendent organization! What she hadn't expected was that the ritual Thea meant to perform was an advancement ritual — a Sequence Nine one, at that.
Insufferable! Why hadn't she said anything? If Thea had told her, she would absolutely have plunged into that ritual right alongside her.
But… heh heh. My classmate Thea actually borrowed my name.
Annelise's thoughts wandered somewhere fanciful, and a faint flush crept into her cheeks.
"Annelise? Annelise?"
Scarlett's voice broke into Annelise's reverie. "That's more or less the situation. Because when Thea entered the Nightmare, they used your name — and the two of them behaved, ah, intimately — that's why I came in person to confirm whether the Annelise in the ritual was you…"
Intimately?
Annelise froze for a beat, then her whole face dissolved into a smile. "Well, if it's Thea — then she's welcome to use it."
"But it isn't right. We ought to fine them!" Scarlett repeated Annelise's own earlier words back to her.
Annelise nodded in firm agreement. "Yes, you're quite right. It isn't right. But I think questions of morality oughtn't be enforced through law — that runs against the very principle of law itself. I think education would serve far better than the courts."
"But what if Thea does it again next time?" Scarlett teased.
"You absolutely must—!" Annelise's voice caught for a moment, and Scarlett could feel her reining in some inner excitement.
"You absolutely must hand her over to me. I'll educate her properly."
Before long, Evelyn saw Scarlett out the door and returned to the tea room.
At once she found her young mistress sulking at the teapot, drinking cup after cup, muttering something under her breath about how the one who gets to be intimate with Thea should be me.
Evelyn brought over two plates of cake for Annelise to have with her tea.
Annelise burst out, "Evelyn! I want to become a Transcendent too!"
"No." The lady's maid's voice didn't so much as ripple.
This diligent, dutiful maid Evelyn was tall, her golden hair bound into a ponytail, all crisp and capable. She had served Annelise in the Mercurie household for over a decade — had practically raised her from a child — and knew the young mistress inside and out.
Annelise's temperament ran to one-day enthusiasms: in love with one thing today, with something else tomorrow.
Evelyn picked up a slice of cake and ate it herself. "By the Lady's instruction, unless you gain admission to St. Roland's and take holy orders from the Church, you may not perform any Transcendent ritual — much less enter the Nightmare. That is also the Mercurie family precept. If I indulged your whims, I'd be the one dismissed."
Annelise threw a tantrum, slamming her teacup down with a clack. "Evelyn! I'm dismissing you right now!"
"I shall relay that to the Lady. And if the Lady agrees…"
"Wahh! Don't tell Mama, she'll spank me!"
"For the safety of both you and your backside, I'd still advise you not to dismiss me."
Helpless, Annelise shoved Evelyn out of the tea room in a fit of pique and slammed the door shut with a bang.
Children in their teens are often deep in their rebellious years, and Annelise was no exception.
Truthfully, she really did want to try becoming a Transcendent — and not only because of Thea, but because of all those rich, vivid Nightmares.
The school had an underground occult society, made up entirely of well-connected noble children. They were forever diving into the Nightmare to experience what they called a "second life" — and Annelise could only watch from the sidelines.
When everyone else is playing the game and you're the only one not playing, you naturally end up with nothing to talk about. That was a large part of why she'd never quite managed to fit in with her classmates.
So the more Earl and Lady Mercurie forbade it, the more curious Annelise grew about that mysterious side of the world.
An advancement ritual — Thea would certainly have one. No, I can't drag her into it… Angela and the others at school mentioned there's an underground gathering of some Transcendent organization at the Woodpecker Tavern next month. Hm. Maybe I could get my hands on an advancement ritual there.
Having obtained the family details on Quickhand Pete, Thea was in no hurry to make her move. Instead she went first to the Cathedral of Our Lady.
The Suppression Bureau had no shortage of material on the nine paths — but it was concentrated almost entirely on the Holy Grail, Forge-Hammer, King, and Alchemy paths. There was little on the rest.
As for the Seer path that Quickhand Pete walked, the records were scarcer still.
And on the subject of the Nightmare — there was next to nothing at all.
For Transcendent knowledge of this kind, if the Bureau had no records, then the best recourse was to turn to the Church.
Besides — her Transcendent trait Light in the Blood required her first to burn holy wood, or gold pounds, or gold, in order to harvest holy light. Gold pounds and gold were far too dear, so Thea intended to go cadge a little holy wood to burn.
The carriage ran the whole way and pulled up smoothly outside the Cathedral of Our Lady.
The cathedral looked much as it had sixteen years ago — only with rather more people in it now. This counted, for Thea, as a return to old haunts. After making her inquiries, she went straight for the confessional, where she found Bishop Marshall, who had just finished saying Mass.
The old man looked far less vigorous than Canthus had. His skin hung loose, he seemed near the end of his days, and more often than not he sat on the pew with his eyes squinted half shut, drifting between waking and sleep.
When Thea arrived, Bishop Marshall stirred, dazed. "Oh… little Isa has come…"
"You've likely mistaken me for someone else. I'm Thea Sorelle — I made an appointment ahead of time."
Thea produced her Bureau credentials, the silver shield and gold crown glinting in the light of the holy candles.
The old man chuckled. "Oh, oh — it's little Sorelle. I still remember your sister."
Thea was startled. "You know my sister, too?"
"I do. That would have been two or three years ago now. I gave an open lecture at St. Roland's, and she came all the way from National University to sit in on it. A gifted one, she is — just like you."
"You flatter me. I don't think I have any gift to speak of."
The old bishop smiled, eyes crinkling. "Excessive modesty is no good habit in the young. To kill Canaan Ogre single-handed is no simple matter. And to come first in an advancement ritual, besides…"
"How do you know about that?"
"Ha ha ha! Don't ask too many questions, young one. Sometimes the answers rise to the surface on their own."
Thea walked over and took the old man by the arm. Marshall rose slowly, leaning on his cane, and couldn't help a wry chuckle. "When you come bearing Bureau credentials, I know for certain you're up to no good, child. Out with it, then — what is it you mean to trouble this old bones about?"
"I'd like to learn a few things about the Seer path — and about the Nightmare."