Sao had indeed been kidding about wanting to join Rai’s hunt for the Sparrow gang, and about wanting to stay out at all. Once home, he hit all three titanium bolts of the front door into place, took a hot shower, peeled his day face off and pulled on a robe. Then he unrolled himself onto the luxurious butter-soft chaise-lounge that was the centerpiece of his living room. His silent metal heater soon had the air as warm as springtime.

Making calls was much easier this way. Enthroned in a cloud of white cushions, the spaceship-metal telephone at his side, he felt he actually had some authority.

Calls. He took the list from the top. A few of the businesses were already closed. He omitted the gang from his survey, who had no contact information, and figured there were better candidates to grill Cadmus at the hospital if the time came.

He made a speck more progress with the cleaning company, who confided in him that several workers were fired at the Flemings’ complaints - but it all happened over a decade ago. Via email, the hospital confirmed an activity log to be sent to the office the next day. The gardener/groundskeeping group was busy - to be expected, with Rai storming their offices.

Sao left Rai’s omen for last. The little red star in his supervisor’s spidering scrawl sat knowingly beside a the name: Shadow Works.

Sao pushed his phone aside and ran a quick search for the company.

A few ambiguous events with pricey tickets were the first result, and a press release for an unrelated company. Shadow Works’ own website was a complete mystery, a full screen of black followed by a slide of white, with enigmatic proclamations boldly telling all who dared to gaze upon them:

an eon of expression

birth of the next movement

relevance or death

Relevant to what? There were no links, biographies, or even full sentences. Evidently not a company that needed a website to pull clientele. At the very bottom of the page was an unhelpful stylized map, a phone number and email over a tiny line of copyright. Shadow Works Gallery and Design. All rights reserved.

Like a speck of reality in a sea of abstraction, tenuously connecting the two worlds. A bit like two pseudo-detectives trying to deliver news to a snow covered manor, eyed by hollow statue men, over wax circles and under a roof of bones. Or the picture of the Flemings with all their clamor setting up in a plain room at the public hospital. Though the latter was more an abstraction invading reality. And the Flemings were much more than a speck.

Sao stalled a little more before dialing the number.

“Shadow Works. Your call may be monitored to ensure quality.”

The clipped male voice recited the words with such clarity Sao thought he’d been put on hold by a robot. Only when he heard breathing did he realize someone was on the other end.

“Good evening,” Sao said, “Am I speaking with Mr. Umbre?”

“What is this regarding?”

The voice was cold. Best not barge in with police demands. “I was hoping to speak to him. I was referred to him by the Fleming family, you see--”

“Your associate called before and as I told him, I am not at liberty to speak on the matter and Mr. Umbre will not be contacting the police unless you are able to give a solid reason for intruding in such a personal-”

Sao recalled the Flemings arguing about an Umbre character. He’d just been tossed a line. Now if he could keep it from tangling...

“Hold on, my associate? Police? Is Mr. Umbre alright?”

A slight thaw. “I’m sorry, may I know again who is speaking?”

Sao inspected his reflection in the dark expanse of his television and wondered who he should be. “I’m calling on behalf of the Chimera Corporation. We’re looking into possible suppliers for a new space, slated to open this spring and, well, our previous provider may not be able to follow through, so we’re in a bit of a bind. Are you open to new projects? I can call back later, if now’s not a good time, but...”

A minor lie, but he’d get through it. Plus the Chimera name tended to hook people’s attention.

“Oh.” It was a nice sound, he had finally cracked a welcome from that cold voice. “Chimera, you said? Yes, we would be happy to hear more, if you could give us a brief summary of your concept and timeline… any current materials or specifications… Oh.” There it was again. “And my sincerest apologies for the misunderstanding. My fault entirely.”

“No trouble at all.” Sao added, “I’ll bet it’s been a long day.”

“Oh, no more than usual, other than the snow, and the strange calls. Can you tell me a bit more about your project?”

Sao returned to studying his own apartment. This ploy called for some inspiration. “That’s right. A space in a repurposed building, can’t reveal the location just yet, but it’s large, a couple thousand square feet.” Fingers crossed that this was not too small-minded for Chimera or Shadow Works. “Low roof, it’s something of a studio, large open floorplan… we’re open to options.”

“Did you have some idea of the image you were going for…?”

“In a word...” he juggled a few in his head. “Rustic.”

“Rustic.” The sound of typing - this was being taken seriously.

“Dark wood, black iron, velvet padding, that sort of palette. Raw materials, with versatility.” He thought of the Fleming house. “Reminiscent of an old mansion, a place for gatherings involving all ages. Where all generations can make themselves at home. Most think of chrome and huge flatscreens when they think of Chimera, but the new space is taking a slightly different approach from the existing brand. Actually, it’s been developed under a modified name. Exclusive information, until it opens. Hopefully we’ll get that far.”

“Definitely.”

“So we’d like… something that takes you out of the city a bit. Still civilized, refined but with an essence of the old, the traditional.”

“I see, I see. Very helpful.”

It was the sort of mandatory compliment that meant the speaker had come to a conclusion, but was keeping it under wraps. Sao often handed out this sort of compliment himself.

“Would you have a cursory budget?” the receptionist asked.

“Oh, well, like I said, we are extremely open to options. After our old contract vanished, the… head of the project… is in a rough spot, he will likely accommodate anything as long as it fits his vision. He likes...” Sao picked around for something a Chimera Corporation head would like. The trouble was, none of it was remotely rustic. “Well, I know he’s got some idea references, sketches and photos...”

“Perhaps a proposal?”

“Yes, of course,” Sao said quickly. “We have one… from the previous contract. All the details. If you’re willing to look it over, I’ll have someone do a quick run-through and send you an updated document.”

“That would be perfect. I’ll send it straight through to management.”

“Wonderful.”

Voices sparkled, the deal was done. Well, it wasn’t a real deal. The proposal would never come, but the nice fellow on the other end didn’t have to know. Sao almost broke into his relieved outro, thank you so much, goodbye, but caught himself. He wasn’t done.

“Confidentially, and I’m glad you’re going the extra mile for us, are you sure...” he began, inserting a pause for good measure. “Are you sure you’ll have the time?”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you said there was some police business happening? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry, but if there are any unforeseen delays, the timeline can’t... ”

“Oh, don’t worry about those calls I spoke of,” the receptionist said quickly. “The police were only interested in knowing Mr. Umbre’s thoughts on a case completely unrelated to the business. Some incidents going on with an old acquaintance of his, family turmoil. Just some bad luck.”

“Ah, the Flemings perhaps.”

He was careful not to pose it as a question. He already knew the answer anyway.

“It really has been nothing but bad luck for them.” Sao sighed. “Spoke to them earlier. They were the ones who recommended your firm. Friends of mine, in a way. They’ve been through hell lately, putting on a brave face, but...”

“Mr. Fleming got out of hospital for a serious condition just a while ago, I heard.”

“Yes, but…” Sao kicked his legs out on the couch. “I guess the rest hasn’t made the news yet. One death in the family is bad enough, for them It’s like a recurring nightmare.”

“Goodness. I hope things get better soon.” A cautious offering, but he could sense some care. Or perhaps the care was directed into keeping their business deal intact. Better than no care at all.

Sao replied sadly, “I’d hope so too. It’s quite the tragedy. Two tragedies now. Well, I can’t fault Mr. Umbre for not wanting to talk about that horror. Assuming that’s what the police were calling for, and they broke the news to him...”

“Mr. Umbre was good friends with the Flemings. The mother Sibil, especially...”

“I caught the sense of it, but I never did get to meet her.”

“She passed away, but this case can’t be about her, it was several decades ago. Mr. Umbre still speaks of the gallery items that she bought from him, they were close. There are even a few photos of her in here in the office, with her pieces, when she came in...”

“The husband too?”

“I’ve seen him, but we’ve not spoken. Busy with the family business, I assume, not as good a friend as the wife. Though between you and me, Mr. Umbre was fairly distraught at the time of Mr. Fleming’s hospital stay. He took some leave then, said he might visit.”

Umbre at the hospital. Perhaps a participant in one of the Flemings’ many squabbles. That might explain why Art would put him on a suspect list.

The receptionist continued, “He talked about Mrs. Fleming a few times, said she had an eye for interesting pieces. And the children...”

“The triplets.”

“Triplets… No, I suppose the children he spoke of are grown up.”

“Art and Chiro.”

“Those might be the names. Yes, that’s one of them. Art, I remember. Last interaction we had with them was for her wedding, I think. Well, a few gifts. Bespoke creations; Umbre’s known them since they were children so...”

“Yes, they showed me a few works around the house… beautiful place...” Sao waited, but the receptionist did not offer descriptions, so it was best to get off before the expectation landed back on him. “I’m getting off track. I suppose Mr. Umbre may not be available if the Flemings need him...”

“No, no. I understand your concern. But we will most definitely have somebody look over your proposal. And Mr. Umbre’s sure to be in the office tomorrow, I’ll let him know that a friend of the Flemings called.”

“If that will help things along. Thank you,” Sao laughed. He sensed a small responding chuckle from the other end. “We would appreciate Mr. Umbre’s honest appraisal.”

“We’ll do our best.”

Sao thanked the receptionist again, through the offer of an email address, a contact number, and more promises of promptness. He finished with ‘have a lovely weekend’ and meant it. He hung up the phone knowing he should feel proud of himself, information gained, and nobody left the line hostile. But he wished really did have a proposal to send. The receptionist had been a good sport and besides, the made-up Chimera loft sounded quite appealing.

And he hadn’t really managed to talk to Umbre yet.

He lay submerged in the pillows for a few minutes then, as if it would free him of the disappointment, dislodged himself and walked to the kitchen. In the slick, almost aqueous metal finish of every implement, his reflection was eyeing him. Waiting for something. He tried not to face them and refilled the water heater (whatever happened to kettles?) and set it to boil.

He considered heating water in pans like in movies where people lived in mountain cabins, but he was all too likely to burn himself. The water heater was safer. He watched its blinking red light and sparked an idea.

Someone had to call him first.

Sao returned to the living room and placed his hands on the bottom of the television and gave it an experimental lift. It didn’t move much, but the strain and noise was monstrous (a considerable amount from his own wheezing lungs).

After only a few inches of progress, silver landline began to ring. Relieved, Sao left the television and went to pick up the call.

“Evening.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Sao looked at the miniscule arc of cleared dust under the television. All his effort had resulted in that. “Being watched. And I’m right.”

“Very funny. The sensors were going off because you decided to try some deadlifts. Remember? Got them put in after your ex-girlfriend broke the heater.”

“That wasn’t a girlfriend.”

“Even before her, I told you not to move anything. What am I gonna do when a real tenant comes up and sees the TV in pieces all over the floor? You realize I could toss you out of there any day now? There are kids in the company who’d actually pay for it.” A click of the tongue. “And just look at yourself. A strong breeze could snap you in half. You won’t be smiling once you give yourself a hernia.”

“I know.” Sao settled back on the edge of the couch.

“So what the hell were you doing? Speak clearly, I’ll have to file insurance when you drop the damn thing and crush your neck.”

Sao rolled back onto the headrest. “I was wondering if there was space for a some art behind there. Maybe a painting.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll bet you are.”

“In truth, I was hoping to speak to you about something work-related, Hro.”

He heard his landlord breathing. This was not the hesitation of a considerate phone-user but the laboriously repressed wheeze of someone far above his pay grade trying to withhold a barrage at someone who dearly deserved it. The head of Chimera hated taking calls. Though in this case, he had been the one to call, and was regretting it.

“Go through reception like a normal human being,” Hro growled in a remarkable show of self-control.

Chimera’s receptionists. Now there was a chilling thought, the men and women who seemed to be composed entirely of starch, ramrod straight behind glass desks with voices like drones. He was sure some of them really were mechanical. And they were programmed to reject, reject, reject. Just considering a call made Sao want to redial Shadow Works for fun. “It’s fairly urgent. This seemed like the quickest way.”

“As if you’re the only one with issues.”

“Would you be able to get me a temporary Chimera email so I can send out something for tomorrow?”

More silent blustering. “In case you forgot, you don’t represent the company.”

“It’s for an investigation. You can review the mail before it goes out, it’s nothing sensitive. Just going to be a bit of fluff to keep a lead going, in case--”

“Some kind of interior design proposal. I know.”

“You’re listening to my calls now?”

“I assume you wanted me to, using the landline and invoking the Chimera name.” Hro sniffed. “I don’t know what how you think it will help you with the Fleming case, Shadow Works is one of the most exclusive designers in Central. Forget about any further contact. Whether you get a proposal to them or not, they’re not interested.”

“You know the company?”

“I know of them. I don’t live in a cave. Never been interested in their work, it’s all old shitty material like wormy shipping pallets and damaged wires, slapped together and calling itself thoughtful. No purpose. And a zero point match for the Chimera brand - the hell were you thinking? Rustic space, god. There are far easier - not to mention cost-effective - ways to contract tetanus.”

“Not a customer then.” Sao heard the water heater ping pleasantly in the kitchen. “Of course, the whole story’s just a cover. I can send a nice ‘change of plans, sorry’ when that line of investigation’s done. I just got a good feel from the receptionist I spoke to.”

“You thought they were really interested? Shadow’s interior projects cost several mil - and they know that Chimera will never want anything to do with them. Take it from me - Chimera’s my company, so I have a decent grasp of its style. Your story’s more suspicious than whatever cop blasted them with calls earlier. If that reception crony doesn’t get it, his boss will. He’ll shut it down. You’ll never get any kind of response.”

Sao felt bad for the reception crony. “Two people are dead, we need to try.”

“I can’t believe your supervisor lets you anywhere near investigations. Last thing the police need is a bleeding heart leaking all over their their corpses and crime scenes.”

Words that could have come straight from Rai’s mouth. The corners of his own mouth twitched upward, as Sao reflected how alike the two men were. They took their distance, perhaps with spotted distaste for him in particular, but made their voices heard. Only Hro had longer arms, so to speak. He saw everything, heard everything. Chimera had cameras at every corner and desk in the city and behind the cameras sat Hro. Atop a mountain of money and data and human lives, irrational or not, when he was angry, people worried. They had to. Rai blowing a fuse on the phone might get himself suspended, Hro going into the same could cost your house and future.

But with heftier targets in his sights, Hro didn’t honestly have time to waste on peons like Sao. The only fun he had from the dirty masses were the terrified reactions he might strangle out, free of cost. The important thing was not to give him such relief - keep him talking, conceding points once in a while to keep him on the line. A delicate trick. And Sao had a few cards besides that. He smiled blandly with the phone to his head.

“The police are short-handed, and I’ll admit that’s one reason I’m allowed on cases,” Sao said. “This is partially out of guilt. It’s so rare to hear a serviceable receptionist these days, I’d had to think I’m punishing good service...”

“Well, you’ll live.”

“And the Flemings need help. If this connection to Umbre can be even remotely useful I’d like to see it through. I did meet the Flemings earlier today - I wasn’t lying about their condition.”

“Grandpa had some health problems. But that’s not really what the case is about, I’m guessing.”

“Two deaths in the family. Uncle and child. The child was only twelve.” He heard the soft padding of a keyboard - quiet typing. He wondered if Hro had pulled up all the information as they spoke. Hro’s sources would cover the hospitals, tabloids and more. “Do you know anything about them?” Sao asked tentatively.

“The Flemings aren’t Chimera customers.” This fact laid the rest out with disgust. “All I know is they’re rich, lot of old money, old industries and dumb as bricks. All press in the last five years have basically been public tantrums.”

“That just makes me worry for the more, in a way.”

“As I said. You’ll live.”

“Old money. Must be comfortable, almost like you don’t have to grow up. Their house is like something from a storybook. But it does concern me - living in seclusion, I don’t think they were prepared for the publicity of it all, Red Fleming’s incident, or the deaths. None of those would be pleasant on its own, but all at once...”

“No security system, no cell coverage, no network, a lot of chest beating - their kind is dying out for a reason. Being rich is no guarantee of character - they don’t care about you any more than Umbre does. From the sound of them, you could come with a fully proven solution, criminal in cuffs and they would be more interested in chasing you off the grounds. Save time trying to save people who are interested in helping themselves.”

Almost comforting words from Hro. But Sao continued sadly, “These tragedies, how the Flemings behave… I don’t know. They’re irrational, but it’s the logic of children, not monsters.”

“Red Fleming is almost 80 years old.”

“That’s the point - they’re irreparably out of touch, but it’s not really their fault, by luck they’ve been able to survive otherwise. It’s why I feel so sorry for them. You should have heard the father - Carion. Before we left, he must feel the same, he took me aside and said if all the money--”

“He has three - well, two kids stuck in that house. Ingrained in the family whether he likes it or not. He’s probably been covering up and kissing boots for years.”

Sao grit his teeth. “I just want to help them. Part of being with the police.”

“It’s only two people dead. Why do you care so much? I guarantee the cops don’t and the Flemings don’t, and won’t once you leave it. What’s so funny?”

“You sound like my supervisor.”

“And you sound like Van,” Hro snapped back.

Sao weighed that. It came out positive. “Thanks. Congratulate him on his promotion for me.”

“He didn’t want it.” Hro released a long sigh, unable to consider Van with the tension that had festered. “I don’t understand either of you. So many ways out, and you choose to stay rolling in the mud, getting yourself nowhere, just stuck feeling sorry for everyone else.”

Van was Hro’s older brother. They were both some of the most put-together people Sao knew. But unlike Hro, wound tight in his complex network of data and wires, Van was free-roaming, had a sporting temperament and was a clear fan of everyday ‘mud’.

Van was a middle-ranking police combat specialist, with miraculously little interest in moving up. He was frequently shortlisted as the new chief of the Central force (the current chief could only dream of such reprieve), but Van deflected it all with a grin, put the chief in an incomparable headlock and went ‘but where would we be without you?’ Sao wasn’t sure he’d say Van felt sorry for people so much as he had a bottomless enthusiasm for what they could do. They could kill, they could save. They could surprise. They could join the police football team. That was not to say he had no space for those who could not save or kill or play; despite Sao having a phobia that ruled out football and being useful as a wet napkin in all other sports, let alone combat, he considered Van one of his more trusted confidants at Central HQ.

Van was also one of the chosen few who could get through to Hro, and a living template for for to deal with his frigid brother.

Sao stretched a bit. Unlike his fellow ‘bleeding heart’, Van was built like a tank and could haul televisions with ease. Sao tried not to consider that bit. “We’re making the most of life. You can’t get away from people, so...”

“You just jump right in with the worst you can find. At least choose your crowd wisely. What have the Flemings done for you?”

“Is losing two family members not enough? You’ve never met them.”

“Meeting people is a great way to lose all objectivity.”

Objectivity. “Well, and there’s also the odd circumstances to this case.”

“Great, I can’t wait to hear you rephrase this all as some scientific greater good.”

“My boss suspects there’s some magic at work. A curse. The bodies weren’t harmed...”

“Cardiac arrest.”

“And there was the blood dumped over the uncle’s body. Pig and human.” Sao quickly hurried to add, “And a wax double pentagram under the snow where he was found. The gazebo at the location had animal bones hidden in the roof.”

Hro was quiet. The last two points had him in a bind, he couldn’t have known them yet since Rai and Sao had only uncovered the circle and bones hours before. “Sounds like the Flemings or their staff have some archaic hobbies,” he said.

“My boss is checking out the gardening crew now. But if it was the Flemings who set it up...” Sao considered the bones in Karik’s hand. “Why would they harm their own?”

“They’re not a pleasant crowd. You don’t seriously think that the mere label of family is enough to guarantee nobody would ever harm another.”

“Try that philosophy on Van, see what he thinks.”

“I already know what he’ll think. He’s like you. Likes to think everyone’s a hero. His imagination’s all over the place.”

“Imagination, is it?” Sao gazed at the notch in his ceiling where the smoke detector, and he supposed the camera, was housed. “Bear with me a minute more. What do you think of magic?”

Perhaps Hro finally lost patience, because the line was silent.

“Blood sacrifice, magic circles and animal bones. Then two Flemings, one after the other, inexplicably go out into that garden and die of unknown cause. So much unexplained, but the protocol for handling magic crime is so underdeveloped, I was thinking… well, what do you think?”

“What do I think?”

“Is a magic attack possible...?”

“Of course it is,” Hro snapped. “Magicians exist. The military have made corpses walk and deserts into forests and made blades rain from the sky. I’m sure the recipe for a heart attack is written down somewhere. But medical magic is no walk in the park. The keys for any useful spells aren’t open to petty criminals, and usually require more than one caster, even. Bigger ancient spells can only be accessed by bloodlines that are under heavy surveillance. The issue then is, is there anyone with those kinds of abilities just running around, with the resources to waste taking potshots at the Flemings?”

“They may have enemies in high places.”

“Yes, but when you’re talking magic of that caliber, the user is probably sitting pretty in a mansion of their own, and aren’t going to bother.”

“It’s not blades in the sky, it’s just a curse targeting one family, Hro.”

“Listen to you downplaying it now. You realize if conjuring up a heart attack was so easy, we’d all be dead, right? Where did you get that idea, anyway? Are the police so sure it’s a curse?”

“Not sure at all. But if it is, even if we can’t stop it, we should find out as much as we can. You’re not wrong, the police are woefully underprepared for magic crime. Anything we learn will be helpful. Even if nobody is saved.”

Hro silent again, then he spoke and Sao was sure he could hear that sneer over the line. “You’re too soft in the head to really think that.”

Sao shrugged. “It’s my boss’s reasoning.”

“Well, at least he has some sense. Despite chasing after a curse.”

“And you two are of the same mind when it comes to the Flemings. For you it’s not the people, but the discovery, the confrontation... making the news...”

“In what world have I wanted to make the news?” Hro snapped.

Sao gave the ceiling an angelic smile. Hro grunted and went at his computer again, keys drumming with distinct beats. Sao wondered if Rai and Hro used the same kind of keyboard, the one with raised buttons that Rai played with such a chaotic noise that Sao wondered if the thing worked at all. Hro and Rai may have similar taste, but in action Sao had to admit Hro had a more delicate touch. He had reason to. Years ago, before his arrival at Chimera and the following boom in company stock, Hro had injured his hands a rather embarrassing accident. His palms were permanent angry welts, though they were often covered with the most expensive gloves he could find.

Gloves were another shared taste, weren’t they?

The clatter petered out. “Sent you the proposal.”

“Sorry?”

“Quit staring at the lights and check your inbox. Company email and a copy of some old proposal for that disgusting basement project I abandoned years back. The place was a shithole, more mold than paint. Best fit I had for your farmhouse loft idea.”

“Absolutely fine. Thank you so much.” Sao pushed back the argument he had regarding the difference between farmhouses and stately manors.

“So now you can quit feeling bad for the Shadow receptionist. That’s really what this was about, wasn’t it?”

Sao laughed. “I thought I gave a good show.”

“Half an hour I’ll never get back. My shredded ears aside, it was just two minutes of work. New address, fabricated file. Easier than continuing this conversation.”

“A new identity just thrown together in two minutes,” Sao whistled. “Technology is something.”

“A shot more reliable than magic, anyway.” Hro had been expecting the compliment. “And if you do find a this magical cursing killer, drop me a line. I doubt the magical prosecution process is what it should be, but I can make sure they and anyone they conceivably care about will never take a free breath again anywhere near the Central region.”

“Thanks for the... reassurance.”

“Things are too quiet. The Chimera network needs a challenge. I’ve always wanted to see if it could shut someone down completely.”

Sao laughed. “I don’t know, facing off against mysterious supernatural forces raining fire and blades and heart attacks...”

“Razing a city to the ground is hardly a victory,” Hro snapped, as if Sao were an unruly student. “Who wants to be king of a wasteland? Old magic lords all fell not because they were overpowered but because humankind moved on without them. Once the rabble groups up, grows brains and sprout a better lifestyle, so much that you want in yourself, the god-king, who spent their life learning how to do nothing but menace and destroy, suddenly has to suck it up and hope he has more to offer. Sounds a little like our old crewmates, huh?”

“Huh.”

“What do you think would happen if I suddenly dropped dead of a heart attack? If Chimera ground to a halt?”

Sao couldn’t imagine it. “I’ll lose this nice flat.”

“You, and many others, will lose a lot more than that. Think about it. The fact that someone like you has a roof over your head at all. We don't fight with destruction, but with appeal. The smarter wizards have given up trying to resist; give up maintaining family wells so they can study circuit welding. With machines and masses running happily, you no longer needs slave sacrifices to run a farm. You don’t need to run a lucky bloodline get good food, you can travel by napping on a plane instead of subjugating your way across a continent, you get endless entertainment and can talk with anyone from miles away without committing your soul to a god. And it all works just as well for those wretched enough to be born without magic, who would have been nothing but livestock to the old lords. Life is so much better when you don’t worry about those things - you don’t have to.”

“So you’ll kill them with kindness.” He knew Hro would hate that.

“It’s the standard, and they still have to earn their keep. Spellcasters have never offered to set up power lines or mobilize telephone installations, so they can pay the lowly riffraff to do it, or become part of the riffraff themselves. Call me up when they develop a blessing to ensure network speeds. The rest are good as glorified gun owners and should be treated as such.”

“You should work for the police.”

“Hah. What am I doing now?” Hro was tapping something, with even, piercing clicks. “But people like you and Van can only get so far. You see a human face and think, this person must be good. So you can’t do what’s needed.”

“But magicians are human, aren’t they? ”

“Anyone can call themselves ‘human’, as long as they keep their deal with the rest of humanity. The best deal on offer. More rewarding than any abstract spirit. Decide to be a demi-god and lose your rights. Your house, your car, crawl back to your icy castles.”

Sao sighed. “Theoretically, what if the machines break one day? Leaving us with no alternative. All of them, if some freak accident-”

“There are always alternatives. I and anyone with a shred of self worth will hang ourselves and the naturalists can enjoy sucking the tits of wizards and Life Fountains for the rest of eternity.”

At the mention of Life Fountains, Sao knew he wasn’t going to talk Hro out of his disgusted rampage. Magicians probably meant nothing to him at all - but lump them with Life Fountains and there he was, bombs lit, missiles primed. Their laziness, their greed, their apathy - for that kind of creature to be born with innate power and longevity, and even worse, be given rights by the city, burned Hro’s utilitarian pride something awful. He’d even go to bat for lowly mud-stained humans.

Hro was powerful in his own right, but he was paranoid. Sao wasn’t sure Hro had ever spoken to a Life Fountain.

“That’s grim, Hro.”

“Then you can keep dreaming. Go chase down this curse of yours.” Hro’s voice was sallow. “Even if you somehow hit it off with Umbre, I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“I know. I don’t think Shadow Works have much to do with curses and-”

“The Flemings are dumb but they’re rich, and obsessed with their isolation, clearly to the point of getting their family killed. But money means, if they don’t want to talk to you, you won’t get anywhere. Money’s as bad as magic. If they pick a fight, you’ll be doomed. Don’t get too attached to that curse theory. If you prove it, great...”

Sao was beginning to wish he could get some Fleming-style isolation. “No fear of Chimera being implicated, since you want nothing to do with magic.”

“What I mean is it’s probably not magic you have to worry about.” A pause. “Consider even the simplest alternative. Sometimes a heart attack is just a heart attack.”

Sao twirled the phone chord and smiled. “But is anything really so simple when the heart’s involved?”

The disgust was finally enough to get Hro off the line. “Don’t go touching anymore furniture,” he snarled, and the phone went dead.

---

Sao brewed some tea and made a few corrections to Hro’s proposal before sending it out, with an added apology for the rush job. As a reward he turned on the television and admired its jaunty new angle - it made the living room a bit more homey among the perfect grid of ice white and polished metal lines. He watched twelve minutes of a food traveller’s show before his eyes closed.

He wondered if Hro and Rai might get along. Hro had little patience for others, and Rai had little more, but Sao had never seen them facing anybody they could relate too. Occupation (and looks, and family history) aside, they were remarkably similar. But in his imagined meet-up, all they did was argue. Then they turned to him and began shouting, Hro’s hands in chamois leather gloves and Rai’s in scuffed polyester. Rai was surly but Hro was enraged in his honed, piercing way, and Sao cringed. That’s right, Hro would never agree to meet a Life Fountain.

Unrelenting arguments he couldn’t quite unpack, and he was back to the Fleming’s foyer. Art and Kris in a helpless frenzy. The shattered eggshell that was Karik. The little line of blood on his hands.

Hands.

Sao flinched and sat up. 7pm. An ideal early bedtime - but not for a child, right? The Flemings slept early - but that was not who he wanted to call.

Sao dug up Kuro’s sparse case log from the police filesystem. He studied the photos again. Cold and unyielding, as expected. The angles weren’t right. He flipped over to the list of witnesses and contacts and chose one.

“Hello?” came the brash reply.

A television was blaring in the backdrop - join us next time as we take our stomachs to the South seas - the same show that he was watching. Then a child’s voice - ‘Who is it?’

“Hello, ma’am. I’m calling from the police. Identification is...”

Sao started to identify himself but the woman was more interested in alerting the household - “It’s the cops! It’s about that poor kid, I bet!” Footsteps.

“Yes, this regards Kuro Fleming. Your son and his friends found him in the forest on Wednesday. I have a few additional questions for you and your son about what he saw at the scene, if that’s alright. Of course, if you need-”

“Sure, we can do that. Anything to help. Ivor, get in here! The policeman wants to talk to you!”

A ruffling noise. Then an eager young voice, “Will this get to be on TV?”

“I can’t say, but I’ll bring it up with management if you’re able to help us out, Ivor. Now, you found Kuro that morning with your friends?”

“Oh yeah. It was creepy.”

“You were all quite brave. Now, this might be difficult to remember, and if you feel uncomfortable, just hand the phone back to your mother - did any of you come close to him? Enough to see--”

“Oh yeah,” Ivor said again, without any discomfort at all. “Actually the girls didn’t. They thought he was gross or something, just took pictures with their phones, but me and the boys - we all got kinda close. I even touched him. You know...” A pause here, Ivor was not entirely oblivious. “To see if he was okay, right? Because he wasn’t moving. Just his hand, just a little bit, and he just flopped...”

“He did on his own?”

“No, we…” Was that the sound of a spit bubble? “We picked his hand up. He didn’t move. He was, you know...”

“Ivor, this is all very helpful. If you remember, was Kuro wearing gloves?”

“Nope. I know that for sure. Know why?”

“Why?” Sao asked, in revel of young Ivor’s sense of drama.

“Because I saw a big red cut on his hand. The inside, all over the, uhm, middle. The palm. It wasn’t bleeding or anything, but it might have been before, right?”

“You’re absolutely right. This is an important clue, and I’m glad you were able to let us know.”

“Yeah! Call me again, when you put the guy in jail.” There was unintelligible input from the mother, and when Ivor next spoke, it was a whisper. “You’ll catch who did it, right?”

“Whatever it takes,” Sao said, and tried to shove Hro fully out of mind at that.