Rai kicked the front door closed and shrugged his coat onto the bench. He considered going to the kitchen for a coffee, but headed to the office first to announce himself. In the office, he considered his new sofa, which appeared to be melting into the floor, and the hardwood bench beside it; uncomfortable, uncushioned twin to the one in his foyer. He opted for the bench.

“Well! I’m suspended for a week.”

“I’m sorry,” Sao said.

“Could be worse, considering Red Fleming is telling everyone who will listen that I’m responsible for the death of his granddaughter.”

The picture of placidity, Sao placed his mug onto the coffee table and continued to stare at his laptop screen. He knew Rai was testing which would weigh heavier on him: the suspension or the Flemings’ further misfortunes. He really did not want to think of either.

“No file requests and no badge flashing for a while.” Rai put his arms over the backrest. “Just regular old paper pushing from now ‘til next Wednesday. Of course, I keep a bunch of old cases on hand for rainy days like these, plus some personal projects. So to speak.” His eyes followed the snowfall. “I’ll lose my damn mind if I have nothing to do.”

Sao smiled. “I can’t imagine you ever having nothing to do.”

“Exactly.” Rai set set head on the window with a startling thud.

“I’ll admit, it’s a bit of a relief. Maybe bringing a new set of eyes to the Flemings’ case will see whatever we were missing.”

“Nobody’s taking over the case. Who would want to get involved, especially now? It’s back into the papery void for them.”

Sao already-tenuous focus on his work broke. He spun to face Rai. “But after Kris Fleming, surely everyone can see these aren’t simple accidents.”

“And there are hundreds of other unsolved murders hanging out in the archives. Nobody was on this case before. We picked it up, fooled around with it, and now--” Rai snorted.

Sao pressed his hand to his forehead, not caring if he smeared his face. “What a disaster. I’m sorry, really.”

Rai waved this off and left to console himself with coffee instead. He returned, mug in hand, and watched Sao do nothing for a while. “Don’t get hung up on it.”

“It’s hard not to. Have we doomed them? If we had never interfered, would--”

“Would the family never have considered curses, never contact the exorcists, never gone to the hospital? Maybe. But think about it - now it’s evident that the deaths of Chiro and Kuro were never accidents. They were already unsafe in their own house.” Rai crashed into his padded swivel chair. “The family are keeping Kris’s body in a private location, like they did with Kuro, but Cadmus got a brief look at her on the hospital roof. They didn’t get to do a full examination, but he said there wasn’t any blood, just some minor bruising, and she was all limp - she wasn’t dead long. So it’s the same pattern, curse, murderer, whatever. And he did see cuts on her hands, faint ones.”

“What was she doing up on the roof?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the killer moved her there. But I have another guess. Back in school, I would hide on the roof when there was trouble. Sometimes I wasn’t even in trouble, I just went there to get away. I don’t mean away from killers. Kris ran when Red started flipping out - she was running away from the embarrassment of her family.”

“And that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t started a fight-”

“Give it a rest.” Rai punched his computer keyboard to awaken it. “I’m just speculating. That’s all we can do. Because our involvement is over. For now.”

---

Rai’s declaration was followed by a few hours of strained silence. This was broken with some effort late in the afternoon when they tried to order lunch which turned into a diverting (if not entirely enjoyable) game of finding a place would deliver in the snow, and served food they would both agree on. Pizza was a safe bet, Sao thought, but Rai’s pizza of choice was just a smattering of white chicken and cheese, hold the sauce.

“There are ghosts less pale than this,” Sao said.

“Who says ghosts are white?” Rai cracked open a can of soda water.

“I suppose you’re right. It just looks ill.”

“It looks clean.”

“Pizza isn’t meant to be clean. You eat it with your hands.”

Rai dutifully removed his gloves to eat. The blue glow of his fingers striped the cheese with sickly green highlights.

“I’m not sure I can eat this,” Sao said, sampling only the very edge of a slice. When it did not poison him, he took a bigger bite and in ten minutes he finished his piece. “I owe you an apology. This isn’t bad. It’s mellow, very smooth. It could use some extra meat, perhaps onions for acidity in place of the sauce--”

“Don’t tell me you’re a pizza snob.”

“What do you mean? What I’m talking about is standard.”

Rai chewed impassively.

“I got pizza a lot back when I lived at...” Sao swept the word away as quickly as he could. “Home. The family house. A good amount of food for your money, especially if you maxed on cheaper toppings - dried fish and mushrooms can really make a meal. And it’s edible even after sitting in the fridge a week.”

“Okay, not a snob then.” Rai rolled his eyes. “I’m guessing you didn’t learn your pizza survival tricks in school?”

“School? I already had them by cleric training-”

“Before it. And before you moved back home.”

“Oh, the mansion? Definitely not. The tutors would sooner let us keep rats than eat day-old anchovy pizza. Not that we had pizza on on hand. There was nowhere within miles to sneak an order, and I can’t imagine the headmistress letting anyone misuse their antique ovens for such… uncouth projects. Finger food was to be to clean...” He eyed the remaining slices.

“Clean, uh?”

“I guess my pizza-related memories are not all that pleasant.” Sao searched for a napkin. “I had a wonderful duck and cucumber pizza when I spoke with Umbre.”

“This is the second time you’ve bought it up.”

“I know it sounds odd, but I thought, this is like nothing I’ve ever had. It didn’t remind me of my childhood in any way.”

“Sounds good.”

“You think so?”

“You said it was wonderful.”

“The food was amazing, of course. The feeling, though… the entire conversation...” Sao smiled. “I told you all the relevant information. But feeling, you had to be there.”

Slouched like an unbound sack over his swivel chair, Rai deflected all mysticism. “The guy’s weird, but Umbre and most of his staff were at a furniture showcase yesterday. So if there wasn’t any direct contact with Kris, if that matters."

“Does he know what happened?”

“No. I called him and checked with the venue, it was held in one of the warehouses around here. He was there all night. Gave a speech at the end of the event, around when Kris Fleming was found. There were recordings and everything. Besides, I’m not convinced he’s involved with this. He seemed too open about this relationship with them. If anything, I think he wants to be more involved, but can’t. Seems like that, from what he told you.”

“I got that feeling too.” Sao wished there was a little more than feeling to go on, but at least it was something. “I showed that runic circle from the Flemings’ lawn to a the scribe team at HQ. A couple dozen languages between them, including legacy dialects and some magical systems, but nobody could read those letters.”

“I know. I asked the chief if he knows any specialists, but who knows when he’ll get to it.”

Feeling mildly drained, Sao rested on his elbow. “Did the hospital footage clarify anything?”

“Not much. The camera outside the room wasn’t focused on the bed. Though, on the night Red woke up it does confirm that the Sparrows were taken in around 9pm, and Plato was called down about an hour later to pull three beds out of the room for the Flemings. Coma patients. He’s setting up some kind of machine in the hallway when Cadmus gets there, and then Cad went into the room and…” Rai shrugged. “There’s no sound, but from everyone’s testimonies, the sudden shakiness of the camera was probably caused by the Flemings cheering when Red woke up. They leave about thirty minutes later, then the rest - a doctor takes the Sparrows out, Cole takes a cleaning crew in. You can take a look if you want.”

“Sure.” Sao sighed. “So many people willing to talk about this, but so much still seems to be missing. That we’re missing.”

“Yeah, because the Flemings themselves are one of the few who aren’t willing to talk.”

“It’s not entirely their fault, though. How could you not be paranoid after so much?”

Rai’s face started to twist into disgust, but flattened out again. “There’s also Arilla. The Sparrow gang’s resident witch and bone-provider.”

“That’s right. She wasn’t in the hospital room at the time. It’s certainly suspicious, the fact that she’s passing out bones and is known as a magician. But it doesn’t feel right to assume she’s a killer… she just lost her lover to a violent accident that had nothing to do with the Flemings. I just wish we could have talked to her.”

“You wish?”

---

The highway flew by in streaks of black and grey.

“I thought we were dropping the case?”

“Neon told me to come over anytime today, and I’d hate to disappoint him after he messaged me personally.”

“You gave a gang member your phone number?”

“You want me to start giving out yours?” Rai stomped the accelerator as a van started encroaching on his lane. “He knew we wanted to speak to Arilla, so here we are. It all worked out.”

“But the investigation is suspended.”

Rai tapped the steering wheel deliberately, as if assessing this, but he was obviously preoccupied with the plodding driver in front of him. “We’re just dropping in on a friend. He has my personal number, after all. We might just happen to learn something, like how those kids happened to find Kuro Fleming. They weren’t police.”

“How astute.” Sao gave up and rested his head on the fogged window. It rattled precariously against the frame of the car.

“We’re almost there, don’t fall asleep. And make sure your face looks alright,” Rai said. “You still keep that bag of makeup and stuff?”

Sao looked into the side-view mirror. He wished he had something sweet.

---

The winter sun was already setting behind the container docks when they parked. Neon was home from the realtors, and gave them an effusive welcome, complete with a pot of coffee as black as his inked eyes. Sao assumed it was coffee, since Rai drank it. It tasted like kerosene.

Neon took them to the doorstep of a neighboring house, cups in hand, as if it were another room of his own house. After a knock, he pushed the unlocked door open and ushered them in. Rai entered first, Sao behind him. They found themselves in a living room that resembled Neon’s, with some delicate additions. A patterned throw lay across the unused couch, there were books neatly lining a shelf on the opposite wall, and there was wallpaper, a mosaic of tiny flowers and birds. The only indoor light was coming from the doorway of a back room. Neon remained on the front steps, outside.

“Arilla doesn’t like people crowding up her house. I’ll be waiting back at my place.”

“Is she expecting us?”

“Yep. Don’t worry.” Neon grinned at their vacant stares. “She’s not like us.”

He let the screen door swing shut.

Rai watched Neon’s tall shape stride down the front stairs and back toward his house. Then he look at Sao, expectantly.

“I guess your face looks alright.”

“Thanks?”

Rai nodded. “You lead this one then. The ladies tend to like you better.”

“I don’t think I’d be her type. This is the girlfriend of a gang member we’re talking about.”

“And a witch.”

Sao tried not to look into the empty bird cages hanging over the dining table as they entered the back room.

In the wood-paneled interior, between two potted plants and a short table streaked with dirt from a hasty clearing, sat a stooping twig of a woman. She peered up at them as if woken from some deep sleep. Sao felt as if he’d fallen into some odd dream himself. Arilla was a wispy figure, with a wrinkled face and toothpick ankles and wrists peeking out from a cotton dress so stiff and white he wondered how she could move. This was not a physique made for gang wars.

When she moved, Sao thought of the school matrons more intensely than ever; what bubbled to the top of his memories was the time his dormitory woke the headmistress with an illicit pillow fight, how she stood in the doorway, the tiniest and grimmest of the tutors in a starched nightdress - he had been scared for his life.

Arilla held out her hand. Rai stepped forward to shake it; saving Sao the need to both unstick his mind, and form an excuse. “Arilla. I’m Rai, this is Sao. We wanted to ask you a few questions regarding an investigation.”

“Yes, I heard about you boys from Neon. The Fleming family. It’s… a terrible thing that’s happened.” She motioned toward two simple wooden chairs beside the table. “Please, sit.”

Sao lingered by the door, but Rai immediately made himself comfortable. “Thanks.” He dropped his mug on the table and leaned forward, with his grim stare and cold smirk, a combination made Sao endlessly uncomfortable. “We heard a little about the accident that landed your gang in the hospital, and what happened to your boyfriend. I just want you to know, this isn’t about him, and if there’s anything we can do for you there --”

Creases spread from the edges of her mouth like cracks in glass. It was impossible to tell if she was smiling or frowning. “Please, I’d prefer not to talk about him right now.”

“Sure. We’ll keep this on the Flemings then.” Rai sat back. “Are you responsible for the bones that were found in the Sparrows hospital room?”

“Is this about the alleged curses in the newspapers?”

Rai’s smile was stony. “If you know anything about that too, by all means.”

“Yes, the bones are mine - I handed them out, in any case. It was just me, the boys don’t know where they’re from. And I only use bones from chickens, from the wet market, perfectly safe...”

“I don’t really care where they’re from. I want to know what they were for.”

Arilla blinked. “Is that it? Well… they’re charms. I gave a few supplements and instructions since I was headed upstairs with the doctors. I told Neon to tuck them into the bed frame, about six inches apart minimum, and if there weren’t enough, to use the charms I gave them. The bed lining is a standard ritual. Call it superstition.”

“Seems like the Sparrows believe it.”

“Because it works. Surely that was obvious from your conversation with Neon, he brings up that bathroom incident nearly every other breath. He’s a good boy, very careful, and belief does play a part in how effective the magic can be. I suppose Zef was more excitable.” The wrinkles around her mouth, whatever they signified, faded. “Lining the bed with blessed bones repels negative energies. It’s no instant cure, but it prevents existing ailments from worsening. To an extent… Zef must have been too far gone...”

She trailed off. Sao took a tentative step into the room. There was a sharp odor of synthetic pine. “I’m sorry. It sounded like an awful accident.”

“It was. But I loved that he didn’t believe as much as the others, it didn’t seem right to force spells and charms on those who don’t want it, but...”

Another round of silence. Rai, pawing the wrist under his glove, continued. “Did you give any instruction to put bones into the Flemings’ bed too?”

“No. No, we didn’t have enough bones to begin with, and I don’t think the Flemings would have appreciated it. Especially the father. And the mother...” her brow furrowed.

“So you met them?”

“Yes, briefly. I’m sorry, I did pass a charm along to one of the children. The quiet one, he just looked so haunted. Trapped. I didn’t get his name, but what I gave him was one of these...” Arilla reached to a miniature chest of drawers hidden behind one of the large fringed plants, and drew out a familiar string of bones. “I didn’t have anything else to comfort him.”

“It may have worked,” Sao said, with a small smile. “We saw the Flemings recently. One of the children did indeed have your charm on him.”

“How do you make these, anyway? How do you bless bones?”

Arilla’s feet shifted in oversize slippers. “Well, I buy the birds and remove the meat, and bleach them. For the beaks, I simply sanitize them. The shape and color make good focal point. Oh, not that it’s necessary. It just makes for a nicer appearance.” She held up the dark tip of the necklace - the shape Sao had compared to a tooth. “From there, I set it up some old incantations and runes...” She brushed Rai’s cup aside and dipped her finger into the grime on the table. “And let it absorb for a few days. The incantation determines their purpose. Protection, luck, vitality, that sort of thing. After around two days, I file them away. The magic fades after a time, so...”

“Do larger spells require bigger bones?”

Arilla traced a dark circle over the table. “It’s not the size that matters. The bones themselves are just a vessel for what spells the magician has at their disposal. In my case, it isn’t much, but that is no reflection on birds as a whole. One of the most powerful animists uses exclusively shrews‘ bones. A shrew skull and a drop of blood from each villager can accelerate harvests and revive dead fields. A particular species on the eastern continent, now largely extinct. Perhaps because of the practice.” Arilla sighed. “In recent times, acquiring the animals can be a bit of an issue. By virtue of animal cruelty precautions, animists are essentially outlawed, new magicians seem to simply use military stores or some other trick for a power source. The animist families most likely to survive are those that use common animals. Even then, things can be costly unless you own a farm.”

“Animists,” Rai said, unrolling the word out like some new treasure. “But you get your bones somehow.”

“From the market. The farmers sell live chickens once a month, the birds would be destined for someone’s dinner table anyway. No harm done...”

“Chickens. What others can you use?”

“There’s rarely anything better on hand. Pigeons, ducks, crows - small birds, my family has always used birds, I’m not capable of using anything more. My spells will only work on bird bones, and I don’t have the tools needed to clean other kinds.”

“Okay. So can bird bones really make someone better? Say, cure someone who’s really sick? What are the tangible effects?”

Arilla shook her head. “All these questions. It’s not an exact science. Any animist who says they can guarantee some great effect is likely taken to cruelty.”

Her bony finger drew a loop at the edge of the ash circle. Then another. Sao peered over her shoulder and read, “‘Blessing of... digestion?’”

She finished the line of letters and turned. “I’m surprised you can read my writing.”

“I’ve had some practice.” Sao stepped over to the table, letting his shadow fall on the miniature runic circle drawn in the ash. “But are these sort of circles usually written in a known language?”

“It’s… not set in stone. Very little about magic is, especially folk methods such as these. What’s important is the meaning to the person writing, so it’s often their native language...”

Sao pulled out his phone, and with a nod from Rai, placed it on the table so Arilla could see the photo of the wax circle taken at the Fleming’s garden. “Do these look like any language you know of?”

“Oh, these are... tiger stripes.” Arilla placed her hands on both sides of the image, leaning low to study the marks. “A bit of a generalization, but historical animists were often illiterate, or at least had no formal writing system. The earliest successful families - out east, anyhow - used tiger bones as their material, and stripes as a way of setting the incantation. The ‘stripes’ did not represent words per se, but were a way of storing the intended spell in a way that could be seen and understood. Pictograms, essentially. This looks something like it, yes, you see here, those are just spirals. Not letters or characters, must be very old.” she leaned close, straw-colored hair falling over the circle. “What’s the material? Wax? Someone intended the runes to last a while. Where did you find this?”

“Near the Fleming home.”

Arilla’s head flew up with an energy so sudden Sao stumbled backward into a plant. “Ah,” she said. “I see. And I suppose you’ve found some sort of animal bones near them that made you and those reporters suspect a curse is behind the Fleming deaths. And now this incantation circle…”

“There was blood, too.”

“Well, blood of the target can often help a spell along, to give it direction. Blood of relatives work well too. But to use too much blood… it’s barbaric. To an animal or a human. Clearly the magician behind this has little experience with modern methods. Even animists have moved along since the dark ages--”

Rai smiled, icily. “Oh, you’re familiar with how much blood was on the scene?

Arilla re-seated herself delicately. “I saw the photos, I’m acquainted with the Daily Paper. They interview me on occasion, for the magic columns. But this curse business is all speculation. And the demon theory is absurd.”

“How are curses set, anyhow?” Rai asked.

“I don’t know. They aren’t in my realm of understanding.”

“Do you know anyone who might know? Any animists, perhaps?”

Arilla rose. “I do not know. But I can tell you this: animists spells are almost exclusively blessings. Our innocent sacrifices would not enjoy being used otherwise and an animist who tries to harm will likely bring harm in return. Look at me. If I could truly use these spells for revenge or money, I wouldn’t be stuck in this place; wasting away, surrounded by roughnecks, my poor Zef...”

“Maybe one person’s idea of a blessing could be to punish another.”

Arilla’s hand shot forward, her draped sleeve falling loose. She pressed it to the table and swept once, then twice. The ash incantation had returned to being smears on the wood. Sao was backed against the wall. Another birdcage rattled beside his head. In it, he saw powder-white droppings, but no bird.

Rai remained seated, as if he were in his own office. “Did you just curse me?”

“I only wish I could, young man.”

Suddenly withering with exhaustion, Arilla fell like to her chair between the potted plants. The fronds rustled, and Arilla seemed rustled too, light as paper. “If they’d only asked me.”

Sao thought it was best to cut Rai off. “Who?”

“If those damned reporters had any thoughts in their heads other than a bombastic story, I’d have told them. Magic couldn’t do this.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t an animist. If you really cannot perform curses--.”

“This does not look like any curse.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sure even the Flemings know that.”

---

A steamer came to port. They always seemed to come at night. With smokestacks large as mountains on the horizon, it billowed dark clouds which charred over the stars, and turned the air sour. Rai rolled up the window and folded his arms over the steering column, which dipped feebly under his weight. “Don’t get mad. I’m calling the cops. On Arilla.”

“Why?”

“Bird cages and bones in her house. Animal cruelty. Some kinda espionage too, she knows way too much from her friends at the Daily whatever-it-is.”

“Yes, but… why?” Sao rolled his eyes to the roof for reprieve, but the rooftop window was covered and all he got was an eyeful of peeling felt interior. “Do you think she’s hiding something?”

“I don’t know. She’s pretty defensive of the whole bones and animist business, but I don’t think she’s behind the Fleming deaths, and having her in jail when another one happens will be proof of that.”

“Jail for her own good? You know prison’s not like a waiting room, right? This could cause serious problems, for her, and for us, especially if anything happens to her during her wrongful imprisonment. And you’re not even supposed to be on the case.”

“The station around here is pretty easygoing. It’s usually empty, she’ll have a bed and some dinner and I’ll let them know it’s mostly for her protection. I just need to keep her tied up for a day or two. And remember - we were just here visiting a friend. The police work is incidental.”

“You really can’t stop, can you? Neon won’t be so friendly when we arrest his friend’s girl… woman.”

“I’ll handle him.” Rai leaned further against the wheel, which dipped further, beckoning disaster. “Poor Zef had interesting taste in women. Very mature. Or maybe she’s the one who picked him...”

Sao pitched forward with a groan. Without a steering wheel to lean on, he ended up with his elbows on the glove compartment, which promptly fell off its hinges. “You need to fix this car.”

“I’m trying to fix things around the office. I’ll get to the car eventually. But first, the police. Then...” he hesitated. “Hear me out.”

“I’m here.”

Rai parted his gloved hands, as if opening a book. “Say you’re an old-timey animist and things aren’t going so well in your part of town. You need a blessing. You need bones. You need a farm.”

Sao stared.

“You live near a pig farm. You don’t own it or work on it, but you’re close. So you snatch some pigs and skin them, wash the bones and prick your fingers - raise your dead fields, power your harvest, all that good stuff. But now, everyone’s pissed at you for stealing those animals. Maybe they wanna shoot you, hang you. It’s not a nice part of the country. But one day, a rich girl turns up. Maybe she likes your bad boy style after a sheltered life, maybe likes how you handle pigs. You fall in love, or maybe she does. And you get out of there. Of course, you don’t want anyone to know your real name, so you ditch that. Move into a big, fancy house, and you don’t have to worry about bones or blessings anymore.”

“Carion.” Sao pressed his palm to his forehead.

Rai nodded. “The in-laws, surprise surprise, are monsters. Even if you love her, you definitely don’t love her brother. And the father is a control freak. When you have kids, things get stressful. One day, you think you’ll do away with the brother. Your wife doesn’t care much for him anyway.”

“Wait. Carion wouldn’t think that.”

“Why? Because you don’t? You don’t live in that house, and you haven’t exactly scraped yourself out of a farming village.” Rai continued unwinding his crooked fairytale. “So, you wanna off your brother in law. Nobody’s going out to the garden in the winter, so you buy your pig of choice with the millions at your fingertips, set up your bones, your circle, and your blood. Or rather, your kids’ blood, the ones who share a relation with your target. Just tell the kids we’re playing a little bloodletting game, maybe tell the wife it’s an accident. Then let it run and--” Rai puffed air, triumphantly blowing the imaginary Chiro away.

“But what about Kuro? I know Chiro wasn’t anyone’s favorite, but Kuro was his son...”

“Hm, maybe you told your wife you were gonna clean out the garden any day now, but something distracting happens. Like your father-in-law waking from a half-year coma. So you have all these filial duties and let the magic sit out too long. The kids’ blood pulls the spell toward them and...” Rai shrugged. “Tragedy. Detectives turn up, unearth your spell circle. Dad-in-law goes nuts, but of course you can’t just say what you did. So he calls the church brigade and on it goes.”

“So you think what happened to Kuro and Kris was an accident after all? A magic accident.”

Rai fell back into his seat and pulled out his phone. “There are still gaps in the story, sure. But I’ll bet Carion himself can fill us in. I think I can spin this in a way that will let the police march up there with a valid reason to take him in, at least for a few questions.”

“Careful. We’ll be claiming he killed his own children.”

“And if he did?”

That was the line to cross. Sao thought of Carion’s acid yellow eyes, etched with anxiety, behind the snow covered gate. Then their dull, dead glaze in the hospital when he’d resigned himself to violence under Red’s barking orders. Perhaps it was not that he had nothing to say, following the Flemings from one howling peak of emotion to another, but that the words he had were unspeakable that he’d take the Flemings’ blustering over it. Thinking back, when he had spoken to them alone, his anguish had been distinct, but miles away from Art or Red’s. It was something entirely his own.

It doesn’t matter how long it takes. Carion had said it at the gate. He’d accept the investigation could continue indefinitely, without an answer.

A throwaway list. Rai’s name for the list of suspects, which naturally, did not include Carion’s name.

Rai shifted in his seat, head thrown back, one hand on his phone, but still in gloves. He couldn’t work the phone screen with gloves on, but he appeared to be waiting. Doubting.

“So…” Rai drew out the words slowly, “What do you want to do now?”

Passing those doubts on. Defeated, Sao pressed his head to the window. “Call the police.”