As soon as Brennon crossed the threshold of the hospital, he caught the tension in the air. The staff huddled in corners, or even ran away, as if they were afraid that the Commissar would start to commit atrocities right from the doorstep.
"Do I have a reason for this?" - thought Nathan frowning, seeing the head doctor, who personally was in a hurry to meet him. The old man was pale and clearly scared.
"I'm sorry for the short delay, sir..."
"Are they suitable for conversation?"
"Well, you see, sir..."
"Are you still pumping them with morphine?"
"N-no, sir, I'm afraid the need for this has already disappeared."
"Are you afraid?" Brennon repeated slowly. The head doctor began to frantically wipe his pince-nez.
"Understand, of course, their injuries and serious blood loss..."
"In short!"
"We found them dead this morning," the doctor blurted out.
"Damn it!!"
The clerk behind the counter twitched his whole body, the doctor staggered back.
"Stay put," the commissar stared at the healer, and he instantly covered with perspiration. "In what sense - did you find them dead? You do not know what they died from?"
"No," the doctor whispered. "They just died, that's all. For no reason. I swear, sir, and I am ready to convene a commission of the best specialists to confirm: your suspects have been rendered all the necessary assistance! The most severe was the condition of the patient with fragmented ribs, but the other two..."
"Where?" Brennon said through set teeth.
"We took them to the hospital morgue, sir."
"Grat. Go!"
The doctor dutifully seeded ahead without shutting up for a minute:
"Sir, during the Revolution, God sees, I've treated more severed limbs than I've extracted bullets! I am completely confident in the work of my doctors and I guarantee that these two received proper help..."
"Then why did they die?" the commissar asked through gritted teeth, although he already guessed about the answer.
"I don't know, sir," the doctor hardly pulled out the heavy door of the morgue, and Nathan impatiently tore it at himself. The trembling finger of the healer pointed to three trestle beds covered with old sheets. Brennon pulled them off one by one; a note fluttered out from under the third to the floor.
"It was lying on the patient's chest," the doctor said. "We left everything as it was."
Nathan unfolded the sheet and recognized the handwriting in the first second. It darkened in his eyes for a moment by the fury, and only then the Commissar make out three lines:
"It's not me.
Found them like that.
Mortiferum somno."
This note from the pyromaniac did not burn - apparently, his desire to justify himself was stronger than the desire to destroy the traces.
"Can you translate?" Brennon poked the note under the doctor's nose. He hastily put on a pince-nez:
"Mortiferum somno - a deadly dream translated from Latin. Is this... is this a diagnosis?" The doctor said incredulously. "But there is no such disease! The lethargy which..."
"There is no disease," the Commissar hissed, "but there is some rubbish. Who was on duty yesterday from the moment I left?"
"Um... I will find out at the reception."
"Find them. All the nurses, all the doctors, all the employees down to the floor cleaner and the caretaker. We will interrogate everyone."
"We?"
"We, Blackwhit police," Brennon snapped. "This is a crime scene."
***
The consultant crawled with his square magnifying glass the floor around the beds, turned over all the linen, studied the walls - but by his face Nathan realized that he was trying only to clear his conscience. When Longsdale finally shook his head, the Commissar did not even curse. Three bodies, covered with sheets, were carried past him. He handed the consultant a note.
"He sends letters," Brennon creaked. "It's like I'm a pen pal."
"It's not him," Longsdale said, and carefully licked the edge of the letter. "The imprint on the spell does not belong to him."
"And to whom?"
The consultant shrugged.
"I do not know this person personally. Otherwise, I would have recognized it by spellprint."
"Great way to shut the mouth," Brennon muttered. "The day is generally f***. Yesterday we had only one mutilated corpse, and today - as many as four."
Longsdale looked down in embarrassment.
"Go to the department, help Kennedy with the autopsies. Have you examined the girl yet?"
"No. Kennedy has not finished yet."
"Byrne!"
"Yes, sir?" the detective said.
"You're in charge. Interrogate with Gallagher everyone in this hospital, including the blind, the deaf, and the demented. At least someone had to, damn it, notice this tough! Longsdale, I would like to borrow from your butler for a short while."
"Of course," the consultant answered a little in surprise. "Take him. What for?"
"I intend to talk with baby Peg," the Commissar said through set teeth. "And at the same time find out what hole the pyromaniac is roaming to her."
Having landed Jen at the gate for the servants, Brennon drove to the main entrance and let the police carriage go. The butler led the Commissar into the living room, where repairs were already being completed after the destruction caused by ifrit (and a goddamn pyromaniac!) In fact, the sight of the new windows and wallpaper caused Nathan something of remorse. Without the intervention of the pyromaniac, there would have been one common grave - at least sixteen people owed him their life.
Strange, Nathan thought, though the word could hardly describe the pyromaniac in his entirety. What drives him? Why is he doing all this? Why did he kill Jason Moore and Grace? Why would he need Margaret? Why on earth would he teach her spells?! Fortunately, Mrs. Sheridan entered the living room, interrupting his thoughts. From the first glance of his sister Brennon realized that they've been waiting for him.
"At last!" Martha said. "Where have you been so long?"
"Work," Nathan replied. In communication with her, he always adhered to the rule "Speak briefly - leave quickly." "Where's Peg??
"Peg is still in bed. The doctor forbade her to get up because your niece suffered a severe shock!"
"It can't be," Brennon said. "How did she survive?"
Mrs. Sheridan's eyes narrowed menacingly.
"Don't talk about her like that in my house. You can treat any victims as you like, but here I will not allow this."
"I don't treat them "as you like", but as a result of the fact that Peg wanders through all sorts of garbage completely unattended..."
"You can tell me how to raise a daughter when you'll have one of your own!"
"...as a result," Nathan continued, "we now have four mutilated corpses, and your daughter will be the fifth if she does not begin to tell the truth."
"The truth?" Mrs. Sheridan asked in surprise. "In what sense is the truth? You... what else are you hinting at?!"
"That I intend to interrogate her here and now, and you must be grateful that I did not call her to the department."
"Grateful?!" Mrs. Sheridan yelled piercingly. "You have the audacity to say that Peg is somehow involved in..."
"Marta," the Commissar said tiredly, "in our morgue lies the corpse of a girl which someone broke her face in porridge by a stone, and her physique, hair color and age are one in one with your daughter."
Mrs. Sheridan turned pale and sank into a chair. Brennon turn the coals in the fireplace with a poker, rejoicing for a short respite. Least of all did he want to arrange an inquiry at his sister's house, but Peg left him no choice. For her own safety.
"Did you tell Joseph?" Marta asked quietly.
"Not yet."
"And you think that someone... someone... oh Lord, but why?! For what?!"
"I have to talk to her. I do not blame her for anything except stupidity and recklessness, but I must know everything about what she has been doing over the past twenty-four hours."
"Can you protect her? You or your consultant?"
"I hope," Brennon muttered.
"If she won't bother me."
Martha is gone. Nathan stopped in front of the window with his hands in his pockets. This need - to lie to them for their own peace of mind - oppressed him. But, in the end, he has no right to destroy the peace of their family until he is convinced that Margaret coped with this herself.
"Good afternoon, uncle."
The girl looked tired, pale and exhausted, bluish shadows lay under her eyes, and behind the cuffs Brennon noticed bruises and the edge of the cut, extending under the sleeve. Nathan relented.
"Sit down, please."
Margaret sank into a chair and chilly wrapped in a large dark shawl. A light gray dress in a large brown check lay in waves around her like a fence.
"How do you feel?"
"Not good. I slept until almost eleven and still did not get enough sleep."
"Tell me about everything."
Margaret looked up at him with large dark eyes and gazed steadily at his face. A wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows.
"Hasn't Mister Longsdale already said all that is needed?"
"Yes. But he is a witness, and you are a victim. He did not see how it all began."
She moved in her chair, as if she wanted to move away.
"So you will take evidence from me? But why? Unless these people... well... not taken to the hospital? They're under supervision and won't run away, are they?"
"No. But I need your testimony as a victim. You don't want Mister Longsdale to have any trouble?"
"Why will he have them?"
"If we do not confirm that he defended you, it will be qualified as an assault with grievous mutilation."
Margaret smiled so that Brennon immediately understood - she did not believe a single word.
"I went for a walk with Miss Thay and decided to drop by the pharmacy..."
Brennon listened, writing down her testimony in a notebook and reflecting on a question that could have already asked her. But what will happen next? When (if!) will she answer him?
"Didn't these people seem strange to you? Have you noticed anything unusual?"
Margaret leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on Nathan intently. In the twilight, in the reddish light of the fire in the fireplace, her eyes on her pale face seemed larger and much darker. Finally she said slowly:
"At first it seemed to me that they were drunk. They behaved so strangely! But then... then I realized that not one of them smelled of alcohol."
"Are you sure?" the commissar was wary. "You were able to determine how smells of them, although they tried to kill you?"
"They were very close," Margaret answered dryly. "But you, of course, have the right not to believe me. I have no evidence. Maybe Mister Longsdale will say what happened to them when he interrogated them."
Brennon was silent, looking at her. After all, wasn't she standing next to the pyromaniac when he was burning Jason Moore?
"Longsdale can't interrogate them. They are all dead."
She shuddered with her whole body:
"Why? Did someone kill them? Then why did you lie to me?"
Brennon gave her a long, attentive look. A pale blush appeared on the cheekbones of her niece, her breathing was lost, and she leaned forward, clinging to the armrests. Surely she immediately thought about her pyromaniac, instead of trembling with fear and horror, as a gentle young lady should be, from just one word "murder."
"Why are you lying to me?"
"I?" Margaret asked sharply. "When?"
"I know you conjured, Peg."
She jerked weakly, and a blush spread from her cheekbones to her cheeks.
"Uncle, what are you talking about?" the presumably innocent girl inquired rather defiantly. "You, sorry, in your mind? What other witchcraft?"
"Margaret, don't lie to me; don't twist out and don't pretend. Longsdale knows you did it," Nathan flipped through the notebook. "Freeze and see," as he said."
She didn't answer, although Brennon expected indignation, denial, tears, screams, and some other lies. Margaret leaned back in her chair again, tilting her head back slightly on the pillow, and covered her eyelids. She was thrilled — her eyes sparkled feverishly under her eyelashes — and stroked her armrests with her long, thin fingers, tracing woodcarvings. The blush almost faded from her face, but suddenly a mocking smile appeared on her lips.
"Margaret!" The commissar shouted sharply in an attempt to scare her.
"Yes, I did," the girl said. "Aren't you afraid I'm using something now?"
"You are threatening me?"
"No. I'm just interested."
Nathan stood up and hung over her. Something else appeared in her that he had not seen before. Or didn't notice. She can't be like that from birth, Brennon thought. This is all the influence of the damned pyromaniac! But it wasn't a damn consolation…
"Who," he asked slowly and separately, "taught. You. That?"
She nevertheless pressed into a chair and turned pale, but said nothing.
"Peg, I'm serious. Answer, who taught you this muck?"
"This muck?" Margaret repeated, and her eyes suddenly flashed angrily: "I am alive only because of this muck! They would cut me to pieces alive if it weren't for "freeze and see"! Just a few seconds — that's what I won with this muck — for myself and your consultant!"
Brennon stepped back from her. Margaret tensed all over, grabbed the armrests with force and looked at him under her brows, like a cat before a jump.
"Maybe they replaced her?" The commissar thought. "Maybe do the fairy changelings exist too?"
"Peg, just say his name."
"Name!" The girl hissed. "Of course, it's not for my good that you have spied on me! And who do you want to catch? The boogie man?"
"Who told you about the surveillance?"
"Don't," Margaret answered scornfully. "I will not believe that your consultant accidentally went to the same pharmacy."
"What the hell am I holding back so much?" Brennon thought bitterly. The commissar sat in a chair opposite, put a notebook on his knee and began to write leisurely.
"That's all?" Margaret asked. "Can I go now?"
Not looking up from the notes, Nathan indifferently asked:
"Why did he kill the Strangler? You can not be silent. He left a note."
"Strangler?"
"Your sorcerer."
Margaret looked down, smoothing the pleats on her skirt.
"He cast a spell on your hand with which you marked the Strangler so that your pyromaniac could find him. Do you think Mister Longsdale did not notice this?"
The girl was silent. She thought about something - but Nathan could not guess what.
"Why did he bring you there?"
Margaret flinched, staring at him half in amazement, half wary - and then she realized that she betrayed herself, flushed up and wrapped in a shawl, frowning angrily.
"What for? Show a burning human?" Brennon threw the notebook on the table and pulled the chair to her. "Did you like it? Is this such a fascinating spectacle for a young lady? I have no doubt he enjoys such things, but you..."
"No!" Margaret snapped violently. "He doesn't enjoy!"
"How do you know?"
She again burst into a pale blush and with an annoyance hit her fist on the armrest.
"Who is he? Did you meet him back then, near Longsdale's house?"
She pursed her lips.
"Met, right?" The commissar continued gently. "For the first time? In the second? How many times have you met? Why did he come to protect your house, Peg? What did he ask you in return?"
Margaret was silent. Brennon sighed quietly.
"He went to bed with you?"
She burst into burning paint and stood up.
"This is just insulting! Am I a criminal, if you interrogate me like a street girl?"
"Peg! This is not a joke!" the commissar shouted.
"But I'm not joking," the niece answered coldly. "In the end, since you are texting, why don't you ask him all the questions that interest you?"
She headed for the door; Brennon grabbed the girl by the elbow and jerked her to him.
"Brainless girl! I want to know what he did to you before he knock up you!"
Margaret suddenly turned pale. Nathan didn't even have time to be stunned by the fact that so familiarly her dark eyes flashed and her thin nostrils swelled; the girl hissed:
"He at least taught me what saved my life! Can you brag about the same? It was neither you, nor your consultant, and you have no right to demand a single answer from me!"
She burst out and swiftly flew out of the living room, leaving Brennon in mute amazement. Almost immediately, Jen slipped through the door, squinted after Miss Sheridan and said:
"All for nothing. I can't even go to her door. Someone took great care to protect your baby Peg from person like me."
"Someone!" the commissar growled. "And I know perfectly well who!"
***
Nathan, burying his face in his clasped hands, sat in the darkest corner of the "Shell", indulged in woeful thoughts, and even the wondrous aromas of food and drinks could not dispel them. This interrogation was one of the most disastrous in his practice. Neither the name of the offender, nor the motive, nor any valuable information - only very angry witness. Well done, Brennon, go on!
"She couldn't always be like this... she wasn't like that! He's doing some kind of devilry with her!"
His baby Peg couldn't become so in just a month! So, he was mistaken somewhere, asked the wrong question, took the wrong tone...
"You don't drink," Mrs. Van Allen sank into the chair opposite. "Your coffee has cooled."
Nathan indifferently took the cup. He remembered why he had come, although now he was bitten by completely different questions. But Valentina will not help him with them...
"Tell me, do you feel nothing? Is anything strange happening in the city?"
The widow frowned in surprise.
"Strange? Well, not at all, but what do you mean?"
"Something like what was with Strangler or utburd."
"No. That is, nothing more than usual. Why are you asking?"
Brennon rubbed the sideburns.
"Hard to say. I do not want to bother you with the details."
"Nathan, I think I'd better bother now because of the details than later because of some kind of beast from that side."
"The murder happened, at first glance ordinary," the Commissar briefly described the incident, without going into details. "In Freedom Park there is nothing like that, well, how was it in the church?"
"No, I didn't notice. I keep an eye on the park, and lately there hasn't been anything bad there. But something else is bothering you."
"This is Margaret," Brennon sighed. "My niece. Miss Sheridan."
"Yes, I heard she was attacked..."
"This girl is too much like her, Brennon said sullenly, "and there is a suspicion that Peg was attacked with good reason. But there is nobody to interrogate: all three bandits are already dead. They were killed by some spell."
"Can you protect her?" Valentina asked with some emotion.
"Protect!" Nathan exclaimed bitterly. "She is already being protected so may this scoundrel die of the plague!"
"So?" the widow frowned. "Who are you talking about? About your consultant?"
"Yes, if only," the Commissar muttered. "I would be happy if he..."
"But then I do not understand..."
And then it burst through. Brennon did not understand why suddenly told her everything, barely choosing expressions, with difficulty restraining himself so as not to growl - from the powerlessness, anger at this little fool, the fury that the damned pyromaniac caused in him, and most of all - from shame for that he still hadn't said a word to his sister, because he was afraid... Valentina listened patiently to him, and when he finally shut up, relieving his soul, she said:
"You are still wrong. Margaret came to the cafe, apparently, before the visit to the pharmacy, and then she was still a virgin."
First, enormous relief collapsed on Brennon. For a couple of seconds he did not want to feel anything but this delightful feeling, as if he were carrying a bag of shit uphill, and suddenly a bag disappeared. However, the mountain remained.
"How do you know?" The commissar asked suspiciously.
"Pure innocent blood," the widow answered. "Everyone like me or Jen can feel her from afar."
"Lord," Nathan said with feeling, "I'm an idiot!"
"Yes," Valentina confirmed, but her smile still softened her sentence. "I hope you now understand why you received such an answer from her?"
Kick in the gut instantly returned the commissar from heaven to earth. Peggy is an innocent proud girl, of course, she felt insulted! And she had told him so directly, and he...
"I acted like a dumb pig," Brennon sighed; the relief was still too great for him to part with him so immediately. "God, what had I said to her! Martha will kill me if she finds out that she even heard this."
"Well, you have an excuse."
The commissar frowned again. Yeah, the pyromaniac is still here. The fact that he has not yet violated the maiden's honor does not justify him in any way.
"Why is he even carrying her with him?" Brennon muttered. "What use is a seventeen-year-old girl to him? Except to blackmail me with her life..."
"But he did not blackmail," Mrs. Van Allen retorted. "He said he would take her to a safe place."
"It's the same thing," Nathan dismissed. "Taking her away from her parents to hold a knife to her throat was easier."
"In my opinion, you are wrong. If he wanted to pick her up, he would have done it a long time ago without warning you."
"Logical," Brennon admitted. "But then I don't understand him at all."
"Why don't you like him so much?"
The Commissar choked:
"What do you mean - why?! He spoiled my investigation as he could, climbed into the department, entered Father Grace's house, almost stole the evidence, killed the Strangler when we almost took him!.."
"And that prevents you from taking a sober look at the matter," Valentina touched the cup; a fragrant smoke went over the coffee again. "Just like your relationship with Margaret."
"Why are you protecting him like that?" Brennon asked suspiciously.
"I am not protecting. But the fact that you cannot objectively look at the situation prevents you from correctly assessing it."
"And what do you think is right?"
"Margaret already told you."
- She admitted that she was seeing him.
"Because he took her as a student."
"Nonsense!" the commissar cried; several visitors looked at him displeasedly. "Nonsense," he continued quietly. "If Peggy was a boy, maybe, but why would he teach a girl anything? Why would he do that at all?"
"You, apparently, have a low opinion of women," Valentina remarked with a chill.
"But I didn't mean you," Nathan protested, feeling more and more uncomfortable under her gaze. "You... well, you and Jen... well, you're not ... not human," he finished in a whisper. "And Peggy is an ordinary human girl. God, she could barely remember Pater Noster, let alone anything more complicated."
"They came to you," Valentina said dryly. "Your consultant is waiting for you outside."
He realized that he had offended her with something, but could not understand what, and therefore quickly finished his coffee, awkwardly mumbled "Goodbye" and, leaving money for lunch, hurried out.
From Longsdale's face, as well as Red's, Nathan could realize that the news was crappy.
"What's wrong?"
"Pyroman was right. Three bandits were killed by Mortiferum somno. But the girl..."
Something skipped a beat inside the commissar.
"Wait, the blows with a stone on the face..."
"This is not the cause of death. The girl was completely healthy - there were no internal injuries, no traces of poison in the tissues. I cleaned the remains of her skull from the tissue. Judging by the condition of the bone, her face was smashed after death. Hemorrhagic staining indicates..."
"In short," Brennon ordered longingly. He already knew what he would hear. "Is that a spell?"
"No. This is not a spell. This is just magic."
"What do you mean - just magic? How so?"
"Just magic," the consultant repeated. "Like witches and witchers."
"So, the girl was killed by a witchers? Or a witch?"
"No," Longsdale ran a hand over his forehead. "I dont know. That's the point. She was killed with magic, but I don't know how."