Saithorthepyro
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Chapter 42 - Bearings I
🕑 Added 2025-05-01 23:29:33 +0000 UTCI/she/we opened my eyes, a scream on my lips. My/our brain seared, lances of fire jabbing in and traveling out, limbs flailing as we/I shrieked. My/we/she’s hands covered our eyes as the light/incandescence/Halspus’ cursed disc seared even our closed eyes.
Pain faded/dwindled as I/we managed to stop our/my limbs from flailing, slowly coming to a halt as I get to my hands and knees.
Panting on the floor, I/we/us/it/she/he/they-scream as I hit my head against the ground, pain blossoming across my skull as my horns slapped against the rough wood. I was Malvia Harrow! Not the Queen of Masks! Infernal, not Devil!
Not the only memories floating around in my head that needed to be out. I could taste blood as my stomach was cut, feel agony as knives bit into my flesh, the slow fading as my vision grew dark, and my intestines flopped out. Watching my babies die, knowing I was-I shook my head, banishing the ghosts dwelling inside. Even with all those memories of death, I doubted I’d experienced even the majority of those fed into the Circle.
I could feel tears trailing down my cheeks as I got off the floor, trying to focus on anything but the memories scalding the inside of my head. The circle next to me continued to glow where its marks were, and I turned my back to it, moving toward the open window. It had stopped screaming, now a low hum that faded as I stuck my head out, letting the cold air’s sting steal my mind’s attention.
Outside, a few people stared. Some who had been venturing a little close to my shattered front window beat a swift retreat. I glared at them, noting faces as they found somewhere else to be. As if I didn’t have enough problems, people trying to rob my store have to be factored in as well.
It still snowed out, and the sun hadn’t noticeably moved. The time I’d spent in spent in there had been been under half an hour, probably less. It and felt so much longer. A lot of foot traffic, Infernals with what clothes they could assemble as protection from the cold trudging through the deep snow. Some of them broke off to other stores, heading inside out of the chill.
I’d settled in one of the few places in the Quarter that had stores. Infernal owned stores, not those places just outside the Quarter that used to charge an arm and leg for necessities to live. Now we had our own, small ones though. My second story marked me as one of the better off ones on this street, next to the shop a couple places down selling cheap mass-produced enchantments.
I focused on the mundanity, letting it drive the other stuff out of my head.
I took a few breaths of cold, freezing air, letting it clear my head. The chill on my skin helped, til it finally got to the point I needed to duck back inside.
I’d spent so little with that mask on, but it felt so long. How long had I been in that little pocket of the Hells? That fall had been immediate and forever, an eternity of falling then gliding, of letting the Hells reshape me into what I was destined to, feeling energy strip away the flesh-shell-
Five seconds. Five seconds of biting my tongue, letting pain and blood draw me out of that, whimpering as they cut in. Enough to draw me out of that sensation of bliss that had taken over, the urge to throw caution to the wind and let biosculpting run rampant over my form. To try and recreate that, but here, in the material world.
I wish it were a distinct entity. Some devil that had wormed its way inside my skull and tried to take me over from the inside. But I knew it wasn’t, no, my falling into that mask was entirely on me.
How had that even started? Something from the Hells latching onto me, or something inside me latching onto the Hells?
I could pretend that the Queen of Masks had been something external, something forced on me by an outside force. But that would be a lie. Maybe the Infernal energy had plucked it out of my mind, maybe I had unwittingly done it myself, but I’d…crafted that mask.
Slow breaths. Try not to think about what that mask had been. How it thought, what it felt, and especially not its opinions on things in the material world. One thing at a time.
“Imp!”
No response from my head, but that silence didn’t fool me. I wasn’t so lucky the Imp had been taken out by my trips to the Hells.
“Don’t try to hide,” I snapped. “I know you are still in me, and I will endure whatever pain is necessary to draw you out. Speak!”
Finally, a response, and for the first time I tasted/hear-heard, only heard, reluctance and caution in the Imp’s tone.
It perhaps was a step beyond what I expected, It said. More souls, better constructed, and wedged into a pocket of the Hells itself-
“I know,” I hissed. “He somehow formed a passage to the hells and sealed a segment of it off! Took a portion of some less-traveled part where no one would notice, then sealed it off. Maybe aided by his patron on the other side. Far more powerful than he should be. Not only did he pierce the divine barrier between worlds but he…erected a barrier….”
I trailed off as I realized..I shouldn’t know this. I couldn’t know this. Just a while earlier, I’d been trying to puzzle out if that had even been the Hells, and now I just knew. How?
Tell me child, The Imp said. What exactly happened there besides you trying to gain claws and carrying out marks of your visit?
“Marks?”
Something caught my attention in the corner of my eye, and I glanced that way. My long, straight hair was black as midnight, had been since birth. Not now, as I stared at strands of silver mixed in with the black. Not many, but that just made them stand out more as I scrambled to my feet.
Mirror, I needed a mirror!
What happened in there? The Imp asked as I rushed up the steps, sacrificial circle forgotten.
This was bad. If I carried marks of my time in there, how long until Intelligence realized I’d been drawn into a part of the Hells?
I should never have touched the damn thing.
I made it to the mirror, eyes searching my hair as I pulled it all within view. A lot of it was just random threads, single strands that only stood out because everything else was black. Not so the solid streak of silver on the right side of my head, which looked gigantic. It probably wasn’t actually that large, but it stood out. Partially because it didn’t extend to my bangs, just a perfect little slice immediately to the side, extending down to my chest.
It wasn’t even a shade of grey, or some other natural shade that looked like the metal. It looked someone has splattered paint the exact color of the metal across the strands, coloring them.
It wasn’t the only difference, as I noticed small patches of scales scattered about my neck. Shucking my coat and my shirt, more on my stomach, along my arms, on my shoulders. Tiny little scatterings, barely noticeable. I’d had small patterns of these delicate fish-like scales for years. Just never in these spots.
On the sides of my neck, thin little slits. I pulled at the skin, opening them up. They were shallow, for now, nothing more than thin little slices in the skin. I could guess what they could turn into though. Gills.
Beautiful, The Imp said in a way that was intended to be complimentary. You’re finally changing in the right direction. Towards a worthy sin as well.
I was turning into a fish. My lips quirked, a manic chuckle escaping my lips. Envy. Fish. Like Starken.
My shoulders shook as I gripped the countertop. Of course, there’d be marks. Worse, ones that I couldn’t hide. The gills, the scales, maybe, but this streak of silver practically acting as a beacon?
I froze. Biosculpting. Biosculpting could fix it. I got my shirt and coat back on before rushing downstairs.
It took a while to find the tool, still on the floor from my failed attempt to fix my tail. How out of it had I been last night? I grabbed the device, one wary eye on the open window, then focused my magic. This didn’t need to be pretty, it just needed to fix this. Too many people had probably already seen it when I’d put my head through the shattered window.
The magic went to the roots of the silver hairs and stopped, unable to touch the strands themselves. I bit my lip, straining as I tried to force the magic past. My body, it would obey me!
Idiot, foolish, no amount of thinking hard at it was going to fix that. Testing showed the patches of scales could be subsumed, and the gills, but it took active effort to keep them underneath my skin. Much like my horns and tail, they’d be part of my form if I didn’t maintain Biosculpting to keep them hidden. The hair, though, refused to be hidden.
Sighing, I let go of it, moving back to the mirror. My tail caressed my cheek, and I could barely muster a mote of annoyance in response.
“I was dead,” I said as I trudged back to the mirror. “The souls inside were being drawn into a single being. A Gestalt. To achieve the circle’s purpose. They overwhelmed me, were squeezing the life out of me. How am I alive?”
A strange comfort that no sudden knowledge came in to fill that gap, no strange sudden knowing. Was that even actual knowledge, or more invented backstory for a mask I’d created without even realizing it? Those things I-she, she had done. Had they even been things I could do, or fanciful imagining as the mask had shaped me to fit it?
It obeyed, The Imp said plainly, no tone to its words for now. It took you in, trying to overwhelm you, make you a thrall to its goals, only for you to deny it. Not entirely successful, but your soul withstood its response.
I almost snorted in disbelief. My soul? My soul had faltered against a mask I’d made accidentally that had been in existence for a couple of minutes before being overwhelmed!
“I almost became something else in there,” I said. “It called itself the Queen of Masks, swapped places with me in control of my body.”
Possessor of some kind, The Imp sneered. Usually they save their tricks for the material plane but if a mortal happened onto the Infernal plane one of them might try to take control and ride your body back to the mortal plane. It would provide a shield against Halpsus’ barrier.
“Would it also be able to make me say nine feet tall, with wings, claws, and crown of horns?” I asked, and there was a silence that I could taste the hesitance and confusion in.
They express some of their traits post-possession in the host, but even when not trying to hide inside you, never to that extent.
“I think it was something else,” I said, trying to decide how much I could say. Others could hear the Imp, including Samuel Voltar. I doubt it would talk to him, but best not to take that risk.
“Going to be a pain to hide these,” I muttered, feeling a small patch of scales along my bicep. They felt cool, as soft as skin, smoother, ticklish as my fingers glided over them. I closed my eyes, lost in the sensation. That was nice, but more importantly, they were hidden. Other things weren’t, as my nails caught my eye. Silver, and longer. Potentially sharper? Gloves could hopefully hide these.
The forming gills? A scarf should do the trick for that, and would fit the weather quite well. When the weather turned warmer was a problem for the future.
Must you hide them? The Imp asked. Your heritage is not something to be ashamed of.
“It is when people start asking why my hair and nails are turning silver? Why I’m growing gills? Somehow, ‘I was trying to shut off an Infernal artifact’ is going to matter to Imperial Intelligence as much as the question of ‘Is she turning into, or already turned into a devil?’ I don’t particularly look forward to how that’s determined. Or what they’ll do if they think I’ll become a devil in the future.”
Run?
“As if no one is watching,” I said. “Besides, where? And leave mother behind to the mercy of the Xangs?”
And leave yourself to the mercy of those who keep you on leash?
I sighed. That…was more tempting than it would have been before. I looked down at the stairs, where below the sacrificial circle burned.
We could find freedom here. Worlds to conquer, places to explore. A throne to forge out of the land I should belong to.
I shivered. That had been me pressing far against the mask. Letting desires loose more than I should.
“We’re tabling that for now along with further discussion of what went on in there,” I said. “Right now, we hide it. I have an idea.”
Do not hide from this, this is to be embraced-
“Two additional cows.”
I shall trust in your foolproof wisdom.
I rolled my eyes. Far too much snark but I’d take the peace I’d gained.
Back to my room, grabbing an inkwell off my desk, smirking as I put the mouth at the roots of the silver streak then tilted it.
Black ink slid off the silver strands, falling and splattering across the floor of my room. I stared down in mute disbelief, then back at the inkwell. My hand shook, my teeth grit, but I forced myself still.
There was no hiding this, I realized. No magic would touch it. Mundane attempts to dye it wouldn’t take hold. I imagine mixing even ashes with tar or something similar would fail as well. It was too long to hide under a hat.
No, I realized with a sinking feeling. It was too long to hide under a hat for right now.
Back to my bedside, to open the battered nightstand drawer.
I pulled out a pair of scissors, a simple steel pair from Hedley and Sons. I used them to trim my hair whenever it got too long for comfort. Never too much, even if it had been awkward on more than one occasion. I’d had it this length for years, could barely remember a time it hadn’t been this long. I..liked it.
It was just hair, though. This shouldn’t be difficult. Still my hands trembled as I put scissor blade to my hair, shaking more the further up it traveled.
It was just hair!
Think on everything that had happened, to take my mind off the unsettling sensation of hair falling, of weight coming off me. No looking in the mirror, even if it made this choppy.
Think about this night. A painful thing to revisit, but it kept my mind off of what my fingers did. Off of what I’d just experienced. Breath, and think, and let my hands do this part.
First part. Versalicci. Anger rose in my chest, and I breathed out, letting it drain. There would be a time to get upset, when all dues were paid. Now, focus beyond the feelings.
Versalicci approaching me had felt oppressive, how easily he’d violated my home, insulted me, made me feel like a thing. He knew me well enough to land barbs, and they’d hit well. Better than they should have, with how tired and hurting I’d been. Yes, maybe I wasn’t the most moral person in the world. Maybe my care for death extended to if someone was actively trying to harm me. Maybe I went to the blade more often.
Maybe that’s because no matter what, I would inevitably end up in one of two places. And neither of them cared about how moral you were.
Snip. I breathed out, as a curtain of black with a sprinkling of silver fell to the floor.
And maybe that had fed into the Queen of Masks, but besides that. He’d approached me, and he shouldn’t have. What had he ultimately done? Blackmail me into trying to find a missing Melissa with vague threats towards my mother? My mother, currently in one of the most secure hospitals in the country? With both Imperial Intelligence and the Xangs watching over her?
Even assuming the worse, that he had enough sway with Intelligence to make their protection drop, he’d have to deal with the Xangs. As much as I despised my relations on her side in general, they wanted her alive. For what reasons? I could hope for familial love, but a scheme would do if it kept her out of Versalicci’s hands.
Snip. Another fallen set of locks, my head sinking lower as I felt the hairs tumble down. This would take years..no. Focus.
So a toothless threat. One where the benefit was minor as well. Versalicci wasn’t so bereft of resources that he needed me to track down Melissa. Also, if I wasn’t swayed, he’d given away that she had gone missing. He wasn’t brainless, he probably knew why I’d brought her along. Why reveal to someone trying to pry her away that she’d gone missing? I’d have assumed she’d just gone back to the Flame and that I’d failed to keep her along. I wouldn’t have time to pursue the matter. Not with everything else going on.
A few more snips. A few more locks were ravaged.
No, if I had to guess, coming here was a fishing expedition. He thought I had abducted Melissa, or knew who had. Last night’s little show had been intended to spook me, making me panic and give away where she was. Probably has his own people look out for her as well, and some to trail me.
Why? She was the remaining diabolist. His last link to the Duke that was willing to listen and able to contact it. All his diabolists were dead. He was probably suspect number one for many people. Did whatever contacts he had in Intelligence start to suspect him as well?
You’re scared, aren’t you Gio? I thought. You’re a leaf blowing in a wind you didn’t see coming, and it terrifies you because you can’t make a deal with this. Not without consequences.
Snip. Other side now. The skin on my head felt bare, exposed. I still didn’t look. I knew it would make it horrible, but cutting it away was already doing that. Compounding my incompetence wouldn’t make it that much worse.
My brother’s chocies. Make a deal with the devil noble, and fail? Punishment from the authorities. Make the deal and succeed? Make an enemy of the Duke, and be stuck with whatever the terms of that agreement were. Wait until the last second to make a decision? Always be seen as the one who’d only made the choice when the winner was determined, and risk a pruning if it was deemed too risky for the future.
The best choice would have been to hunker down, but he was involved already. All his diabolists took the deal except two, one of them dead and the other one insisting on getting involved. Taking him along for the ride. I chuckled. Welcome, brother, to the grasp of chaos. May it treat you as well as it has me.
I’d have to find Melissa, but not for him. To keep her out of his clutches, but I had no idea where to start. And I’d have to do my best to ensure whoever Versalicci set on my tail was taken care of. And the Intelligence agents. And any diabolists.
The other things tonight. Alice had tried sneaking into my house again. She had done that for a reason, and I was at a loss for one. Kill me or capture me maybe?
I switched to the other side, trying to keep it the same length as I snipped and cut. This would be better if I looked, but I couldn’t make myself. Even seeing locks of hair drop down on the ground was bad enough.
Alice was a mystery to still be determined. She might be more involved in this than she pretended, or it might be some personal issue. A grudge against me for her name being dragged into this.
Her grudge. As if she was the one who had the right to be angry. As if between us she was the hurt part. As if-
Snip, far too close to the skin as I closed my eyes. I quietly moved the scissors back to a better spot, and decided to was best to not think on Alice right now.
The last visitor. I still needed to vet that list left by Metrill. Once it’s veracity was determined, then I could think on what motives he might have. Surface level ones were obvious if he was on the level, helping bring this investigation to a close despite Derrick and Gallaspie’s intractability. Beyond that level? Representing a church not well liked by most respectable people. Probably not liked by Gallaspie.
Then again, it would be easier to come up with a list of people who were liked by Gallaspie.
I’d reached the streak of silver. I considered moving the scissors all the way to my roots, but stopped. No. No, this was fine at chin length. As long as it could be cut, and wasn’t as hard a metal as its color.
Snip
The lock of hair fell to the ground, and I stared blankly down after it. I could clean this later, but now was the time to see what the damage was. I looked back at the mirror.
I looked..I wanted to say awful, but I forced myself to think alright instead. It was..fine, uneven that it was. Not too uneven, really, but every centimeter felt like four inches. And..short. Far too short. Chin length in most places, even less in others, bare inches where my hand had slipped. My hands had picked vanity, letting it be longer on the sides and the back. It felt wrong, not feeling it on my shoulders, on my back, not feeling it move and rustle I moved my arms. This uneven choppy mess wasn’t me, it wasn’t, and I wanted it back, but instead I had to think on if it was still too long.
Was it enough? I was cutting it scandalously short already-
I sighed. Sure. Scandalous. Enough of the pretenses, Malvia. You aren’t some high society debutante. You’re a diabolist, graverobber, corpse cutter, torturer, a crook, a killer, a conwoman, an illicit chemist, and a dozen other things not associated with even slightly polite company. What lines hadn’t I crossed? Cannibalism and violence against infants? How lucky Gregory had been to nail the two things I actually hadn’t done in his complaints. He should have stuck to things he knew I did, like eating cows alive, biting people’s fingers off, or kidnapping your siblings, then losing them.
I am not the kind of person who even causes a scandal, except when someone is found in your company. Scandal for them, not for me.
Sad, sorrow-filled eyes stared back at me. Large and still wet with tears. Bloodshot, and my cheeks were tear-streaked. The circles were back as well, and I also had a few nicks and cuts from hitting my head against the ground when I’d come back from the Hells mind aflame.
Well, that wouldn’t do. A touch to the face, the magic managing to at least clear my eyes and sink the circles once again. A little more fatigue. I also still looked mournful, but I wasn’t going to try tinkering with my hormones to make that happen. That was a recipe for disaster.
Besides, being happy would probably make people more suspicious, not less.
A scowl? I could manage a scowl, couldn’t I? Or some kind of malicious grin. Anything would beat these sad eyes. I reached out to the mirror, touching it’s surface.
“It’ll be alright,” I told my reflection. I managed a small smile, sad but still a smile.
It fell as I realized what I was doing. What in the Hells was I doing? Whispering a platitude to myself while acting as a comforting hand on my shoulder. What, was I so desperate for one? It wasn’t like one existed for me, and I just had to deal with that.
Deep breaths. Ones that threatened to turn into choking sobs despite my best efforts.
Why do you fear? I thought. This all inevitably ends in one place or the other, doesn’t it?
Derrick had envied me the certainty of knowing where death would take me. What a foolish, stupid thing to envy. I envied her choice. Sure, her death came swifter than she might want, but what fool would be upset at a chance to end up somewhere besides the Hells. Everyone dies sometime.
But I didn’t want to go. Not yet. And that meant surviving, for now, no matter-
“Miss Harrow?” A voice called up from downstairs. Voltar. “Are you in here?”
No, no, no! That street urchin had not tried to rob me, the one time I’d prefer that as the outcome! Now the Detective/Seeker- I bit my tongue before I screamed.
Okay. Calm Malvia. Hiding would be..difficult. But worse would be letting him see this. Letting anyone see this, but especially people with a direct line to Intelligence, on which they could talk about clear signs of me having tinkered with things I shouldn’t have. Same plan as before. Hat.
I didn’t have many, a fashion accessory I didn’t have much use for. Hoods, hooded cloaks, yes, those were useful to hide my face and hair, needed now more than ever with part of the latter being reflective.
It would be suspicious to wear one of those, but I had a bit of luck. A wide-brimmed, yanked off the head of someone who had tried to steal a couple of the cheaper potions I’d left on open display during my first couple of days. Still a little suspicious, but less than coming down with silver in my hair. I quickly used my knife to cut a pair of holes for my long horns to go through.
I tucked my hair underneath the hat, making sure once, twice, then thrice that not a single strand, silver or not, appeared. My finger shook as I tried to shove the bulk of my remaining hair underneath, and my gaze nervously went to the knife again.
No, no it was short enough. It would hold. I’d sacrificed enough. ‘Sacrificed’. It was hair Malvia, don’t make it sound like you chopped off a limb in order to do this.
I hurried downstairs, double-checking my coat to make sure no exposed skin had any new scale patches. Loose trousers covered my legs down to jsut above my hooves. I hadn’t even checked them yet but all the skin down there was covered. Gloves over my nails to keep them hidden as well. I didn’t want Voltar noticing, and he would notice even the small new patches of scales.
By the time I reached the shop floor, they were already inside, standing on the edges of the iron circle and examining it. I forced down a pang of irritation. Yes, the window was shattered, still you could knock! The thief had been the only one to do that so far!
The two of them were dressed in heavy coats for the weather, and to my relief, hats. My own choice wouldn’t seem out of place. The circle was still pulsing an ominous red, but the damned souls within hadn’t started shrieking again.
“Did you use this?” Dawes asked incredulously, eyes wide and gesturing to the still glowing runes.
“I assume this is the sacrificial circle of the late Donald Tyler?” Voltar asked, much calmer than his partner.
“Yes, yes, and delivered by being catapulted through my front door,” I said, grabbing my tail as it tried to snag a teacup from my counter. “Thank you for knocking by the way, it’s greatly appreciated.”
“Why did you use it?” Voltar asked me, ignoring my gentle rebuke.
“It was screaming,” I said. “I wasn’t just going to let it do that all morning or longer. I like living here Voltar, which means not making all my neighbors convinced me being here isn’t going to open up a portal to the Hells in their backyard.”
I’d dove in over that. I shivered as I stared at the now-silent circle, unsure why it was quiet. Because I’d ventured inside or because I’d intimidated every soul in there into silence? Probably not the latter, given the Gestalt’s smashing of the Queen of Masks.
Or had I carried something out? I wasn’t touching it again to find out anytime soon.
Either way, I doubted I was escaping today without rumours. Actually I might be lucky if they remained just rumors. It was the Quarter, some degree of…chaos was expected, but having a diabolic artifact thrown screaming through your front window was a bit beyond the expected.
“Are you alright?” Doctor Dawes asked, his expression softening somewhat.
I finished wrestling with my tail, placing the teacup carefully down on the countertop. What had given it away? Probably my eyes. I needed to get it together.
“I did get some information from it,” I said. “They left their mark. The….memories of those fed to it. Conversations held over it.”
Please let any unnatural or shy behavior from me be chalked up to that. Not that I was lying, even if the Queen of Masks had been the most….difficult part of that, one I was determined not to think about, those other memories were just as bad.
“Some of them are working together,” I said. “Maybe all of them, maybe just a few, but there are more of these, and more of these, being filled with souls.”
A thousand souls perhaps? Closer to that then a hundred. Dawes paled as the implication sank in. Voltar nodded, but stiffly. Unsettled, as anyone should be.
“How many?” He asked, his tone forced flatness.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, eyes tracing the lines and symbols. “Maybe as many as there are symbols on this? Twelve sacrifices, twelve deities, twelve circles, sketching a pattern to tear a hole.”
“A gateway to the Hells?” Dawes asked, eyes widening, moving away from the circle. “How did you find this out?”
“It’s the purpose of the circle,” I said resignedly. “I ferreted it out. I think. We probably want confirmation from someone more experienced, like Miss Vesper.”
Assuming she didn’t immediately realize what had happened inside. Not that I had any doubts about who would win between the two of us. I couldn’t win in a fight with myself, I wasn’t beating some experienced diabolist.
“It was a little touch and go,” I admitted, staring down at the symbols. “I think if I’d made a misstep….we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all. I didn’t go in my best. Last night was full of interruptions and nightmares.”
“Miss Harrow, are you alright?”
I hesitated. The second time I’d been asked. These two seemed so insistent, almost as bad as Tagashin. Worse, they acted like I should trust them. As if we were all companions on the same adventure, none of us being dragged around be lengths of chains.
Why should I trust them? Who did I have to trust? A detective and his companion who’d fallen into me working with them? A kitsune that took a liking to making my life miserable at best? A noble brat who judged me while I’d pined after him like some love-struck romance heroine? A bishop and his clerk who wanted to trap my soul in a spike? Another who considered going to the Hells a blessing? A creature in my head that wanted me to be my worst, gluttonous self?
Maybe it was time to fully embrace a mask again. I’d let this mask crack and fall and slip so many times. Almost as soon as I’d put it on. Foolish girl, letting fantasies crowd out my head til there was nothing left. Living a life, enjoying food and clothes, romance, why should I think I deserve it, pretending that I might as much as I slapped myself away for trying?
Perhaps that was the ultimate lesson to take from the Queen of Masks. If I didn’t wear a proper mask, would one be forced upon me? Just….force everything further back. I’d played that role in Versalicci’s gang, not letting anything peek around the corners. Burying the parts that could get hurt, committing instead to something I trusted to bring good more than I could ever trust myself.
I’d messed it up, of course. Put my trust in the wrong person and let enough of me slip around the mask to be hurt.
I hesitated. Malvia Harrow was useful for many things. What I’d turned Malvia Harrow into. At the same time….I don’t think I could pull it off now. Too many things ached, raw and ready to burst if touched. Truly embracing Malvia Harrow again could always happen later. It’s not like I was a stranger to the relationships I had with others, being set on fire. For right now, a balance. Letting things out a little. Just enough to not feel like my stomach was twisting itself into knots.
“I’m maybe not at my best,” I said. “It’s been an eventful night before I had to experience a multitude of deaths. From the point of view of the dead, and Tyler was not a merciful person.”
“The number of souls he fed it is evidence of that,” Voltar said, nodding as he looked down at the glowing red circle.
“Less than I have?” I asked.
A pause, as both turned to look at me, Voltar’s expression slipping a little.
“Excuse me, Miss Harrow?”
“I didn’t feed many souls to Diabolism, if any,” I said. “Oh, it’s possible Daver lied about something when I did it. It was easy to lie to me back then. So trusting, so stupid. But deaths? Even just those who were destined for the Hells after? What would you put it at? How many have I killed?”
Silence, as Dawes looked at me with widened eyes. Voltar had recomposed himself, but I could tell he was unsettled as well.
Where was I going with this? I’d lost the plot myself, saying those things. Was I trying to provoke him?
“Why?” Voltar asked me.
“Because I’m tired of avoiding it,” I said, not sure if I meant him specifically or in general. “Your conversation with Montague, maybe I just sensed something off, but you hardly signed off on this willingly, Voltar. Dragged into this by Tagashin, then by Intelligence. You probably have a good idea of how many people I’ve killed personally. How many I’ve helped kill. And every day you have to work with me. If you had ever been given an actual choice in this Voltar, would you have ever agreed to it?”
More silence, Voltar’s expression inscrutable.
“Maybe it’s best if you take the day off,” Voltar said. “A day of rest might do you some good.”
“While diabolists are running about?” I asked. “Trying to bring about a gateway into the Hells itself? Killing not-so-innocent clerics and probably innocent bystanders while I sleep safely and comfortably in my bed?”
“You hardly care about civic duty,” Voltar said, staring me evenly in the face. Next to him, Dawes shook his head at me, not at the great detective. Trying to forestall a response.
“Of course not,” I said. “I care about staying alive, which means keeping a Hellgate from opening. Cause once that happens, even odds the Hells kill me for opposing it or Her Majesty has me beheaded for not stopping it. So no Voltar, I don’t care about anyone’s neck but my own in this case.”
Those last words were biting, but the great detective remained unflappable.
“If that is the case, I think sleep would be more on your mind, not less. If you truly care about yourself above all others.”
“I care about my neck remaining on my shoulders,” I said. “Which, to my understanding, is dependent on turning in results. Not all of us have the luxury of knowing there’s not a headsman’s axe potentially awaiting us when we fail.”
“Intelligence doesn’t just throw operatives under the axe for a single failure-”
“What will your brother decide, if it reaches him?” I asked Voltar.
The detective had a great poker face, but even that couldn’t hide this truth, and he knew it. “Samuel is many things, but his allowances for certain people fall far short of what-”
“Dogs,” I corrected. “His allowances for mutts leashed by him and Her Majesty’s Government. And as someone whose leash is already pulled rather tight, I’d prefer it remain loose enough I can at least pretend some days to not be who I am. Or would you rather I strain and growl like Tagashin does, causing chaos and mischief because I can’t stand how tightly it chokes me? Not that I expect you to understand, not being leashed at all.”
“We all work for Imperial Intelligence,” Voltar said. “Maybe in different capacities-“
I couldn’t help it. I laughed, a shrill, awful, cackling thing that made me want to beat my lungs, but I couldn’t stop myself.
“Different capacities?” I asked, then laughed again, unable to stop it, just managing to get it under control to continue. “What, that the two of you are consultants, brought in on cases when you’re needed, politely, chance to say no, are the same as us? Meanwhile me and Tagashin, if we said no, what do you think would happen?”
“Hardly the same,” Voltar said. “Tagashin is under rather direct control, while you-“
“Are just a little bit away from it,” I said, almost laughing once again as his eyes narrowed. Oh, get over yourself detective/seeker. Shut me up if you want to avoid interruption. “Tell me, how much do you think I could pull against Intelligence’s leash before they made that as literal as they did for Tagashin?”
“More than you might think, since you surrendered willingly while Tagashin had to be caught and-”
“I didn’t agree to shite,” I said. “ I got coerced by Tagashin and Doctor Dawes into doing this because someone’s shitty frame up job trapped me. Those shapechangers trapped me, wrapped me up, put a little bow on top, and left me on your doorstep. That pack of incompetents.”
“You offered Tagashin the opportunity to work together,” he countered. “Neither of us initiated-”
“I offered because she and Doctor Dawes caught me half-dead in a warehouse,” I snapped. “What, was I to refuse and get turned over to the Watch? Yes, I leapt at a way out, why wouldn’t I? And now I chafe against what I was forced into myself.”
“Yes, we’ve established what you think of this,” Voltar said drily, a little anger underneath that dryness. “What do you want, Harrow?”
I paused, at a loss for words. What did I want?
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I don’t know how much I mean and how much I don’t. Am I only what my brother thinks? Am I not? I don’t know. But no, I am not alright. And I don’t know where to go, but I don’t have a choice, do I? Unless you can promise me you’d arrange things with Intelligence?”
So many unsaid questions in that. Did he have the sway? Would he? I hadn’t helped the latter, reminding him all that I’d done, but…it needed to be on the table. I’d experienced so much death in that circle, and it was hard not to see myself on the other side. How many had I killed? Could I even begin to guess? And the man I’d just asked wasn’t likely to look favorably on any of those.
“I can’t promise anything,” Voltar began, and I numbly nodded. I couldn’t expect anything else. “I’ll admit I wouldn’t have at the start, but you’ve proven very capable.”
“And the kind of person deserving of not having a leash?” I asked him
Just a moment of hesitation. All I needed. It was..freeing in a sense. I hadn’t expected much more than this.
“Of course you are,” Dr. Dawes said, looking at Voltar a little angrily. “Regardless of your crimes no one is. Unfortunately, our influence is not nothing but it’s also not-“
“Enough,” I said tiredly. “I understand.”
“Outside of that, I do reccomend rest,” Dr. Dawes continued. “Biosculpting aside, you can’t just heal up like this without consequences. You need rest, and Samuel is not going to begrudge you that. Especially with the killings on a pause.”
On a pause? That smelled fishy in the extreme.
“And enough time for us to talk with Samuel about certain things,” Voltar said more darkly. “I don’t know who has convinced you driving yourself to ruin is needed, but that is not the case. Get some rest Miss Harrow.”
“You’re probably right,” I admitted, but then turned to look down at the sacrificial circle. “Unfortunately, even if the killings have stopped, events have not. I should fill you in on what happened last night, but first let’s get this down to my basement.”
Malvia Harrow’s mask was close at hand, but I left it off for now. Let’s see where this went first.
Comments
UnderwhelmingBird
This one hurt, but I think I'm glad she didn't try to repress it. Masks right now would probs finish off whatever's still holding her together against the onslaught of Very Bad Thoughts and Emotions. Maybe let's have ourselves a bit of the healing part of a Whump, eh? That's a tad optimistic, but our gal's been through a lot so far. Hope is a dangerous thing
Lecture Filler
Valid crash out
