Sin Eater - Chapter 10 - TrueTattoo - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (2024)

Chapter Text

---+++++++++---

Oneiromancy has been in my family’s blood for ages and we can trace our line quite well through the distaff side. It almost always occurs in the third sister, that is, till me. I will not bore the audience with the details so as to keep this brief focused, but I, from a young age, have been able to dream walk. Now, much like there are subsects of the sciences, there are also subsects of Oneiromancy. The correct term that Oneiromancy falls under, is Oneirotology. The study of dreams. There are the Oneiromancers, who through dreams attempt to divine the future. There are the Oneirotactis, which touch dreams and are able to read other peoples dreams through either physical contact or a prolonged session of question asking. There is also the Oniropaeteritum, who are able to use dreams to interpret the past. But the subject we shall focus on today is the Oneiroambula. Or, the dream walkers.

Dream Walkers, are fairly self explanatory. But unlike all other families under the Oneirology umbrella, ours is the only one that does not require a living subject in order to gain what’s needed. Dream Walkers exist, in a great number. But most have very little day to day control of chaos, and thus, they are left alone, walking others dreams and thinking it a normal thing. I happen to be one of the lucky few who have a spark of chaos, and so I have gone to school and have been taught to hone my skill.

Dream Walking can be a wonderfully freeing experience. We are able to traverse the greatest fantasies and memories of people we will never see outside the dreamscape. But Dream walking can also be a terrifying experience, for we are not the only ones walking amongst the dreams. There are many beings who take refuge in the dreamscape, and many, who in fact, live within it for the whole of their existence. There are those who study the dreamscape, who’s origin is yet unknown. But there are those out there who use the dreams of others, to sustain themselves, and still others who use the connections dreams have to their living bodies, to seek them out.

Of these, the succubi and incubi are the most frequent.

It used to be, back in the days of yore, that if a succubus or incubus was near, it could take out a whole village by entering the dreams of those within, seducing them, and than making them physically come to them, where copulation often took place until the victim lay dead, trapped in the dreamscape. These were hunters, and through a mechanism the Witchers understand they are able to gain the lifeforce they need through copulation both physical and mental. They are an Apex predator, who parasitically feeds on those who dream, and who wish to copulate. Many within the families of Oneirology were both easy victims for Succubae and Incubi, as well as a very fine meal indeed, so it was learned quickly how to spot them and withdraw. But for us Dream walkers? It is different.

My first encounter with a succubus was, in a word, terrifying. I hadn’t yet begun to make my way to Aretuza, in fact, I didn’t even know that was where I would end up. I was very, very young. I was bouncing around between dreamscapes, playing, not understanding exactly what I was doing, when I ran into the dream of the village drunk. When I entered it, the Succubus knew immediately, and chased me out. To me it was terrible, a half woman half goat painted, with horns! I woke up screaming about it, about the demon I saw attacking the drunk.

The second time I ran into one I was much older. Another succubus, and this one wasn’t a terrible one. She hadn’t quite found a victim yet, but she was searching. When she saw me she knew at once what I was and asked me why I was following her. I told her I was curious, as she was close to me, very close, yet no one had complained about feeling ill, or husbands running off. She told me she was hunting, but that little sips of dreams from many were much better than killing one or two, and the source replenished. When I asked her how she learned it, she said she was taught it by her mother!

She asked if I had run into any of her kind before, and I told her my story. She told me that a country succubus is often a starved one, and desperate. She said most of her kind lived in cities now, the bigger the better, because half the time they didn’t even need to hunt! Just the amount of dreams people had were enough to sustain that part of themselves, and likewise, one could always find someone willing in body. She told me that killing was a thing of the depraved, and the broken in a city. She let me follow her, because she was in the mood for something specific. When we arrived to the dream she chose, it was a man, cowering while a group of men threatened him. I watched in horror as she launched in, and absorbed the men, and then faced the fellow.

What happened between them is exactly what you expect between a succubus and victim. But as she did as she was made to do, the dream changed. She took every piece of dark in that man's dream and she absorbed it. By the end, the man was crying, happy, and she left him to wake. When she stepped back into the liminal between dreams she smiled softly and said something to me that I think of nearly every day.

“Dreams should be pleasant, and full of restful memories, experiences, and imaginings. Nightmares of that sort are a horrible thing, and they never leave a person, not really. But I can do that, I can take that away. I ate the dream, and he never has to dream it again, because it’s gone. In a city as big as Gors Velen a whole troupe of us wouldn’t be able to take every bad dream away, even if we worked lifetimes. And you, you can block them, block the memory of them, but they never go away. The stigma against us is earned in your eyes. But we are like you. We want to live, thrive, and be happy. We are not without empathy. And that is what this world needs more of. So men like him don’t have to suffer nightmares brought on by other men’s hands.”

-Condwiramurs Tilly, from “Oneirology: Dream walking and the waking World.”

---+++++++++---

Chapter 10:

Shadows and Mirriors

---+++++++++---

They had woken early, very early. The sun had yet to come up when they woke, and Geralt began speaking of what he saw. He felt calm, much calmer as he spoke than he had in the days previous, and none of the raging panic which had burst from his chest like an overfilled pie had cooled. Regis listened, and he listened without interruption, which was a strange thing in and of itself. But the reason why became apparent quickly, and it wasn’t something Geralt had anticipated. For all his own emotional turmoil, Regis too was suffering. Vampires, after all, felt things keenly, according to Regis. And the previous two days had drained him, visibly, and had chipped away at his will to speak.

In the end, when they had gotten some breakfast, and had thought to finally start their day, Regis informed Geralt that he had things to take care of in the morning. He needed time to process what had happened, and to decompress from it. Geralt, of course, felt strange about his insistence on seeing to his own matters, but in the end, the practicality of those matters won out over his feelings of wanting Regis to be close. Regis seemed thankful, overly so, about Geralt acquiescing to a morning apart, but Geralt figured, and rightly so, that Regis wouldn’t be far away.

It wasn’t until an hour later, clad in his armor, and walking through the now busy streets of Dragfa, and thinking about the previous day’s events, that Geralt realized he had needed some distance too.

The day was bustling, but the fog had rolled in, and with it, came the trapped and poisoned air that Geralt had experienced the first night of his arrival. It didn’t affect him in the least, and the people around him seemed used to the matter, covering their faces with cloth, and seeing to their business with small coughs to clear their lungs. Geralt’s wandering had been aimless. His boot clad feet stepped in puddles filled with leaves from the trees which were planted in the lanes, but he never stopped listening. He felt pretty sure, all told, that the murderers would clear out if they spotted him, or at the very least not reveal themselves.

It was when he least expected it that a familiar voice called out, and he spotted a hand waving to him from a café.

“Geralt! A good morning to you!” The voice of Gaunter O’Dimm called out, and the man smiled as if Geralt was the finest and oldest of friends. “Come, sit with me for a moment, that is, if you have the time.”

Geralt did, and despite his misgivings about the man, at the moment he seemed friendly enough. So, he stole over, almost getting hit by no less than two bikes, and joined the man at his table.

“Ah, a morning in Dragfa.” He smiled at Geralt as he sat. “Even with the humidity so thick you could practically bathe in the open air; it does have Its charms.”

“If you say so.” Geralt shrugged.

“Let’s get some coffee and some scones.” O’Dimm chirped jovially, waving over one of the café workers, a young, tall and thin man who greeted them pleasantly. “They make specialty drinks here; unlike I have ever tasted! I must admit I have become partial to them, and now wonder what shall happen when I return to Velen. I shall have to get ahold of their recipes, if they can part with them. I sense you like sweet things, and now that chocolate isn’t such a rarity they place it in the coffee, would you mind if I order for you?”

“Not at all.” Geralt said, and O’Dimm did just that, then ordered several scones, two danishes, and a newspaper from the man, who nodded softly, and then gangled off with his long limbs to see to their orders.

“Now, let’s catch up! I saw you found much in the houses of the Pink Lady and her sisters.” O’Dimm didn’t smile then, and Geralt appreciated the seriousness with which he seemed to take the matter. “Anything you would wish to share?”

Geralt debated with himself for a long moment. In the end, his judgement brought to bear that having more eyes on the situation was far better than having less, and despite the strange first meeting and the disappearance shortly thereafter, Geralt was finding that, while he may not exactly like the fellow per-say, he found his presence tolerable. So, Geralt spoke.

O’Dimm must not have expected him to speak at all, for once he began, he made a scramble to his bag, which laid beside his feet, and drew out a notepad and quickly began to take notes. His eyes were eager, his questions thoughtful, and he didn’t interrupt Geralt much, unless it was to ask about something related.

In the middle of their conversation, their coffee arrived alongside the pastries, and O’Dimm had been right. The cloying and thick coffee with chocolate steamed milk, and sugar, served over ice had indeed been something Geralt had enjoyed, and his tongue became a little loser for it. They ate and drank as they spoke, and when Geralt finally finished telling them everything he could which wouldn’t endanger himself or Regis, O’Dimm looked at him in bemused surprise.

“I think I misjudged you, Geralt.” He said, putting away his notepad, and sipping at his own coffee, which he took with sugar and cream. “In fact, I think many have. The circles I run in spoke of you as if you were a hard nut to crack, and apparently you rarely speak on cases.”

“And what circles would those be?” Geralt asked, biting into one of the scones, which was lemon flavored with little bits of dried cranberry in it.

“Those of us who investigate the occult.” He smiled. “Witchers, for that is what you indeed are, in general tend to keep to their own, which as you may imagine is very vexing to those of us who know they truly exist.”

“You know I am a witcher?” Geralt asked in surprise.

“Your spectacles don’t shield your eyes completely, and as it has been raining for the past days, your eyes are currently slitted to aid you with the brightness, even for as foggy as it is.” He grinned and leaned forward. “But truthfully speaking I knew before then. Witchers have a way of carrying themselves which no humans can match. A surety in your steps, the posture of a fighter, I find myself quite giddy.”

“Well, I am glad I could amuse you.” Geralt smiled. “You hail from Velen?”

“Indeed.” O’Dimm nodded and leaned back again looking at the passersby with the detective’s eyes. “I live in Crows Perch, if you know the place, in a rowhouse on Butcher Street. I borrowed from a lady named Mary Higgens, blind as a mole rat, but sharp as a blade. She is one of those rare women who have found their place in the world, and it is beside no man, though she takes care of me well enough, when I get into trouble.”

“Sounds like a good woman.” Geralt chuckled.

“A better I would dare you to find, and you would fall short.” O’Dimm smiled easily. “And what of you? I have seen Yennefer moving about the city, though I avoid her if I am able. You two have a past.”

“And it’s in the past.” Geralt should have perhaps been angry at the man’s intrusion, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be, not after he was fed by the man.

“A pity, she is a beautiful woman.” The way O’Dimm spoke implied he thought otherwise but Geralt left it. “I suppose I should take that for what it is, a warning to not get close, not that I was tempted. Still though, it’s good for us bachelor's to look out for one another.”

“Not a bachelor either.” Geralt laughed easily, and O’Dimm raised his brows. “The papers do have the right to some things. I am currently with Emiel Terzieff. I know those sorts of relationships are not the common course, but I have found with him more than I could wish.”

“Really?” O’Dimm’s eyes were widened in genuine surprise, though not disgust. “He is known to me through words of others, but I have never really met the fellow. Strange bedfellows, a doctor and a Witcher. I would be careful if I were you. Not saying he is a danger, far from it, but there are rumors, of course. He is uncanny in his care, many call him fae touched. He apparently is quite the schemer.”

“Nah,” Geralt shook his head softly. “Just very obsessed with his job and the care of his patients. He is a “Dreaming child.” At his heart. Though I am also surprised you haven’t run into him either, he has a keen interest in the occult as well. Though not so much as to be ensconced in the frivolous. But personal lives aside, have you learned anything new?”

“I have.” O’Dimm nodded, taking the avoidance of the topic gracefully and without anger. “I discovered another of their sites, likely one of their first ones, if not the first one.”

Geralt sat up looking at him in interest.

“They did not leave much behind, and the only reason I discovered it was because I overheard a group of ladies complaining about the smell from a home butchery. The corpses were well decomposed, and their Torsos had been mutilated. With your theory about the murderers being out to make homunculi I understand the meaning of the marks on them now. Still though I have been on this case for a long time, and I have seen the marks twice now. But I have never run into something like this…”

He withdrew an item from his pocket and placed it on the table. Geralt’s eyes widened, and he took it in hand. It was a nasty bit of business, but one he was deeply familiar with. It was a bundle of rosemary twigs, with a rat’s skull attached, and several bones of birds, all woven together using human hair, red human hair and it had been dipped in human suet and covered in a mixture of Silver powder and powdered henbane mushrooms. On the skull a Goetic rune was carved and painted with living human blood.

“This, my friend, is a break.” Geralt said and couldn’t hide his excitement. “I had my hunches, but this confirms it.”

“Do elaborate.” O’Dimm was looking at the object in confusion.

“It’s a demonic ward.” Geralt said and brought it up to his nose. The blood was old, but it was a break! He could smell the blood! “Hair of a witch, skull of a plague rat, all mounted on the twigs of a blue rosemary bush, dipped in the pious fat of a practicing priestess of one sort or another, likely, if the man is as knowledgeable as I think he is, a practitioner of Melitele, sprinkled in mercurial silver and black henbane, which is used exclusively in communications with the dead. While a single one, on its own, does very little. When placed at the apexes of a very specific rune set, it is an extremely, and I mean extremely powerful ward to protect from demons.”

“Really?” O’Dimm asked. “And the blood?”

“The man who it is made to protect.” Geralt shared a nasty grin with the man as he handed the ward back to him, and he took it far more gingerly in his hands than he had handed it off with. “This confirms it that the man is a mage of Rissburg, and he is apparently afraid of demons.”

“Not summoning them, I hope.” O’Dimm was looking at the ward, now handling it between two fingers and squinting at it.

“No, and the rat, while killed by the Catriona, has likely been dead for quite some time.” Geralt said. “It’s the henbane, rosemary, and hair which is key. Henbane is used in inducing trances so one can talk to the dead. In its inert form, it’s used rather to protect the dead. The rosemary is a specific species. Blue rosemary. It doesn’t look much different from its cousin, the ordinary rosemary, but its origin is anything but. Have you heard of the elder blood.”

“And your connection to it.” He was still studying the ward. “Go on.”

“It comes from the cloak that Lara Dorren was wearing when she was fleeing with her child.” Geralt said, feeling suddenly more cautious. “She placed it on a bush, and it was covered with her blood. The flowers turned blue on the rosemary bush. For a long while it was disputed on if either the blue Rosemary, or the Faeinnewedd was the most potent, but it was largely found that Faeinnewedd flowers are much rarer and thus have more worth. Blue rosemary will flower anywhere it’s planted and tended. So, most of that legend was forgotten except for mages, and the occasional overly enthusiastic botanist.”

“Why specifically is it important in this,’ O’Dimm waved at it, “Particular configuration.”

“Because it’s frustrating for demons.” Geralt said, eyeing O’Dimm carefully. “The purity of the cause of Lara Doren, protecting her child, lends the herb magic. Specifically protective magic against Evil forces. In this, particular configuration, as you so rightly put it, it is meant to protect the user from harm, from people that have ill intent from him.”

“Won't that make your job difficult?” O’Dimm asked, looking at Geralt curiously. “You obviously have ill intent for him, at least in his perspective.”

“Yeah, it may.” Geralt admitted. “It would explain a few things, more than a few things.”

“So, the rumors are true then.” O’Dimm looked to him and set the effigy down. “Witchers are made from monsters.”

“You are curious.” Geralt raised a brow.

“And you are going to clam up on me.” O’Dimm grinned wryly. “I am a detective. If I were not curious, I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”

“You aren’t human.” Geralt said and took a sip of his coffee as O’Dimm’s expression darkened. “Don’t take it to heart, detective. There isn’t a single person who could slip from me like you have, other than a mage. I have dealt with those like you before, and I certainly wasn’t born yesterday. Though I have to admit, most of your like are mad by the time I get to them. Many dislike being pulled from their plane. But you are different.”

O’Dimm said nothing, and looked like he was pouting.

“Ah now, take heart!” Geralt co*cked his head. “I am not after you. And from what I can tell, you actually enjoy being here. Which means that you would like to stay here. Even those trapped here with decent intentions go mad eventually, but I have a feeling you are not trapped at all. You are a detective too. Supernatural or not. Though I do have to wonder if you care about the murders.”

“I do.” O’Dimm said flatly, and Geralt saw a flash of fire in his eyes. “This world works on balance. Good and bad. Living and dead. Life and death, Geralt, are the important factors. When the world is out of balance, there are many who would press for the advantage. The conjunction of spheres for instance, can be quickened when too many lives are lost. True, it is only, what, a hundred, two hundred lives that have been taken? But even that is enough to press matters. Innocent women who have done nothing to deserve it are dying. Many of which would have had a positive impact on the world, and helped it remain in balance. Innocence should be protected at all costs, Geralt. These victims are not chosen as randomly as you think.”

“Then let’s stop the tit for tat.” Geralt implored earnestly. “We want the same thing.”

Gaunter seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, his finger tracing along the edges of the ward.

“I don’t trust you.” He said after a moment of thinking.

“I could trust you.” Geralt said, nearly biting his tongue off in the process. O’Dimm looked to him with raised brows. “This world isn’t black and white, O’Dimm. It just isn’t. The foulest of people could have the best intentions. And the best people could have the foulest of intentions. You know this.”

“You have me at a disadvantage.” He said sourly, looking at his cup of coffee, his finger still on the ward. “You have me at a disadvantage, and you are not pressing it. You don’t even realize it.”

“Or I do but I don’t care about that bullsh*t.” Geralt snapped and O’Dimm looked up to him startled. “I shared what I did because it was the right thing to do. The just thing. I am not keeping score, O’Dimm.”

“Well, you should.” He muttered. “I have misjudged you far worse than I anticipated. I am not omnipotent. Though I could be close if I pressed it. But then I would gather unwanted attention, and you are right, I do enjoy being here. Fine if this isn’t a tit for tat, tell me why I can handle this?”

He picked up the ward again.

“It’s separated from his will.” Geralt said and plucked it from his hands. “You want to see how it works when it’s active?”

O’Dimm scoffed. “Why not.”

Geralt took it and rubbed the blood from the skull. Then he pricked the back of his hand with his sharp teeth and placed a drop of his blood on it. His medallion jumped a little, and O’Dimm’s eyes were drawn to it for a moment.

“Alright, try to pinch me, have the intent in your mind you want it to hurt.” Geralt said, holding the ward and outstretching his free hand.

O’Dimm didn’t look impressed, but he reached for Geralt’s arm.

The second he made contact, ice shot from Geralt’s skin. O’Dimm pulled back with a shout, as if he had been burned. The moment he lost contact, the ice disappeared, and several onlookers looked to see what had happened.

“Hot coffee.” Geralt motioned to the cup, which hadn’t been touched, and the others turned away.

“That hurt.” O’Dimm was cradling his arm.

“I’ll bet.” Geralt said and wiped his blood from the ward. “Try now.”

O’Dimm now hesitated, greatly. He looked to Geralt, and to the ward, and frowned, but he stuck out his arm, and shot out a finger. The press was quick, barely skin on skin. But nothing happened. He then did it again, poking forward with a finger. Then he rested his hand on Geralt’s arm and groped it like he was searching for something. He pinched Geralt and flinched away, then frowned deeply.

“And now I know what you truly are.” Geralt said, and O’Dimm looked up at him in wary confusion. “You would never be able to get at him.”

“I was beginning to understand that well before you arrived.” O’Dimm snorted.

“Why are you seeking him, O’Dimm.” Geralt asked.

“I made a deal with him.” O’Dimm said at length. “Three wishes. He made them, and it’s time to collect. But unless the condition is met, I cannot.”

“And what condition is that?” Geralt asked.

“Geralt of Rivia?” Geralt’s head snapped up and he saw two police officers approaching.

“Seems as though our fun has been cut short.” O’Dimm muttered then plastered on a winning smile which didn’t reach his eyes. “Gentlemen, what can we do for you?”

“We weren’t asking for you, O’Dimm.” One of the officers sneered. “We told you to get out of here.”

“And he is a part of my investigations, so you better have a damned good reason to ask him to scram.” Geralt stood up and faced the two police officers, who looked at him in surprise. O’Dimm too looked at him startled, then his grin turned genuine, and he laughed.

“It seems you have been outplayed, gentleman.” He said and stood up. “But I can see I am not wanted. Geralt? It’s been a pleasure, as always.”

Geralt seethed as Gaunter O’Dimm walked away from the table, having left a large stack of coins which more than paid for their coffee and pastries. He was whistling a tune, and the officers were glaring at him as he walked.

“Talk.” Geralt snapped and their attention came back to him and looked at him frowning.

“You are wanted at the station.” One of them drawled. “We haven’t heard from you in a few days, and we need a report.”

“You just f*cking ruined the only lead I have had!” Geralt seethed and grabbed one of them by the front of his uniform. “What did Roche not understand about let me f*cking work?!”

“Let him go.” The other officer stammered. “Roche is the one that ordered it!”

Geralt let the man go, and he stumbled. Onlookers were eyeing him, and he looked back to the table. He had expected O’Dimm to have left with the ward, but it was sitting on the tabletop, half resting in the condensation coming from Geralt’s glass. He snatched it up and glowered at the men.

“Fine, let’s go.”

---+++++++++---

The police headquarters were a fair bit more organized than the last time Geralt had been in there. And a fair bit quieter. People were moving with purpose, and no one seemed to be out of place. When they were leading Geralt up the stairs to Roche’s office, Roche met them and looked on in surprise.

“Geralt!” He said with a smile. Geralt’s glower put a damper on it.

“Your men ruined one of the first good leads I have.” Geralt growled low. “Ran off my informant. I told you to let me work. I am f*cking working, and you prevented me from doing it! For what? A f*cking report!”

His voice carried, as it always did when he was angry, though it held a rasp to it.

“I ordered that he was to be approached and picked up if he wasn’t working!” Roche snapped looking to the two officers who looked afraid.

“He was at a café sir, with the Private detective O’Dimm, who you ordered to leave just yesterday after he…”

Roche closed his eyes.

“Leave, and you are lucky your badges aren’t in my hands. Go do something useful.” Roche bit out, and the two men saluted and moved away.

“Come with me.” Roche said, and it was an order too. Geralt stood petulantly on the stairs.

“Geralt?” Roche asked as he looked behind himself, frowning.

“No.” Geralt spat. “You don’t get to order me, you don’t get to collect me, and you don’t get to get reports from me.”

“We found another…”

“O’Dimm found it, and for his finding, you tried to kick him out of Dragfa.” Geralt looked to Roche angrily. “You found nothing of value there, and you f*cking had its location marked on the map to f*cking begin with. Or did you forget I was a part of that conversation?”

Roche looked at him, his face flushing in anger.

“You are making a scene.” He said.

“I will make a worse one.” Geralt snapped. “And that’s the crux of it. You don’t f*cking care about anything but your image. You have been labeled as a joke, rightly. You have been accused of ignoring your duties, rightly. And now you take me away from an investigation by force, ruin my lead, and demand me to give a report? No, Roche. That was the final straw. You went back on your word. I don’t care who is putting pressure on you.”

“Gentlemen.” A rather tall man with a decent enough build and the look of a slimy salesman appeared behind Roche. “Let’s take this upstairs, shall we?”

“And who the hell are you?” Geralt spat out.

“I am Mayor Cargill.” The man said lifting his nose just enough that Geralt, if he had been feeling charitable at the moment, could have shoved it straight into his brain and killed the man.

“And where the hell have you been?” Geralt snapped, and there was a sudden round of chuckles that broke the silence from the eagerly watching police officers and staff. The mayor also turned red.

“Just a moment of your time.” He said through clenched teeth.

“Fine.” Geralt snapped and came up the stairs.

When they entered Roche’s office, it was clean and organized, whereas before it had been a disaster. Geralt grabbed a cigarette from the case which rested on the now neat surface of the desk and lit it.

“I would ask that you refrain-“Geralt cut him off, blowing a large billow of smoke in the mayor's direction. He coughed and waved it away. Roche shut the door and looked irate, but Geralt didn’t much care at the moment.

“Where is Doctor Terzieff?” Roche demanded.

“Hell if I know.” Geralt said, and that was the honest truth. “I am not his keeper.”

Roche looked taken aback. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he seemed calmer, but Geralt could hear how rapid his heart was beating.

“Now, as I said before, I am Mayor Cargile.” The Mayor started again, and Geralt took another drag on the cigarette. “I have been filled in on the goings on, as I have been away on vacation for the last two weeks. I only returned Yesterday. I got my reports from Roche, now I need them from you.”

“And you aren’t getting them from me.” Geralt looked at him evenly.

“I will have you removed…”

“You have no power, Martial law was called, and according to the newspaper I saw today, it’s been ratified by the senate and signed by the emperor.” Geralt snapped back and the mayor bristled. “Actually no, let’s not do this song and dance.”

He made a sign with his fingers and Roche called out, but Geralt ignored him. When the Axii settled, it settled hard, and the mayor looked to him dully.

“First thing, the Lion headed spider, are you a part of their group?” Geralt asked.

“I am.” The mayor nodded, and Roche gasped, and nearly fell over himself to get the cuffs off his belt.

“And you knew of the Pink Lady?” Geralt asked and took a draw of his Cigarette.

“Of course, everyone did. There was no place in this city more blessed than the Pink Lady, even now it stands in effigy of the sacrifices made.” The Mayor smiled.

“Geralt, ask him why he was gone.” Roche demanded and cuffed him.

“You heard the man, answer.” Geralt demanded.

“Oh, Well I was approached by a man who wished to sacrifice to our gods, but he didn’t want me involved.” The mayor said glibly, wavering dizzily under Axii’s influence. “He sent me away and said he would send for me after a week. After two, he didn’t, and so I came back because his money was gone.”

“What was his name?” Geralt demanded.

“I do not know, and I was paid to not ask about it.” The mayor drawled. “He was an average looking fellow. Dark hair, balding. Said he was visiting from the church in Gors Velen. He looked familiar though. Sounded it too, but with a thick accent. Ah…”

“What do you know of the murders?” Geralt asked.

“I just found out about them Yesterday, when I returned.” The Mayor frowned, his head bobbing. “Are they the sacrifice?”

“Roche,” Geralt lifted the Axii, and the mayor blinked and went pale. “You do this to me again, and I will punch you so hard nothing of your nose shall be left. Where is Yennefer?”

“In her office.” He said weakly as the mayor began to struggle.

Geralt stormed out angrily. He tried to calm himself before he entered Yennefer’s temporary office, but when he barged in, it flared all over again. Just seeing her at this point made him livid. But he had a job to do.

“Something’s got you worked up.” She sneered, looking down at the rather delicate bit of magic she was doing. “In case you can’t see I am making a scrying crystal, I should-“

“You won’t, don’t waste the effort.” He tossed the ward down, and the glow in her hands faded, and the crystal fell back apart into dust. She looked at it, hung her head, and swore.

“sh*t.” She Snarled. “sh*t, sh*t and triple sh*t! Where did you find this?”

“Site one, given to me by an interested party, who apparently made it there first.” Geralt said, and she took it in hand. “I know what it is, and I activated it myself to test it. This also explains why we found Elle so quickly, they had deactivated the wards there for some reason. And this is why the wraiths weren’t able to get into the lab at the Pink Lady. This is a ward and a death caller, it’s no wonder we can’t find hide nor hare of them. One of these alone activated properly can turn people away, if they had enough to discard one carelessly, it’s hopeless to look for them. We are blind. But this is your forte or was.”

“There is very little I can do with it.” She frowned.

“There is one thing, run a trace.” Geralt demanded. “Yes, I know it’s taxing, yes, I know it may lead to a dead end. But this isn’t an armatures work. They don’t teach this sort of high-level warding to simple students. This is not Aretuza or Ban Aard. It’s Rissburg. It’s been coated in human fat, and it smells vaguely female. We are looking for a dead priestess of one sort or another. Likely a corpulent one.”

Yennefer made a face at the ward, and then sighed.

“Well, seeing as my other course of action is a dead end, why not.” She drawled and looked up to Geralt. “Strange seeing you not attached to that doctor’s hip. What’s he off doing?”

“I have no idea, Regis things?” Geralt replied and wondered why it interested people so much, though this was Yennefer, it should have been expected. “I am not his keeper, nor he mine. Big boy pants worn all around. I would ask where Istredd is but that would be rude.”

“He was, in a word, Irate when he found out that the girls had been kidnapped, likely before Gor’s Velen.” Yennefer shrugged and turned to him fully. “He hadn’t received word about any of them. Really, it’s not surprising, if I could take an educated guess, most of them were small time. One of the many graduates pumped out of Aretuza these days who often give up magic for home and family.”

“Likely not.” Geralt muttered. “The murderer had been looking for perfect people for a long time. This may be his second string, but he wasn’t desperate in his choice. These people have likely been held for months if not longer. Which brings me to something else.”

Geralt frowned, as O’Dimm hadn’t elaborated on what exactly the murderers were looking for in the kidnapped girls. But he did say something about innocence.

“I have a hunch.” Geralt said and he supposed that’s what it qualified as at the moment.

“Hmm, I thought I smelled something burning.” Yennefer smirked, and he sighed.

“The victims, the kidnapped ones. They all look different, they have all been of different nationalities, from different places in the continent, and it seems utterly random. But there has to be something connecting them. Is the potency of magic altered by things like Virginity? Ignorance, or perceived purity?”

“Two yes, but I am hung up on the third, perceived purity?” She asked.

“You know, someone who is just born good.” Geralt said, some more of the conversation trickling back into his mind. “Someone with the potential to do great goods if given the chance. Not someone who acts good but is.”

“I am not sure how to measure that.” Yennefer frowned. “And I am not sure about it being a factor either, though it may be worth looking into. Why not ask Roche to look into it.”

“Because I am angry with him.” Geralt said, and sheepishly added. “And the Mayor is involved.”

Yennefer regarded him, and then sighed deeply. He hated that sigh and was glad he wasn’t subjected to it normally.

“And” he added as an afterthought. “He is involved with the Cult of the Lion Headed Spider.”

Her eyes whipped to his and had become razor sharp, as if she had learned something important.

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” She growled low, angry at him.

“Was debating just surprising you with it.” Geralt smirked, and Yennefer looked at the dust covered desktop.

“Well, if he is in custody he won’t be going anywhere.” She shrugged, and some of her anger fled her. “I am… troubled about a great deal of this.”

The admission must have cost her something, because her skin paled slightly, and her heartbeat ratcheted up.

“I have had nothing to do with Aretuza in many years.” She admitted, and for some reason Geralt felt relief. “I burned any good bridges I could have had. So, the fact that they came to me is troubling.”

“In what way?” Geralt asked, feeling himself frown. “The way I see it, they were desperate, both to have this solved, and to get their noses out of it. You are the perfect scapegoat for both.”

“Ah yes, the good old If she fails, she wasn’t one of ours, or if she succeeds, we pinned her for the job.” Yennefer rolled her eyes and leaned against the desktop, crossing her arms in front of her. “I owe them.”

Those words Geralt had never expected to hear from her, so he stayed quiet, knowing she would elaborate if she wanted to. She didn’t. She simply brought a hand up to her forehead and pinched the bridge of her nose. She stood there for a long moment, and Geralt felt the need to apologize to her. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual, as his guilt regarding her was thick, and sticky like a web. But he also realized, as he looked at her, that giving an apology would just ramp her up again.

A memory popped up, one of her screaming over him, working magic on him, trying to save him. But what if she hadn’t been? What if she was trying to speed things along? She had, after all, not been the one to put the knife down before Ciri arrived. He shook his head.

“I have things to do.” Geralt muttered and turned towards the door.

Yennefer didn’t say a word, and Geralt opened and shut the door, and made to leave.

--

He was sitting now, alone, at the very same café O’Dimm had waved him down at. He had eaten a rather sizable pile of Egg salad sandwiches, for he hadn’t had them in quite some time. He had also had two of the coffees and was surprised that the caffeine in them was affecting him. He was reading the paper, in between watching people move back and forth. The air was fouler than it had been in the morning, and he was the only one brave enough to sit outside in it. The police officers which passed by every so often, didn’t look to him, nor did the military men, though they hadn’t really paid much attention to him anyway. The lunch rush had come and gone, though it was still early in the afternoon.

Geralt had been sitting alone, waiting, hoping O’Dimm would show back up. It had been purposeless.

As time wore on, his mind continued to wander to his confrontation with Yennefer. She had seemed almost normal to him, which was strange. She hadn’t yelled, screamed, nor had she chastised him. Considering how horrible she had been when they met the first time, and the second, he had expected the worst and had gone in fully prepared to leave angry. Instead, he just left. It bothered him more and more until he realized she had been alone. There were no cops around her, Istredd wasn’t near, and Regis also was not around. She had, in essence, dropped her barriers, and had acted… normal.

Regis was right, it’s performative, at least to some extent. He thought to himself as he watched a nursemaid with several children who were complaining about the smog which had overtaken the city. I should have spoken to her.

And he would have, had he not already been angry at the Mayor.

And that’s another fine kettle of fish we didn’t need. He took another sip of the coffee, letting the sweet taste roll over his tongue. And here I only suspected, yet here we are, it goes all the way up to the top.

It was yet another person who had seen the ringleader, who described him as being utterly normal. Geralt had been watching the passersby, noting how many people looked like the man who had been described several times now. He had lost track at forty. Forty unique men, in the two hours he had been sitting. It was maddening to think about it. Even more maddening was the smog, which blinded Geralt’s nose nearly completely. Even if the man were to pass him, he would have been unable to scent him.

It’s useless, may as well go back and wait for Regis. He thought to himself, draining the last of his glass.

On his way back he watched as people in the market square, and indeed, all over town, had begun to decorate for the oncoming Velen fair. He had watched several open wagons filled to the brim with tables and chairs enter the market, where people were setting up, laughing, and enjoying themselves despite the caustic smells which surrounded them.

It’s no wonder no one finds the bodies until they are practically soup. He thought as he watched a wagon full of guts and bones fly past from one of the slaughterhouses. The murderers had chosen this city well. Even if there was an off chance that a witcher could have shown up, they would be hobbled. He spat and sighed.

---+++++++++---

“He isn’t here, though he left a message.” Millie smiled at Geralt, and Geralt did his best to not be ill at her. “He said that he had to go to the bank, and from there he was going to the pharmacy at Dillian and Perry. He said he would likely be there, and as an hour has passed since his visit, that is where I would start.”

Geralt wound his way through the city, which was now looking sickly. People, despite their jovial moods, were stopping, masks or not, to try to catch their breath. Soon the smell of burning and the telltale scent of Ash and tannins filled his nose, and he happened upon a great group of firemen, who were still working to put out the flames from a building which had been burned to its supporting timbers.

“I thought they had caught the arsonists!” Someone in the crowd that had gathered exclaimed as the firemen crawled over the steaming timbers. “There is no way Furney’s shop could have caught up, the man didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, and he refused to wire the place for lights! He dealt in tiles! Porcelain!”

“Yes, but there was an artist’s supply shop beside it, and that is where the fire started.” Someone else scoffed. “Artists, they never know what’s good for them.”

The debate raged on as Geralt passed. The only thing he caught was that no one got trapped. He looked at the close proximity of the buildings and shuddered. If it hadn’t rained as hard as it had, the whole city block would have gone up in smoke.

Finding the pharmacy was not as difficult as Geralt anticipated, but when he got there, Regis wasn’t there, nor had they seen him. Geralt ordered something called a Coca-fizz, which had a very long list of rather dubious ingredients, but the man behind the counter insisted it would ‘perk him right up.’ The drink was sweet, and it was filled with carbon Dioxide bubbles which tickled Geralt’s tongue like champagne. As he sat there, a few wary folks joined him, as well as several children, who were loud and begging for malts. The door chime rang, and Geralt looked up from his drink, and saw Regis walking in.

“Oh, good heavens.” He gasped when he spotted Geralt at the countertop. “I was beginning to worry I would miss you a second time.”

“Nah.” Geralt took a sip of his drink, and then quietly burped. “Entertaining myself though. This stuff, dangerous.”

“And addictive.” Regis smiled at the Pharmacist, who smiled back pleasantly enough. “Which one did you get?”

“Coca-fizz.” Geralt looked at the fizzing cold glass of liquid. “Between this and the coffee I had earlier I probably won’t sleep for two days.”

Regis eyed the glass, and then took it, and shot the thing down. Geralt looked at him as he wiped his mouth.

“Oh, that hit the spot.” Regis muttered. “But I am not here for treats, Larry, is Bethany in the back.”

“Oh, she is, sir, she is!” The Pharmacist smiled strangely, as he moved to place a malt in front of two waiting children. “Let yourself in.”

Geralt stood up and felt a rushing tingle through his limbs. As he followed Regis, he wondered, vaguely, how a normal human could tolerate the drink, much less survive it. He was watching Regis walk and only realized he had stopped to open a door when he ran into him.

“Really?” Regis turned to him in annoyance. “Back up.”

Geralt grinned and Regis scoffed, pushing him backwards and opening the door.

“No asking why we are here.” Regis said, as they stepped into a storage room filled to the brim with boxes and crates and wove their way around it. “Let me do the speaking and keep your hands to yourself.”

Geralt nodded, and curiosity began to eat at him as Regis opened another door and they began to ascend. The stairwell was narrow, and it echoed strangely. Geralt opened his mouth to begin to tell Regis of what he had been up to, when Regis pointedly turned around and put his fingers up to his lips. Geralt frowned, as they came out of the stairwell into a hallway which smelled like the labs in Kaer Morhen. The smell was caustic, and Geralt could hear others, also silent, working. They went down the hall, opened a door, which led to, of all things, another hall, and then that opened to a balcony. The air swept around them, and immediately Geralt smelled cannabis, and saw a great grand looking glass house with several stories which had been built upon the roof of the building.

Regis made for it, and Geralt frowned deeper still.

When they made it through the door, the room was humid and warm, and here the smell of cannabis was thick, and the plants themselves surrounded them. Regis led them through the plants, and then when they emerged to a workbench, possibly the oldest woman Geralt had ever seen sat examining groups of flowers from the cannabis.

“You’re late.” Her voice was craggy, deep and hoarse, likely from smoking. “You also disrupted my workers, and you brought an uninvited guest.”

“I did.” Regis said, and the woman with glassy blue eyes which had once been brown looked up to him, scrutinizing him. “Did…”

“You know well he did.” The woman, Bethay, spoke looking down to the flowers, and taking a small bunch of them to wrap in wax paper. “Why should I help you? What have you done to endure yourself to me?”

“I know you are upset at me, as are many others.” Regis said softly, and the old woman scowled at him. “But this isn’t about just you, or me. This isn’t about what you are doing, and what you are or aren’t providing. This is about the lives of women.”

“Mages are much the same.” She spoke at length, looking down as she sorted through the bud. “You know well I was threatened by those who I wouldn’t sell too. That my own life, as long as it has been, is in more danger now than it has ever been for a very long time. Why should I risk it? Why should I expedite it? I made myself who I am. I worked hard for it, against many foes, and I swore I would not get involved.”

“Do you know who this man is?” Regis indicated Geralt, and the woman looked to him briefly before looking back down to the flowers.

“I do.” She said after a time, gathering wax paper. “Nothing passes through this city without my eyes upon it. Though it is not as it once was. Gwynbleidd, what do you hope to achieve here? The lessening of deaths? The saving of women? You understand the gravity of what is happening? Do you understand who you stand beside?”

“I do.” Geralt said. “And I know I will be too late for most.”

“All.” She said with a finality which made his stomach sink. “This is not a common amateur who is meddling in powers he well shouldn’t. The man you seek is old, older still than you by a magnitude of five hundred years or more. He seeks that which was taken from him, that which he viewed as his, and he has the means to achieve this goal.”

She paused here, but didn’t pause her movements, which were steady and sure, repetitive as she placed flowers within the wax paper, folded it, and tied it with small strings of twine.

“Progress,” She began at length, reaching to the pile of flowers and grabbing some, putting it on a waiting scale, “is made with only the morality of those in charge in mind. You are a result of early progress, progress which was made centuries before its time, paid for with the blood of those who wished it. Men such as yourself, who proclaim to be men of logic, science, and reason, see every day that those things matter little, even as humans evolve and reach for understanding. The good of humanity is what is important. Many, many lives have been sacrificed in the name of this good. And who am I to judge what is or isn’t good? Who are you to? You say you wish to save the girls whose lives are forfeit already, but why? Because it’s the right thing to do? But what if, Witcher of old, the sacrifices which are being made are for a purpose which will lead to many more being saved? Were you not the product of many sacrifices yourself? Hundreds, thousands of them. You cannot deny this.”

“And if I had a choice, I would have stopped my own caste from doing what they did, even at the sacrifice of my own life.” Geralt looked to her coldly.

“And what of now?” She asked him, her old blue eyes keen as she took the plants from the scale and placed them on her worktop. “There are more of you now than there have been for centuries, new ones. Ones who choose.”

“It is different.” Regis insisted.

“It is not.” She replied back, her craggy voice gaining ire. “Upon the back of sacrifice was progress made, so that now changes can be made without the undue loss of life. It’s all connected. Every piece of it.”

She continued to sort for a moment more before her hands stilled.

“But you are right.” She said after a time. “You will not be able to save them, but this progress will lead to more sacrifice should it not be stopped at its source. I know less, Doctor, Witcher, than you could imagine. I only know what is happening because I was approached six months ago for certain things which I would not provide. I do not know the man in charge of everything for he is a simple looking stranger with every man’s face. Non-descript, average. But the first to approach me was not he, it was another.”

“Who?” Regis asked.

“I will not risk myself for you.” Bethany looked up to Regis. “And that bag of cash you have won’t buy me. I cannot be bought, not for this. Not when you have lost control. But I will give you one thing. I sent them away, for I couldn’t give them that which they sought, for despite everything, I do not aim to kill the people I sell to. I care little for the lives of Dh’oine, so the girls’ deaths do not trouble me, for what is another dead Dh’oine? But I do care of the ripples this will send my way, and other ways, so I will give you this. Seek out Ele’yas the forsaken. He is a betrayer to all, and he is whom I sent these men to.”

“You do not care?” Geralt frowned.

“Why should I?” She shot back. “No one cares for old Bethany, nor the good I do despite others thinking otherwise.”

She cast Regis a foul look.

“I am sorry.” Regis said, and the earnestness of it startled Geralt. “You know why I have to do what I do.”

“I don’t.” She snapped back. “But it is what it is. Do you need anything else?”

“Ah…” Regis looked to the packets full of cannabis.

“Of course.” She sneered, and then picked up a package which had sat beside her. “One day those who follow in your footsteps will look at this too and think it is a danger. Then what shall be done?”

“We can only hope they grow wise.” Regis said.

“You hope for too much.” She snorted. “Leave us for a moment, Emiel, I wish to speak to the Witcher.”

Regis looked surprised but took his package and bowed.

“I will meet you out front, Geralt, I trust you know the way back?” Regis asked. Geralt nodded and watched as the vampire slipped away. When the door to the building opened, the woman looked to Geralt keenly.

“You love him.” She said and Geralt said nothing back as she continued. “You would forsake all of this for him. A Witcher, heartless, emotionless, cold. When I was a girl, you were considered stories, now, you walk here yet do not exist. You do not exist, and you love, and that surprises me.”

“Should it?” Geralt asked, approaching her. “People tell themselves lies, Bethany, oh hamadryad. Did your people not speak of us?”

“They did.” She nodded, and Geralt watched through the cannabis plants as other dryads, traditional ones appeared looking on fearfully. “And it was with words of fear. You have caused many problems for us. Many. But you have also made it possible for our small patch of world to be as untouched as possible. You wish to ask me a question. Ask it.”

“Why are you here?” Geralt asked, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible.

“Because here is what is causing my forests to suffer.” She said, and some of the other dryads nodded, fearfully. “I am only a hundred and sixty, but as you can see, I am dying. My tree is dying, because the air here, which is poison even to Dh’oine, is killing the forest in Brokkilon. To answer your next question, what do I care of Dh’oine who would grow to have more children and bring more poisons to the land. Why am I selling drugs? Why am I here, and who am I? I am Bethany, I sell that which opens minds. I help the Dh’oine despite everything they have done, because when one hurts, one doesn’t think of another hurt. You should be familiar with this.”

Geralt felt guilt crawl through him, as he began to realize that in his own pain, he had neglected Regis’.

“Ah yes, the truth of it.” She smiled. “It hurts.”

She paused and placed her hands on the table.

“You understand why I cannot speak of much?” She asked, and Geralt nodded, now understanding that she couldn’t speak, because she could be outed, or killed. “Good. Then you should also understand why I wish you luck. Deaths or not, these men have put my own goals at risk, and have threatened my life. So, I will give you one thing, but I will not explain it. You must start at the beginning. There you will find the answers you seek.”

“The beginning?” Geralt asked, confusion and hope racing through him. “The beginning of what?”

“Many things.” She said and her eyes bore into him. “There are many beginnings involved in this.”

When she didn’t speak any more, Geralt sighed.

“Take heart, o witcher, no matter the outcome, you will find a way to manage, I am sure.” She smiled cruelly and then made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

“I am sure.” He said, then turned to leave.

Eyes followed him, and he looked at them. Green eyes, bright eyes. Eyes which Geralt knew but didn’t know. Fearful eyes.

“<He needs to know.>” One of them whispered in his passing, unseen amongst the cannabis, the old elder ringing in his ears.

“<He will kill her if he learns,>” Another spoke softly. “<We owe her our lives; we can’t give hers up.>”

When he spotted Regis, Regis had a malt in his hand and was reading the paper with a frown outside the front of the pharmacy. People were passing by him, glancing at him occasionally, and for the first time in a long time Geralt saw something he hadn’t expected. People would see him, they would take him in, and then they would move away. They would pass him by not looking at him, and they smelled of fear. Geralt looked to the vampire, and he sighed, approaching him.

“Anything you found of interest?” Geralt asked, and Regis looked up and folded the newspaper.

“Not to our case, no.” Regis shook his head. “But there was an announcement, did you see? I am not sure how they managed it, but Edmonton Studios is premiering a movie at the fair!”

“A… movie?” Geralt asked with a frown. “What is that?”

“You know Photographs, well, Edmonton studios has invented a way in which they can be projected with light!” Regis talked excitedly. “The film, while not the first of its kind, is long, nearly twenty minutes! They shall be showing it in the evening, and it’s to be a rather attended event. If we are not busy, I would like to witness it!”

“Why not.” Geralt shrugged.

Regis smiled, and took a sip of his malt, which had been placed in a rather unassuming and flimsy looking paper cup.

“Shall we?” Regis asked.

Geralt nodded and Regis began to lead him into an alleyway. For several minutes they walked, breaking from alleyway to road, then to a park which was still sodden and flooded in places from the rains.

“Are you doing, ok?” Geralt asked.

“How do you mean?” Regis asked, stopping in front of what was supposed to be a duck pond that was flooded with foul looking flood water.

“Well, for one, you split off this morning and you were pensive and needed space.” Geralt said. “And you haven’t asked what I was up to, and you seem to be leading us somewhere without actually expounding on where.”

“Ah.” Regis looked at his paper cup, and then offered it to Geralt. “Well, honestly, for that is what we wish of one another, I am shaken. Deeply so by what has happened twice now. I worry for your health Geralt, and in my own worries I sometimes need to think unburdened by the weight of someone else.”

Geralt nodded softly.

“I am also deeply worried about myself, and my own reactions.” Regis admitted and Geralt took a sip of the malt. It was sweet and laden with chocolate. “I am afraid that I wish to help, and that when I wish to help deeply, logic seems to leave me. So, I need a moment to collect that logic back, think rationally, and to do so I must be out of the presence of the one I am worrying for. This is not out of the ordinary for me, I do much the same when presented with a difficult medical case. Until this mid-morning, I was afraid I would have to do something drastic, something I know you are not ready for, to see myself eased in mind. But I realized that if I was to do that, without your understanding, or agreement, it could exacerbate problems rather than solving them.”

“And to answer your unasked question, I am worried for your life, and I wish to aid you in your recovery and mourning. I was unsure how to do that, but I realized too that we have a job to do, and while a day can be spent in recovery from a traumatic issue, each day away means a day less to try to solve the problem. So, we must work on things while we move. And I need to understand that you don’t need to be coddled, nor protected to the point where I squirl you away into some place where no one can touch you. You need to do your job. The biggest way I can protect you, therefore, is to aid you. And as to what happened last night, and a few days ago with your mother, my job is quite clear on that front too. I must be there for you, to listen, and to understand. But I also must keep in mind that you are a witcher, you are far more able to compartmentalize things, and I shouldn’t pry too harshly at a closed door, otherwise I could send you spiraling again, or worse, push you away.”

Geralt blinked, and dumbly handed the malt back to Regis.

“I don’t mind being coddled, a little.” Geralt said and felt a flush of heat in his ears. Regis looked to him stunned. “I… really Regis. Thank you for worrying. You are right, we can’t set aside the job, because people are depending on us. As a rule, though, and you don’t know this because at the time I met you, I had given up the path for a time, we as witchers are allowed to take moments to right ourselves and help ourselves be able to process both what we experience and allow ourselves moments of introspection and rest, especially if a contract is as involved as this one is. If we run ourselves ragged, we compromise ourselves. With that being said, I was feeling ok this morning, and felt I could resume duties as many of my problems, at least relating to Dandelion, were solved with my visit with him. I am still upset, still sad, but it’s manageable now, and I don’t think I will be having another breakdown about him. You helped me in that, because if we hadn’t listened to the record when we did, there is no telling what, or when I could have faltered.”

Regis nodded and took a sip of the malt.

“But you were not feeling ok, and that worried me.” Geralt admitted, and Regis nodded softly. “I also need to know your problems too, because if you need to sit something out because it gets to be too much, or if you need to talk to me about something, I need to know. I also need to know when you plan on taking matters into your hands. While I appreciate you wanting to help, I have no idea why you took us to Bethany, or if she was even safe to speak to about our ongoing investigation.”

“I haven’t been ok since the Pink Lady.” Regis blurted, as if he had to get it out all at once or it would never come. His expression flinched, and he tried to hide it by taking a sip of the malt, but he missed his mouth and a large swallow of the thick stuff landed on his front. He looked down in dismay. This all happened in the blink of an eye, and Geralt moved to him.

“You tried to put on a brave face?” Geralt asked, wiping the malt off the vampire's front.

“I am suffering from a bout of old conscience.” Regis admitted, and sighed, handing the cup back to Geralt who finished the rest of the malt off. “I feel torn in two. On one hand there is the me that has been up to his elbows in entrails and has sewn people up and been overjoyed to see them heal. On the other, there is a man who was young and evil, who was once up to his elbows in entrails and sucking the blood off them while watching a person die in glee. I have begun to realize that the path I have taken may have been more of the latter, and now I don’t know what to do.”

Geralt looked around but there was no one in the park. He looked back to Regis who was looking at the flooded duck pond.

“And then there is you.” Regis admitted with a small self-deprecating laugh. “The moment you showed up, just like the last time, my life turned upside down. Only this time, I didn’t hesitate. Not like I did before. But this time things are more complex. Because you aren’t under a spell, you have told me you loved me, and I have told you as well. We are moving so fast. There is so much more I want to speak on…”

He shuddered when Geralt wrapped his arms around him, and Geralt felt him withdraw into his grasp.

“And I think of them, of the girls who I wish to find, but I can’t help but thinking we won’t be able to.” His voice was miserable. “They don’t deserve it but in every case, we have been too late. We are too far behind, and he is too well planned. And it pains me because here I am in your arms, when there are girls dying for our delay. I should be able to fix this.”

“This is not my usual style of contract, and the only reason I am involved is because I agreed to it.” Geralt said and pulled back. “If this were a monster, it would be easier, but we are dealing with men. I’ll be honest, if the police can’t see them kidnapping the girls, our hope is nil. This is a city of two million people. Let that settle in. We could walk by these f*cks and never know it. We have to work smart. I want to save the girls, just like I want to save people from monsters, but it is rarely that simple.”

“What did she tell you?” Regis asked.

“She told me to start at the beginning, and she said there are many.” He frowned. “Cryptic, but I think whoever contacted her likely has her under a spell or will come back to her. Who is she?”

Regis pulled back and sighed.

“It’s complex. But she is a kingpin. One of six, and largely respected as the de facto ruler of all the drug traffic within the city.” Regis supplied, and Geralt’s eyes opened wide. “Right now, no drugs are illegal within Nilfgaard. But public intoxication is. The problem is while most people use the drugs recreationally and can set them down if need be, some of them are so addictive that just one or two doses of them negates the bodies abilities to produce its own natural opiates. That is what I have been fighting against. That is why I want it regulated. Unfettered access to drugs without the education to understand them are killing people, making orphans, splitting families apart at the seams. I want them regulated. She does not. Both of us hold far too much weight in our respective circles to eliminate one another, and both of us also rely on one another, as she can get ahold of great quantities of medicinal plants and chemicals far cheaper than I can. It-“

He hesitated a bit and sighed.

“There isn’t a single industry which does not have some connection to another far darker one Geralt.” Regis sighed at the admission and Geralt nodded. “And despite it being legal, there are very many laws in place which limit the growth and farming of certain herbs and plants. I am sure you have noticed, since the western continent was discovered and colonized, that tobacco has become cheap. Everyone has it, everyone smokes it. Industries have paid off doctors to tell people it’s healthy and give vim and vigor. Same with cotton, cotton has gotten ridiculously cheap compared to how much it used to cost, and all very recently. To the point where it has replaced wool in almost all respects. All of these industries have foul connections. Indentured servitude is still legal despite slavery being illegal, and many still “hire” Folk based solely on feeding them and housing them, which is all slavery was in the first place.”

“But why can we trust her?” Geralt brought him back to the topic at hand.

“She wants these idiots in her city even less than we do, I’d wager.” Regis pulled away completely and began to pace. “Moral panics are not good for business. While she was vague with her help, the fact that I approached her should hearten her a little, and she does care for women, despite her insisting otherwise. She is a Hamadryad.”

“I gathered.” Geralt smirked and Regis looked to him and chuckled.

“She has limited access to the city, but she does control much in the way of the plants here.” Regis said. “By her giving us Ele’yas’ name, she has in essence allowed us access to his base of operations. After all, Elves and trees share much, and if the trees share nothing, we shall have the advantage.” Regis said and Geralt raised a bow. “The ash Tree’s, Geralt. Protected trees, and they are not old. Far from it. They are young, meaning they were installed here sometime in the last century.”

“Why would she give us Ele’yas.” Geralt frowned. “I am still hung up on that, he hasn’t been harried before, has he?”

“He hasn’t as far as I am aware.” Regis pondered for a moment. “And poisoners have their place in the underground too. And I know the police would love to get ahold of him. But I am not sure why now?”

Geralt frowned and was not convinced bringing her in was the best of ideas. But Regis knew the city better than he did, so he had to trust him.

“Now, let’s continue, we still have a bit before the fabled six, when the man is set to leave, and I know you have been busy.” Regis smirked and Geralt began to walk beside him.

He explained everything that had happened that morning, and Regis was very wary about O’Dimm, but far less so than he was wary about Yennefer’s sudden apathy, or the mayor’s involvement.

“All the leadership in this city is crooked, but for him to be a part of the Cult of the Lion Headed Spider bodes very ill for us indeed.” Regis said, as they sat across from the house that supposedly housed the illegal apothecary. “It’s now too much of a coincidence to leave by the wayside. The Cult is involved in this somehow.”

“Yeah, I’ll agree to that.” Geralt’s frustration was evident as he spotted the paper carts coming with the evening news. “But I am not so sure that they are involved in orchestrating this. The cult, if it acts publicly, does so very publicly. Hanging corpses off bridges, and impaling them on church fences, mass public suicides. The girl’s deaths are being hidden.”

“Oh look, Geralt, they are putting up a billboard for the Movie!” Regis pointed excitedly, interrupting Geralt’s thoughts, to a few workmen who were dipping rollers into glue to put the poster up on the rather suspect looking board on the facade of a building. “Shelly’s monster: A thrilling tale of a man who loves a woman, and the monster that comes between them, join us as we explore the terror of man’s hubris when he tries to take on nature to do his bidding. You’ll have never seen anything like it!” My word that’s exciting.”

A small crowd was gathering around the newspaper stand, watching as the billboard went up, and the sun began to set behind the poisoned clouds, turning the air a sickly orange yellow. The poster had a man with fearful determination in his eyes, standing in front of a woman who was clinging to him and screaming. In the shadows behind the title was the outline of a shape which indeed looked monstrous. Two glowing red eyes rested upon his face at odd angles. The crowd oohed and ahhed and they began to excitedly speak as the wagons hauling papers began to pull up to the newspaper stand and people began to clamor for their evening reading.

“Extra, Extra, read all about it!” The newspaper lad who was standing on a crate and quickly taking coin and exchanging newspapers. “Mayor arrested, Cult of the Lion headed spider rears its head, is it the end for us all! Read and find out!”

“Oh, that isn’t good.” Regis muttered as Geralt saw the door open on one of the tall brownstone buildings. A tall thin man appeared, wearing a hat. Geralt nudged Regis as the man darted into the crowd and quickly got a newspaper of his own. Regis looked at him.

“He looks like an elf.” Regis muttered as the man separated himself and took the newspaper to the stoop of the entrance. He sat down and began to read, and Geralt could see his expression frowning as he did so.

“Yeah, I think that’s our fellow.” Geralt said as the man itched under his cap, and a long-pointed ear was revealed before he tucked it back up again. “Definitely. Look he has his shirt collar pulled up, but there are bits and pieces of his tattoo sticking out.”

Regis squinted and nodded.

The Elf eventually finished, and he shook his head, speaking to two random passersby who were commenting on the mayor. He didn’t look panicked at all and seemed to be asking them questions about anything they heard. Regis’ head was co*cked as he listened.

“He is asking honest questions.” Regis supplied, his hearing much better than Geralt’s own. “Apparently the man of the couple works in the government office as a clerk of court. He is saying that the Mayor has long acted strange, but that it was the sort of strange that seemed eccentric. He was good to the people he surrounded himself with, and kind. Didn’t seem like he would hurt a soul.”

“And the elf is saying?” Geralt asked, still watching the crowd as the boy shouted and more people came from houses around the area.

“He is saying that the whole thing is bad for his business, and that the mayor and whoever else needs to get their act together.” Regis said as the elf began to move. “Where are the police? Here? No? What are they doing? Look over there. There are three military mounted men, and they aren’t paying attention to anything! Just standing there looking stupid. Now they are laughing. They bid the elf goodbye.”

They watched as the Elf skimmed the rest of the paper, then spent a long moment looking to the men on horseback, who true enough, were not paying attention to the crowds, but were watching the street beyond. He stood up, went to view the billboard, which had lights installed on it, then he shook his head, and went walking down the road.

They waited with bated breath as the elf went walking down the road, whistling, and alone. Geralt couldn’t help but wonder why he was moving alone when he ran apparently a very lucrative business. Perhaps his reputation was known enough that people didn’t bother him. Though so far other than the journals and the mention of the man by the hamadryad, no one seemed to know who he was. When he finally turned the corner, heading into the red-light district.

“Regis, get us in.” Geralt stood up, and Regis took off to an alley.

Geralt crossed the street and people were now too intent on gossiping to notice him at all. He walked up to the door, and knocked on it, firmly. He knew Regis would be finding a way in, so he stood back and idly began to watch the crowd. It was getting unruly. People had begun to shout loudly, as the boy selling the evening papers called out that there were only a few left. Soon the boy was without, and people were snapping and snarling at one another, pushing and pulling one another to steal the papers from their friends and neighbors. Finally, a police officer showed up and with a great whistle brought the attention of the army men to bear on the crowd. It was just in time too, as two men began to throw blows at one another.

Just when it was starting to get good, Regis stepped through the door.

“Do come in, friend.” He said and bowed. Several people looked on at them for a moment, before turning back to the entertainment happening in the road, and Geralt strode up the steps with no one being any wiser to what they were doing.

The house was a very average looking thing all told. It was in decent repair, had been recently dusted, and new electrical wiring. The hall was long and shared space with a narrow stair which let off on a landing with a wooden balustrade and rooms on either side. Pictures of landscapes and seascapes lined the walls sparingly but tastefully, though they didn’t speak much to the taste of the owner. It was very generic looking, but nice enough. On the side of the hallway near the coat closet was a Voxaphone speaking to the wealth the elf was hiding. Leading off from the hallway on one side was a formal sitting room. A living room followed immediately after, and was followed by a dining room, and a kitchen which looked used and neatly kept at least. Geralt had gotten used to exciting house searches, so the utterly normal appearance of the house briefly made him feel uncomfortable, as if he truly was breaking and entering into some innocent person’s home. However, the thick smell of medicinal herbs gave it away as being something it wasn’t.

“Can you smell that, Geralt?” Regis asked, his nose wrinkling.

“Smells thickly of garlic.” Geralt wrinkled his nose too as they walked into the kitchen. “Arsenic?”

“Precisely, and very thick, as if it’s brewing.” Regis frowned. “I had always heard elves were largely immune to it. I suppose it makes sense, for they were the ones to have the original formulae for the green dye. But for him to be able to be in here when it is this thick?”

“Maybe that’s why he left?” Geralt asked, eyeing the knickknacks, which were full of roosters.

“Possibly.” Regis shook his head and went to the only closed door in the kitchen. “Let’s see what we can find.”

With the setting sun the stair leading down dark. When they reached the basem*nt both the vampire and the Witcher were surprised to see it was also set up as a sort of living space. It had a small bar with alcohol, a pool table and several stools and a rather threadworm couch. Everything in this place had seen use, so it wasn’t just a sham place to live. That surprised Geralt too, because most people who dealt with illegal things, kept their home well away from their office.

“I think finding the entrance shall be the least of our worries.” Regis said, pointing to a door which had a soft light glowing from beneath it.

This was the only thing that looked out of place. Some of the brickwork had been destroyed, and Geralt could see the chipped areas from careless chisels. There was also a haphazard application of new bricks to fit the space, and new mortar, which didn’t match the old at all and lay in clumpy gathers along the seams of the crooked bricks. The smell was thickest at the door, and another smell hit Geralt firmly. That of Gunpowder.

“Go in, and look for traps, runes, what have you.” Geralt said. “Make sure everything is disabled if you can, I am guessing the man doesn’t leave his things unguarded.”

“Yes, I can smell it as well.” Regis sniffed the air and winced. “I can hear something, fire possibly, and I can hear another heartbeat. Feint though, and even. Very even. I will see what I can find.”

It took him nearly ten minutes to reappear, and when the door opened, he looked harried.

“There is a guard down there.” Regis whispered softly. “It was sleeping behind a door I didn’t pass through, perhaps if we are quiet, we can get the jump on it. Or perhaps we can leave it alone, if we find the information we are looking for.

“Did you see anything interesting?” Geralt asked, stepping through the door and coming face to face with a shotgun.

“As you can see, the place is well armed.” Regis supplied and shut the door silently. “I have disabled everything I could find, but I cannot promise I found everything.”

He had found everything which was good. For there was another long staircase down, and Regis had to point out where to step. It was obvious when you looked back up from the bottom where you were supposed to step, but from the top? It would have been murder without instruction. The next landing had another door and when they stepped through the smell actually lessened, despite the source of the smell being practically right in front of them.

“Is that…” Geralt looked at the pot and saw long ribbons of fabric being boiled in a green slurry.

“It’s hair ribbons, you, see?” Regis pointed to a drying rack, and Geralt could feel some sort of ventilation sucking the air away from the pot and the fabric that was drying. “What a cruel thing.”

Geralt looked at the pretty vibrant ribbons. There were barrette backings, glue, and a clean brush which had been set down, it looked like mid stroke.

“There are blue ones, purple ones… by the gods, he sells poison for little girls!” Regis looked away angrily.

“Come on let’s keep looking.” Geralt grabbed his hand and took him deeper into the strange place. Around a bend they reached what looked like a shop counter. Behind it were all sorts of cabinets labeled with many labels.

“sh*t, he has Zepher’s hornwort!” Geralt stepped around to the back side of the counter. “Gods above, and bright thistle, and hardy jimson. Regis, can we nab some things? I need to make potions, and he has everything! Even dragon’s root! You want to know how long it’s been since I have seen proper dragon’s root? Look! It’s fresh even, smells like caves!”

“Geralt, I think there is more here, that door, the one right beside the shelf? When I touch it I feel weak.” Regis looked to it frowning. “Can you touch it?”

Geralt moved to the door and touched it. Immediately he felt something inside himself shrink away. It wasn’t painful, and it didn’t seem to affect him much, other than to make him feel slightly tired.

“Yeah, I can touch it, but it makes me feel tired.” Geralt frowned over the surface of the door. “It’s a metal.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Regis’ voice was a low whisper. “This is a very specific metal, and I am utterly surprised to see it here. This metal, as far as I know, only exists on the homeworld of the vampire.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt ran his hands over the surface of the door. “It’s been layered like gold. Paper thin, melded in place with glue. There are ware spots everywhere.”

“Can you open it?” Regis asked, and Geralt moved to try the handle. It held fast.

“It’s locked.” Geralt frowned and reached into his own small pack, which had a lockpicking kit. “Let me see if I can get this. In the meanwhile, what’s through the other two doors?”

“Well, one is a storage closet, and it houses brewing equipment and cleaning items.” Regis peered into the room. Nothing out of the ordinary, though it is large, owing I am sure to the need of the occupant.”

Geralt grunted as he felt the first pin lift and lock.

“The other door leads to the heartbeat, and it smells…” Regis sniffed the air and shuddered a little. “Well frankly it smells like a Beauclair whor*house though the door is locked tight. I would rather not open it. Whoever is on the other side is out cold, and I also smell vodka.”

Geralt felt two more pins lock into place, and he shuddered. What if the elf had somehow gotten ahold of the monster the murderers had made? Geralt quickened his work and felt the other two pins latch into place as Regis began to look at the shelves and the little drawers with the herbs inside of them. Geralt felt the final pin slide into place, and he grinned. Simple!

He turned the lock, and a loud hollow and metallic noise filled the air with a loud crashing thud.

The thud was immediately followed by a low and angry groan while the large door swung open, which slowly but surely changed pitch up and up, till it sounded like a ladies terrified scream. When it settled, it let off a last few squeaky groaning noises before silence took the air back over.

“They are awake.” Regis said helpfully, as the sound of something dragging across the floor met their ears. There were several tapping noises, like something hard meeting the brick tile of the floor. The sound of something rattling made Geralt crouch behind the bar.

“Get down.” He hissed, and Regis, who till that point had just looked at the door across the way curiously, crouched, his head still peering over the counter.

Silence filled the room again, but now Geralt could hear the breathing and the rapid heartbeat of whoever was behind the door. There was another shuffle, and Geralt cast Quen, the shield shimmering to life around him and Regis and crackling against the countertop. The door handle began to move slowly, slowly, and slowly, till it stopped, and the large door jerked, and opened a little.

“We mean you no harm.” Geralt called out over the countertop. “We are investigating the murder of several women. We have it on good authority that the drugs that were used to subdue these women were bought here. We are looking for Ele’yas, he isn’t in trouble, we just want to question him!”

“You lie!” It was an angry female voice. “They always f*cking lie. Eat lead!”

There was a loud co*cking sound, and then a deafening crash. The door slammed open hard enough to make some of the bricks shatter. Geralt ducked down and strengthened his Quen, when an explosion that deafened him filled the small space. Wood and herbs exploded around them, and the smell of gunpowder filled the small space. Leaves, roots, and liquid poison dripped down onto the shield as Regis shouted in alarm and curled into a ball sheltering his ears and head.

“Die thieves!” She shouted again, though it sounded muffled over the ringing in Geralt’s ears. Than a second explosion hit and more herbs, dust, and a part of the shelf fell, sliding off the Quen with a smoking hiss.

Regis whimpered in terror, and Geralt felt his blood boil. He stood up holding the Quen steady and met with a pair of cold brown eyes looking down the barrel of a pistol. The pistol fired, and Geralt, despite the Quen instinctively launched himself away from the shot. The bullet hit his shield and ricocheted into the ceiling.

“You think you are clever!” Geralt rolled, and caught a set of fur lined pants, and strange shoes before he landed against the wall. Another bullet fired, and this one bounced off the Quen and hit the shelves. “Hold still!”

Another shot rang out and Geralt dodged in front of the counter opting for his own sidearm. He withdrew it, and launched himself into the hallway where the cauldron of arsenic with ribbons was boiling away. He heard a clicking and a curse. And he peaked around the wall. The gun was aimed right at him, and it hit dead on the shield, shattering it. He snarled and raised his own gun, and the woman screamed and jumped towards him. But her jump was cut short, and her gun rang out as something weighed her down and sent her to the floor. He shot on reflex, but her sudden fall made him miss, and She turned to him, terror in her eyes.

She wasn’t human.

“Don’t hurt me… please…” She said, and Geralt felt something warm and wonderful blanketing over him. “I’ll give you anything you want…. Anything…”

Geralt stumbled forwards and his nose flared, and his co*ck hardened. His body felt heavy, weak, and he felt his gun lowering as he stepped.

“Good boy…” she said and raised her gun. She screamed and the gun went off, as it went flying through the air. The spell on Geralt lifted immediately and he snarled, charging forwards, and tackling the creature who lay amongst a chain so heavy and thick it was a wonder she could move at all. But move she did. She kicked him hard, and Geralt flew as Regis, who had recovered, threw another razor. She hissed, kicking herself out of the way, and Geralt hit the countertop.

“She is a succubus!” Regis supplied helpfully, as Geralt tried to get breath back into his lungs.

“Oh yes, boys, and you? You f*cked up.” She smiled, and Geralt felt the weight of her spell come over him again. This time though, it didn’t quite hit as hard, though Regis stood above him still.

“Oh look, only one bullet left.” She smirked, pulling herself back upright with some effort, the gun in her hand.

“I’ll free you.” Geralt choked out as she raised the gun to him. “Just don’t shoot!”

She smirked and then aimed the gun at Regis.

Geralt screamed and launched himself. When he did, the Succubus quickly tried to aim back at him. A blast of powder and searing pain across his cheek let him know the final shot from the revolver was gone, and he tackled her again.

“Get off!” She shouted, as Regis cried out in alarm.

“GERALT!” But Geralt was seeing red. The succubus was well prepared for his lunge and had her feet with their hardened hooves against his chest. She kicked several times, and air flooded from Geralt, and he felt a rib crack, but he was angry now. Angry that she had aimed at Regis. He snarled, and grabbed her, twisting her around. But the chains caught, and his arm slipped.

Searing pain followed by pleasure ripped through him as she bit down on the single strip of exposed skin between his glove and vambrace. She was struggling, screaming, kicking out and wiggling like a fish, but Geralt held on.

“ENOUGH!” Geralt looked up the instant the struggle stopped, and his breath caught. Regis was standing before them, his visage monstrous, and two mighty wings flanked him taking up every available space in the room. The teeth left Geralt’s skin and Geralt felt himself loosen his grip as the succubus collapsed and sobbed.

“Child, we are not here to hurt you.” Regis’ voice was one of the sexiest things Geralt had ever heard. It still sounded like him, but there was now an over and underlayer which caused his voice to rumble out as if he were growling. But his focus on Regis was broken swiftly, when the succubus sobbed.

“Kill me then!” She demanded, and Geralt moved away from her, his head still swimming, but his mutations beginning to process the venom. “If I fail him, he won't suffer me to live! Not if I failed with you.”

She burst into true tears then, her tail curling around her body as she hid her face in her furry legs.

“We… hnnngggg.” Geralt tried to stand up, but his whole body zipped with pleasure and his co*ck throbbed. “f*ck…”

“She bit you.” Regis supplied, his wings folding neatly behind him as his face shifted back leaving him looking like a dark god in Geralt’s eyes. “How… how long…”

“I can last a day.” Geralt supplied, finding some semblance of himself as he willfully ignored the state of his body. “A day…”

“How compromised, and does white honey work?” Regis now looked concerned as he approached Geralt and grabbed his bleeding wrist.

“No, it doesn’t.” Geralt supplied and Regis looked tempted to lick at him. “Best not, or you’ll get it too.”

“And who said I wouldn’t want it.” Regis pointedly looked at him, and then ran his tongue along the wound. He shuddered, and Geralt could feel his skin begin to knit. Geralt shuddered and almost made a sound, but the Succubus gasping took him out of the moment and placed his feet firmly back down on the ground.

She was looking up at them, her brown eyes less cold, and now looking hungry. She was thin, too thin, her skin was sallow, almost jaundiced looking. Her fur on her legs was patchy, her hooves overgrown, and her horns had been clipped and sanded to nubs on her head. Her brown hair hung in oily clumps, and she looked miserable. She was looking at Geralt and Regis hungrily, but whatever strength she must have had was spent, because that is all she could do.

“Now, what have we here.” Regis let go of Geralt and moved to crouch in front of her. “A succubus, a chained succubus. Now Bethany’s warning makes sense.”

“Kill me.” She seethed, through tears.

“How long have you been held?” Regis asked softly and lifted the chain. It wasn’t just a simple chain, but a ship's anchor chain. Heavy, cumbersome.

“What year is it?” She asked through tears.

“Fifteen sixteen.” Geralt supplied and crouched too.

“I have been held since twelve seventy-one.” She said and fresh tears filled her eyes.

Both Regis and Geralt’s eyes widened.

“Are…”

“He… back then, he was a part of a Scoia’tael commando.” She stammered wiping her eyes with manacled hands. “I was playing my trade in Flotsam, you know, the usual fair. Normal stuff, but he took a shine to me, and I did to him. But he became obsessed, began to kill those who I would lure in to feed off of. I didn’t know it was him for a long time. He was sweet with me, but we are not built for monogamy. I liked him though, and I let myself grow too weak. I told him I was leaving, and he chained me, ran from his post, and… it’s…”

She sobbed.

“At first it was fine, because he would feed me, but then I am not sure how many times we moved, or how much time passed, he began to starve me, hit me, accuse me of going behind his back and trying to seduce anyone that came near us. He began to whor* me out at first, till he realized I killed because of my hunger. Then he got it in his head that I could be used, and he began to make me kill his enemies. If I disobeyed him, he would beat me… and… I just gave up.”

“We would like to free you.” Geralt said, and she turned her head to him, and wiped her eyes and sniffed miserably. “We need information. Your… enslaver has been involved in the kidnapping and killing of many young women, He knows information we need. Does he have any ledgers?”

“Oh, that’s right, get all the information from me, and leave me high and dry.” She hissed, her tail whipping back and forth angrily. “I know how this works; this isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Do you know what he is?” Geralt motioned to Regis, who had yet to put his wings away.

“Yes… a cousin.” She frowned. “A vampire. But no one fears him because of that.”

“And you understand that if you attempt to run, he will hunt you down and end you?”

“And do you understand I have infections in my claws?” She stuck her foot out petulantly. “I couldn’t run more than a few feet before I collapsed, look, this one is bleeding from me kicking you! I know what he will do to me. I know of him.”

Geralt looked and saw a small rivulet of blood running from a small hole at her white line.

“Not only that, but I am also too weak to hide myself. I would go running down the street and no one would know what I was, and I would be dead.” She sniffed and another tear ran down her cheek.

“I am a doctor first and foremost.” Regis said, and allowed his wings to disappear though it left two rather large and obvious holes in his shirt from where they tore out. “I want to help you, but we need your help too. Are you… never mind, the answer is obvious. Let me get you something for the pain and then I will remove your bonds.”

“You are a witcher.” She looked to Geralt. “Why are you with him?”

“He is my lover.” Geralt said, and the succubus looked to him wide eyed. “I know, odd bedfellows.”

“Wait, I know of you… they have been talking about you!” She said and wiped her eyes, which had begun to truly warm. “Adamar told Ele’yas that you could possibly come slinking around! He said…”

She flinched as Regis inserted a needle into her arm. His expression had turned cold.

“He said that you were dangerous, and that Ele’yas should let me kill you.” She huffed, and then she groaned low her body relaxing.

“Adamar?” Regis suddenly perked up. “Adamar Taghavi?”

“You know him?” She asked, frowning.

“Why yes, I do! Just…” His hands stilled, and his eyes widened.

“Regis?” Geralt placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Adamar, did he come with someone else?” Regis asked the succubus.

“Yes, several times.” She said, and Regis reached up and cut the lock which held the collar in place. “Oh… ohhhh”

She flinched as the collar opened, and then fell to the ground. Instantly the stench of infection filled the room. Geralt saw maggots writhing around in the scars and wounds which the collar had caused.

“Get….. get them out…” She breathed and reached weakly up.

“A moment, Geralt.”

Regis began his work quickly. He doused her neck with hydrogen peroxide and the wriggling larvae fell from her in droves. He quickly performed the same actions on her wrist and cleaned both areas and wrapped them in a poultice of honey. The expression on the Succubus’s face was one of terror, and Geralt quickly helped Regis grab and trap the small larvae before they could escape too far. Geralt didn’t know if Succubus scarred permanently, but it looked like this one had. The divots were the heavy metal of the collar dug into her clavicles that were going to take a long time to heal, and she had divots on her wrists too.

“There, fixed for now, but I need to see to your claws later.” Regis said and she looked up to him, the terror washing away with fresh tears. “Now, my dear, we need your aid and cooperation. Does Ele’yas keep…”

She stood up and limped to the door Geralt had picked the lock to earlier. She pushed It open with a grunt and walked inside. Geralt and Regis quickly scrambled after her.

“Ledger on the table.” She hummed, and went to an icebox and opened it. “Don’t look please.”

Geralt moved to the table, as Regis began to walk through the room. The sound of swallowing and licking were ones Geralt deeply wished he could ignore, and the smell that followed it made him feel hollow. He quickly shook himself out of it and began to look at the ledger.

A half hour went by with the Succubus crouched by the icebox, and Regis gathering ingredients from the room and carefully packaging them to bring back for Geralt’s decoctions.

“I think I have a pattern here.” Geralt said, and Regis looked up from the workbench. “One of these entries is for “Old world builders”. They have been ordering significant amounts of Either, mandrake concentrate, nightshade extract, and various other herbs and decoctions which are used in the medicament we found to control the women. But there is something else here which is making me curious. It says there is a diluted and magically stabilized formulation of pig’s blood which is noted as being brought in from Kovir. It’s significant because I think I have seen it used before, to keep limbs which have been amputated stable till they can be reattached.”

Regis set down what he was working on, and thankfully, the smell of what the succubus was ingesting began to taper and was replaced with the smell of fruit.

“Oh, that is interesting, and now with the name of Adamar in my head, everything is crystalizing.” Regis said. “Adamar is a brilliant mind and Scientist from Temeria. His specialization is medical based Botany. He was called in alongside me for a consultation on the case dealing with the missing girls in Aretuza.”

“It’s not that man you should worry about. It’s the man who was with him.” The succubus stood up and looked stronger, better than she had been looking, “The blood eyed man should not be near anyone. His fantasies are dark things, powerful. Powerful enough that Ele’yas only allowed him one night with me for I nearly escaped after. While I fed with him, I fed him his deepest fantasies, in which he desecrated corpses, participated in ritual mutilations. He himself is ritually mutilated, both his tongue, and his penis. Both of them have been split. He has piercings the likes of which even my own kind would shy from, and he tore me apart to use me. Part of what I saw was women, thousands of them which he could not touch, nor did he want to touch because he thought his god wanted a specific sacrifice.”

Regis had paled, and Geralt could guess as to why.

“How often have they been around you?” Geralt asked Regis, as Regis looked at the ledger.

“Adamar came back with me.” Regis said, and it was curt and angry. “I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection. He asked me about all of this, where to get it, how much it normally costs, where the suppliers were. He said he was working on something significant for an anonymous patron and he said he would happily share the results of his experiments when he had them. I haven’t seen him for nearly three weeks. I don’t know about the red eyed fellow though…”

“Did you tell him about this place?” Geralt asked. He realized, by Regis’ flinching expression, that it wasn’t this place he had told him about. “You told him about Bethany.”

“I…” Both the witcher and the vampire grew still as a noise sounded from upstairs.

“Please tell me you shot them Lorilai.” A voice called down and the succubus looked up suddenly afraid, though the elf didn’t wait. “I will have dinner ready in a moment and we can figure out what to do with the bodies.”

The succubus made a motion with her fingertips to shush them and Regis and Geralt, both quickly followed her out of her room as someone above them began to move around the kitchen.

“I was right you know?” He called down, as they slipped into the succubus’s’ rooms taking the chains with them. “They were watching me as I left, and within moments of me getting out of eyesight, they came in. Oh, how rich this is. You and I are going to the top! As soon as this is all over, I’ll move us somewhere in the country and then you won’t have to wear that chain anymore, won't that be nice?”

“Witcher,” She breathed in his ear, which made his co*ck, which had been throbbing the whole-time , throb harder still. “Sync your heart with mine, he is an elf, he will be able to hear my heart when he gets past the fire of the cauldron.”

“I do hope you killed them with the gun and didn’t f*ck them to death.” He called down, opening the door. “Huh, the traps are off. Lorilai?”

Regis turned invisible as the sound of the elf’s steps came down the stairs, and Geralt willed his heart to beat in time with the succubus’s.

“I don’t smell… good heavens did you have to aim towards the shelves?” He spluttered and Geralt could see him through the crack of the door.

“He is mine.” The succubus breathed into Geralt’s ear as the Elf picked his way through the carnage to the open door. When he saw it was open, the lights were on, and the icebox was open he snarled lividly.

“Alright you whor*, where are they, I don’t see blood.” He spun, and Lorilai threw herself on the bed, rattling the chains as she did so. “So, help me, if you got into…”

“I am here.” She sang as if she were sleepy, rattling the chains with her hoof as if she had just woken. “They were quiet, I got them on the way out.”

“Why are the specimen cups empty.” He pushed open the door, missing Geralt completely as he flattened himself against the wall. “You know you can’t have that much at once, otherwise you grow ill.”

“I couldn’t help it… they got the door open.” She looked up to the elf, who was looking at her sprawled on the bed. “I was so hungry master, so hungry.”

“You know that doesn’t work on me.” He snapped, looking to the chains. “Where are they… why…”

He turned just as Geralt moved to cast Axii. For a moment his eyes grew wide, then he jerked. The Succubus had wound her tail around his neck so tightly his whole face turned red. Geralt let the spell off, but the Elf kept struggling. He frowned.

“Dimeritium works both ways witcher,” The succubus hissed, tightening her tail further as Ele’yas began to struggle.

“Enough, my dear.” Regis appeared, and Ele ‘Yas’s struggle stopped for a moment. “I have handled the bruisers he had waiting in the alleyway and the front. They are coming in now and shall be waiting for us. Let Ele’yas go, we have questions. If you do not well, you know who I am…”

She reluctantly let her tail loose, then scrambled, hiding behind Geralt. She was terrified of the Elf, even as the elf collapsed and vomited on the floor, trying to get his breath back. The proximity of her to Geralt, and her over thin fingers wrapping around his armor and her body pressing into his, was not helping his own matters. Regis looked to him momentarily, and instead of a jealous look, he raised a brow and smirked, but he soon focused on Ele’yas, who was now panting, tears running down his face and spit dripping from his lips to the floor.

“I am sure you have questions.” Regis said, and the Elf wiped his mouth. “We have questions too. If you answer them, nicely, I will simply let your captive f*ck you into a torpor, and then take you to the hospital where several mages shall be waiting to question you. Should you not want to answer them, I shall rip the answers from your skull, and I will let her kill you, as slowly, and as painfully as she would like. Look up to me, do you know who I am?”

Ele’yas, flung himself backwards, weak and shaking. He looked up to Regis and his eyes widened.

“E-Emiel, D-d-doctor Tierz-z-ief. T-the…” He spluttered his hand moving to his throat where bruising was already starting.

“Very good.” Regis smiled as he interrupted what was likely going to be a simpering rant. “Now, I am beginning to think that the way I had imagined the power of the underground of Dragfa is mistaken. For years now I have sought Bethany for hard-to-get ingredients, yet I know she doesn’t house them in her own labs. You have worked hard to remain hidden. Almost everyone I have spoken to has said you are nothing. That you have very little to do with anything other than to be a very excellent source of rare herbs. This is a matter of which came first, the chicken or the egg? Do you seek Bethany for work, or does she come to you?”

“To me, of course.” He choked out, looking between Geralt and the succubus, still somewhat gasping for air. “Many know where I am, many seek me, both large and small. I walk amongst the Elite and the downtrodden alike. Bethany comes to me for her more questionable ingredient choices, and she comes to me to buy the poisons which her own kindred thrive off. I supposed this would happen sooner or later. I did what I was ordered to do. I gave orders that should anyone mention me, that they were to turn you away from me. And from what I understand, no one has told you about me, meaning the secret is safe.”

“You are correct in that assessment, and you have done remarkably well in that regard.” Regis said with a nod. “I simply serve my own interests, which happens to be the wellbeing of the populace at large. However, I do believe that you have thought yourself clever, and you are making new alliances. Now, we are investigating a case. I am sure you have read about it in the papers, the disappearances of the girls.”

The Elf nodded, and Geralt could hear his heartbeat beginning to slow.

“I have nothing to do with that.” He rasped, and shakily sat upright. “If you know me, you know that I simply sell the raw product. What people do with it past the point where it leaves my hands is not my responsibility. It never has been.”

Geralt couldn’t hear nor smell a lie on the elf. He fully believed what he stated. He believed it so much he smirked and coughed a laugh.

“That isn’t the way law works, I am afraid.” Regis smiled pleasantly and that seemed to put the elf on edge. “But we are not after you to bring you to justice, that is better left to those you have wronged, and those who seek that sort of thing. You have been involved with a group of people for a long while now, one that has been experimenting with a great many taboo things. And as you have been involved with them, your guilt in the matter is apparent. I seek names. I know you have been selling to the kidnappers and murderers of these girls, and I know you know of whom I speak. It was a group of five men. One Antoni Lafargue, who lays in state in my morgue as a John Doe, and then we have who we only know as the Boss, One, two, and three. You will tell me about them.”

The Elf looked up, then he looked to the Succubus, who flinched and Gripped Geralt tighter than before.

“The Boss never spoke to me his name and refused use of Lorilai.” He said after a time. “He was not known to me before this, which is impressive, for I learned that he is a mage of some renown. It vexed me, until his money came into my hands. And it was good money too, untraceable. Paid in the form of treasure. I have sold it to collectors for enough money that I was thinking of closing shop, moving myself and my…”

Geralt didn’t listen as he fished into his pouch and withdrew the coin.

“Did it look like this?” Geralt asked.

The Elf squinted and then his eyes widened. “How… where?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Geralt snapped, allowing his eyes to glow a dangerous yellow. “Answer the question!”

“Alright, alright, easy does it…” The elf raised his hands shakily. “That is the coinage I was paid in. Money stolen hundreds of years ago, and now considered priceless for antiquities sake. The man said there was more, much more where that came from, and I was to supply them until their tasks were completed. The first payment came many months ago, perhaps six at this point.”

“How many are there of them, in actuality?” Regis asked, and the Elf looked back to him.

“The ones you had listed are the ones here now, but there have been many involved.” He said. “I specifically worked with a driver for many months of theirs, who would smuggle the goods I got into Gors Velen. He still is who arrives alongside Both one and two. One is a Mage Alchemist, and two is simply a very good alchemist. Both are, or were considered prodigies in their field, or so they said. One is the mastermind, and the one in charge of all the magical elements of their acquisitions, while two deals with the raw potions and the medical side. There have been dumb muscle involved, most of which rotate out pretty quickly, as I see them only once. But there is another man who sometimes travels with them, That is Three, and Three has two others who follow him. Both women. Both beautiful and darked skinned as he is. Three and his lady lackies never spoke. There was also the buyer, who I dealt with first, and who showed up dead long before the operation was moved here.”

“So, it’s larger than I thought.” Regis sighed.

“No, it isn’t.” Geralt said, and moved away from the succubus’ touch, which was maddening him. “Give us their names.”

“I only know the numbers and have been paid to not ask questions!” The Elf insisted on looking to Regis. “Please, you have to be reasonable.”

“I told him the name of the Alchemist.” The succubus hissed angrily.

“Fine, I know one, and only because of her. The rest steered clear of her, not for lack of me trying.” The elf hissed. “His name is Adamar Taghavi. And if you know him then you, like me, can make a guess at the name of the third.”

“Ishmael.” Regis breathed and looked to Geralt. “Ishmael Bonelli.”

“What is their purpose?” Geralt demanded, approaching the elf angrily. “You are a good liar, answer truthfully, or I will cut those bands off your wrist along with your hands.”

“I do not know of their purpose!” The elf looked truly afraid and smelled it too. “I swear, I do not know! Lorilai would know more than I! She saw into Adamar’s mind!”

“And I told you what I know.” She said grimly. “All I know.”

“Regis, cut the bands off his wrist.” Geralt snarled and turned. “Lorilai, you may take what you need from him, take all the time you need, but leave him alive.”

“I want him dead!” She demanded.

“We will arrange for his death by your hands.” Geralt snapped, and the succubus cowered from him as his eyes flashed with malice and lust. “But in the meantime, he is needed. The police need to question him, the mages need to tear apart his mind. He will rot in prison, unable to escape, slowly isolated and going madder and madder. After, when he is a shell, you may do with him what you wish, and you can wait as long as you wish, draw it out.”

Her eyes flashed with greed; a greed Geralt knew all too well.

“I agree.” She said. Geralt heard the bands falling, and then the Elf screamed, Geralt’s amulet began to pulse, and Regis quickly left the room and shut the door. The screams soon turned into a pleasured groan, and Geralt swiftly moved across the hall into the back rooms where the plants lay.

“Geralt, are you?” Regis grabbed his shoulder, and it burned. It burned and every nerve in Geralt’s body was afire.

“I don’t have twenty-four hours.” Geralt said, his shoulders hunched. “I need… I am not thinking straight. Please… I…”

“Hold yourself for now, I know you can.” Regis said softly. “You cannot die from this, though I know it feels like it. I know it hurts, but we must let your body process some of it, and I will not be caught unaware. You have been through worse than this, hold it together, and let’s focus on gathering anything and everything we could need for your potions. I promise you, once we return, I will make it well worth the wait.”

With that promise buzzing through his head, they began to gather anything and everything they could. As they gathered, Regis began to speak aloud about what they were to do with the succubus. She needed to recover, and she needed healing. At the end of the conversation, Regis was of a mind to take her to the place of ill repute he mentioned, where she would find like minded individuals, and would be able to get specialized care. It was agreed that as soon as she was finished with her tasks, and the Elf lay sleeping, Geralt would call in the Calvary, and notify Roche, while Regis took her to the redlight district and saw to her care. They would meet back at the inn, and then they would see to Geralt’s issues.

“It is done.” She announced coming into the back room, as Geralt filled the last burlap sack with other smaller sacks. “He lays asleep.”

“Are you feeling better?” Regis asked, and the Succubus, whose scars were beginning to show signs of healing, nodded with a blush. “Good, now I shall make good on the other part of our bargain. I am going to take you to a place where some of your kindred reside, and I am going to see to your claws. You are starved, and I do not trust you to venture out on your own. You need to recover, slowly, so I will take you to the red-light district, where you shall find comfort in your people, and be able to negate your starvation by means of exposure.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she leapt forward, crushing Regis in a hug.

“Thank you, oh thank you.” She wept, and Regis patted her softly. Geralt couldn’t help the surge of warmth as he watched Regis hold the weeping succubus and whisper words of comfort into her ears.

She eventually came away from him, and all three went to check on the elf, who lay on the bed breathing shallowly, his skin pale. His heartbeat strongly though, and he had been cleaned up with an astringent soap which negated any scent the succubus had released. Quickly the Succubus dressed and donned a cloak. Regis took her in his arms, and smiled at Geralt, and before long they went up the stairs and out into the night.

When Geralt came up, much later, and after spending himself twice so he could function, he nearly startled clean out of his skin. Six men sat in the dark of the living room, facing each other on the couches, and not moving at all.

“sh*t, Regis.” Geralt muttered as he stepped into the night air.

He made the call to the police station with the call box about a block from the house. When he returned to it, he sat on the stoop, smoking a cigarette, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long; they weren’t but a few blocks over from the police house. It was nearly nine, and people had long abandoned the street to get home by curfew, so the police and many members of the military showed up in force. When Roche hopped out of the car with Istredd beside him Geralt frowned.

“Yennefer decided not to come?” Geralt asked, as Roche approached with Istredd in tow.

“She is investigating a lead.” Istredd said, cryptically. “Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all.” Geralt shook his head.

“Alright, Geralt, what do we have?” Roche demanded.

They spoke for a long time, as Roche barked orders, and men began to be led out, becoming aware of what was happening and breaking out of Regis’ glamour. Finally, When Geralt had finished his explanation, Istredd, who had been listening intently, and growing more and more concerned finally spoke.

“I have never heard of this Adamar, though I feel as if I should have.” Istredd looked absolutely pale and shaken. “Am I to truly understand he is just an Alchemist, and not a magic user? And he was investigating at Gors Velen?”

“He isn’t.” Roche growled, watching as the men filed in and out and his investigators began to gather things from the house for evidence. “Adamar Taghavi is one of the most wanted men in the northern provinces. From my understanding, Aretuza pulled some strings fairly early on and he was working with them for a time to try and solve the murders. You were aiding in that too, how did you not know he was involved?”

“Does he have any Aliases?” Istredd asked.

“Many, but he usually settles on something close to his name.” Roche frowned. “Adam Taggart is one we see used a lot.”

“That… is a name familiar to me.” Istredd admitted icily. “And he is involved with everything?”

“He is number two.” Geralt said. “His focus is on medicinal Alchemy; he is the one brewing whatever it is to keep the girls in line. Roche, do you know of Ishmael?”

“He is known to us too, but only through whispers.” Roche frowned. “We have never caught him, and he has never been outright wanted as far as I am aware. He is often hired as a muscular bodyguard of some renown. If Doctor Terzieff knew of him and his connection to Adamar, I would say that Adamar hired him as a bodyguard for himself. An insurance policy to keep himself safe and unseen.”

“Did Doctor Terzieff mention what the connection between them was?” Istredd asked and drew out a notebook.

“No, he didn’t elaborate.” Geralt said.

“We have a break now, thank the sun and lilies.” Roche groaned, and then took a pointed sip of his coffee he had been brought. “We have names, I am assuming we can get some descriptions for Ishmael, and I know we have a mugshot somewhere of Adamar. I wasn’t expecting something this soon, but I am glad about it. Geralt, the Velen fair starts this weekend, runs through the week and ends next weekend. I know you wish to work alone, but we need a brief from you, if you are able.”

“First things first. Where is Yennefer, what is she doing?” Geralt demanded, and Istredd sighed.

“She is currently at the temple of Melitele in Elander, pouring over records because she performed a reverse trace on the totem you found.” Istredd didn’t sound happy about it at all. “It resonated with the temple’s aura, and so now she is trying to find a missing priestess. And up until you called, I was researching the totem, because it is not one I have ever seen before, or I have, but it’s been so long my memory cannot be relied upon.”

“Any clue on how to break it?” Geralt asked and Roche looked expectantly to Istredd as well. “If I see one, or feel the spell, knowing it’s the spell, I can generally break the seals. But Negating them is the stuff of higher magic.”

“That is why I am researching it.” Istredd snapped testily. “There is no such thing as a perfect magic spell. No such thing as a perfect defense. If I had the time, I would research this much more thoroughly, but we are pressed for time. I have had to call in aid.”

“You make it sound distasteful.” Roche frowned deeply at his own irritation showing through. “The only person I have dealt with so far during these issues, has been that Witcher woman. She is the only one so far who hasn’t given me lip, comes in, gets her contracts, leaves, returns and leaves again. Even the blue stripes have begun to get testy. How do these kidnappings keep taking place? Why are we always in the dark? I had to send two of my best men to the clink this afternoon because when we placed the silver on their skin they burned. One of them we realize is simply a doppler who is a cop. He has a whole family of little dopplers, and a doppler wife. The other? How do you question a Doppler without resorting to Silver? How can we trust any of them? This is all unprecedented, there are no rulebooks to play by. Why the hell haven’t you or the Emperor called in more Mages?”

“More mages wouldn’t help.” Geralt grunted before Istredd could release his ire on Roche. “You are dealing with someone who is very old, and there are not many of those who remember the past times. Most of the mages nowadays are not offered the elixirs which extend their life, and many that are offered it refuse it. You need old hats working, and I can count on two hands those that are still alive from before the burnings. Legal ones at any rate.”

“There are thirty mages which are alive from the before times.” Istredd supplied, and Geralt snorted. “And the reason I do not call them in is simple, unless they are cut out for this sort of detective work, of which only five are, like Geralt insisted, I cannot force them to work. The others are currently assisting in other dire magic related catastrophes. This one is dire, but others have worse consequences. If we are to understand it correctly, this is a lover, trying to bring the dead back. The implications of what others who are bad actors could glean from such things is why I am here, and why Yennefer has been brought in. The loss of life, as upsetting as it is to the populace, is not our biggest concern. Imagine if down the road you could simply swap a part with someone else? An expensive thing to do as the magic will be hyper specialized. Immediately upon people realizing that this can be done a black market will pop up. Imagine not just, what? Two hundred people, but thousands of them each year, losing their lives so that others can harvest living tissue and give it to people who bid the highest?”

“Philosophy.” Geralt rumbled, and Roche looked between them confusion furrowing his brow. “If they were able to give an arm, a leg, hell, a kidney or a heart to someone, why not? Imagine someone dies from a carriage impact, but you can keep their body alive, their tissue could go to others.”

“That is Necromancy.” Istredd frowned.

“That is science.” Roche supplied surprising both the witcher and the mage. “One of my boy’s wife’s had a baby not too long ago. She tore and was hemorrhaging. They gave her a blood transfusion. Blood is a living tissue, though it was taken from a living donor at little cost other than a few days’ rest. Is that necromancy?”

“According to Covinarius’ theory of tissue memory retention, yes.” Istredd stated firmly. “But why not let nature take its course? Right now, we stand in the poison haze spit forth by factories, which will poison many. Shall we take a lung from every country farmer or woodsman to supplement the blackening and the cancerous lungs in which people have begun to display? No one knows the effects of such things.”

“Sir, we found bodies.” One of the investigators had come bolting out of the house as if her feet were aflame, she cast both Istredd and Geralt a wary gaze. “We found two, whole, and we found another in a retort built in the back garden. There are numerous bone fragments, piles of them really…”

“Geralt?” Roche looked at Geralt, who shrugged.

“Wasn’t looking for bodies here, was looking for a seller.” Geralt grinned a little to himself as Roche ground his teeth. “Though if I were you, I would be careful asking that elf for any information. He seemed to think he was entrapped by a succubus.”

“Was he?” Roche snapped angrily, and Istredd had to turn to hide a smile.

“Not my job.” Geralt shrugged and Roche bristled.

---+++++++++---

The vampire stole through the streets swiftly, avoiding patrols, and clutching the package in his arms tightly. The red-light district, at least the one he wished to abscond to, was not close. It lay near the pier district, for obvious reasons. His swift steps and sudden stops were punctuated by unsettling thoughts, ones which he had been ignoring, but in the silence had come forth.

He had been betrayed.

His life here, over the past decade, had been a trial in every way it could have possibly been. The city was corrupt to its core, a rotten apple with mold festering upon its skin and liquid sh*t at its center. The place was huge, not as big as some of the other larger cities, and by and large it was newer in comparison. It had cropped up shortly after the vampire wars and the witch burnings as a place where pirates could rest. It had become legitimate, after the pirates saw little profit and absconded into the west, where a new world lay ripe for plunder and slaving. But it was a city built on criminality, and that foundation had never quite left it.

In his first week alone, he was given no less than two dozen warnings to avoid this person, that person, or this place, or that one. All given by people who were black in soul, and utterly foul. It had taken three months before he treated someone at his hospital, who was disliked enough that a threat to his life came to bare, and it had taken a year to navigate through the wound which had been opened, to find the sources, and place himself neatly among them. His old self would have seen the challenge to his person, deemed it too risky, and bolted like a hare from a fox. But Regis was not his old self and hadn’t been for centuries. His obsession with humanity, which at one point in time he truly thought himself an expert, turned in on itself the moment he realized his disguise was utterly infallible, even when his eccentricities showed through. That is when he realized he could truly make a difference. That is why he dove into the bottom dredges of the underdark.

But, as he was learning far too late, his angle had been ill planned. He had aimed for the core of corruption and wound up on the wall while others tried to pin tails to him. He took people for their face value, acting human when he should have pressed with his own powers to test the truth of the words in which they spoke. He had made assumptions, acted without foreknowledge, and had thought he understood. Now he realized he had been played as an idiot.

“You carry me as if I weigh nothing.” The package in his arms looked up with doe brown eyes, the cloak hanging haphazard as it caught on her one of her poorly grinded horns. “Are all your kin as strong as you?”

“No.” He answered with honesty, and not unkindly. She was an innocent victim in all this. A tool with a soul, made to kill to survive, made to kill for just an iota’s glance at freedom she would never have again.

“Ah, I see.” She said.

He had gained the necessary strength he needed to lead all vampire kind. It had been a long, daunting fight. But he had learned how to lead. He knew the pitfalls. In other words, he knew better. He knew better, and still, in his haste, in his blind panic and worry, he hadn’t stopped to think that perhaps he needed to see what was going on as a full picture first, before interrupting an already choreographed dance that he knew nothing about... He had been hyper focused on the present events, forgoing his own people for good reason, but his judgement had been clouded by the events in the past days. His better judgement had been clouded by one singular man who seemed to send Regis screaming back into the past.

Geralt.

The moment he had arrived back into Regis’ life by a true trick of happenstance, Regis had been taken from a place of confidence, where he felt like he was in control, to a place where everything was moving without him and he felt like he needed to scramble to catch up. It had taken him back to that span of six months where he was trying to find himself, and had found someone he loved, but had no idea what to do with it. Six months was like a flash of lightning in the distance, seen for a moment. But the echoing thunder reached him far later.

He had tried for distance, taking a day to right his mind around, though that day was ill spent. Then he had tried to take a half of this very day to try to right his mind from the trauma he had inadvertently suffered while Geralt went through his own. In the end of it, he couldn’t sit still and rest and think, instead he felt the world pressing down upon him and in his haste to try to right around, get things moving, he made a great many ignorant errors in rapid succession. It was high irony that he talked to Geralt about resting, when he, who was supposed to be on vacation from the stress of his day job, couldn’t do the same.

That, and Geralt and he had confessed their love for one another, and yet anything and everything was getting in the way of truly exploring that love. But one problem at a time.

Regis had met Geralt at a low point in his life. If not the lowest point. He had fallen in love with the Witcher at his worst and saw the best he could be in the process. But Geralt who stood before him now had also changed, at least to his recollection. Geralt, when Regis had first met him, had abandoned the path to find his daughter. Geralt, in the present, had resumed his status as an active Witcher. Regis had some rather romantic notions as to what being a Witcher entailed. He wasn’t above admitting his faults, and he had gone on the journey expecting a bit of excitement and adventure. He had not gone into it thinking he would face off with much of the life he had left behind. He had not gone into it to see the murdered bodies of innocent women torn to pieces, and he had not gone into it thinking that humanity would be the monster, and that the monster’s would need saving. He had also not gone into it with the idea that hundreds of women would die while they sat wandering aimlessly through a city he knew well, trying to find any scrap of what they could to try to head off the worst of it.

He had not expected to feel so helpless.

“Thank you.” The succubus’s, Lorilai spoke as they approached the lamp adored archway, which glowed red and warm despite the curfew. From the crowds beyond it seemed to be bustling. “I… I know this was unexpected…”

“It’s no trouble.” And it really wasn’t, at least according to Regis. “I had a very pleasant relationship with one of your kind a few centuries ago. I put aside many of my misconceptions then, and vowed to help your people where I can. I am a doctor, a human one I must admit, but I have been such for centuries, and have aided many who were not human as well.”

“I have a feeling that the shock of what has happened to me will not wear off for some time.” She said again quietly. “I have fantasized about my freedom for so long. This seems like a dream.”

“There is going to be much for you to work through.” Regis flinched knowing her freedom was still yet to be determined, but ignorance was bliss. “And I can help with that too, I know the proprietor of the establishment in which we are going is both kind and should be able to help you. I will be able to help with the physical issues you have, at least for now, in the immediate, and I will be giving you a prescription to have one of the ladies for you to take for two weeks which should negate any infection. Time, and getting you back to health will help with the rest.”

He left out the fact that she was likely permanently marred. Succubae were long-lived. Like elves, longer than in some cases. He had no idea how old she was when she was taken, and he had no idea how long she had been in fetters. But what he did know, is that there were many Succubae and Incubi that suffered injury and scaring, even from small things. He also didn’t want to think about the emotional fallout that would happen, nor the risks she would pose to the public for many weeks, months, and perhaps years to come. He also didn’t want to think of the risks she posed to herself.

Kill me, please!

The immediate needs were of paramount importance as he had arrived in an alley that smelled of seed, piss, and looked as if a small tornado had rushed through it. When he arrived at the back door, two ladies were sitting outside smoking pipes and speaking of matters that whor*s often spoke of, which in this case happened to be the fair which was taking place over the next week. One of the whor*s pointedly ignored him, a new girl who had likely been told to avert her eyes from guests that approach the back entrance, but the other was a familiar face and a welcome one.

“Sir?” She said, lifting herself and her rather thick skirts from the cement bench filled with mosaic tiles, some of which littered the ground below her feet.

“Ashlynn, Get the mistress please.” Regis said, and something in his voice must have hinted at the direness of the situation which lay bundled in his arms. Ashlynn bowed, and quickly hurried inside.

The other whor* was looking curiously at him now through a side eyed glance. Her back was straight, her skin was porcelain, and her gray green eyes caught the reflections of the red lights and made them look strange and bloodshot. She smelled of pure humanity, a rare thing in places such as this, and she smelled free of disease. Regis ducked his head as he heard footsteps, and the door burst open into the night air.

“Ashlynn said you were harried.” The mistress had appeared. She was a medium height woman, with wide hips, soft arms, and a soft stomach. She was wearing a lacy looking nightdress, which billowed around her, and her eyes, honey brown, spoke of wisdom. She made a quick and universal motion at the curious young whor* to get back in and perform her job. The whor* quickly gathered her skirts, and she joined hands with Ashlynn who led her back inside.

“What happened?” Thea mistress asked, peering at the bundle being held close to Regis’ chest.

Regis gingerly shifted the far too light bundle in his arms and pulled her cloak away from where it had been shadowing her face. The mistress looked down at first in confusion, and then in horror.

“Get inside, quickly!” She hissed, and Regis allowed himself to be led.

They were taken through the kitchens, and into a room where a false wall was lined with sundries, the wall was opened and a dark stair with only a few lights led them up, up and up, to the fourth floor, to the attic. The attic was not a storage room, but a living quarters for the Mistress of the house. It spanned the whole length and breadth of the footprint of the establishment, and was well kept, beautiful. It smelled of strangers here though, and the ropes and whips which lined the walls made Lorelai flinch when she saw them.

“She is injured.” The Mistress said, her form shifting and becoming that which Regis knew she was. The soft chestnut brown of her hair extended to the soft wool which covered her lower torso, and the tattoos she had, which marked her clan and lineage, stood out in beautiful shades of aquamarine against her skin. “How?”

“Held, in captivity.” Regis supplied, and gingerly set her down upon a chair. “She needs to be bathed first, and let her claws soak. I am afraid she likely has white line ulcers which need to be seen to immediately. The rest can wait.”

The mistress quickly stole over to a set of pipes, and rang a bell, which tinkled somewhere deep within the establishment.

“Yes, Mistress Poplar?” The voice was musical and female.

“Bring the kit to my rooms, and a good variety of soaps and oils.” She demanded. “Make sure the rasp and grinder is included, and make sure the hoof knife is well sharp, bring two attendants, we will need aid.”

She stepped away and Lorilai looked terrified now.

“What is to happen to me?” She asked, shaking now that she was away and in an unfamiliar place.

“The basics of decency first off.” The Mistress said, and then moved to a screen. The sound of running water and soon the appearance of steam had Lorelai looking on curiously. “My name is Poppy Poppler, most here call me Mistress. I am the proprietor of the One horned goat. We are an adult entertainment and escort establishment, or, if you wish to use the more common term, a whor* house. As you can see by my tattoos, I am a part of the Poplar clan, the matriarch of it. Let me see your skin.”

Lorilai flinched, and then stripped her clothing off. The more that came off, the more relaxed she became.

“You… are clanless?” The Mistress asked, and Lorilai shrugged.

“My mother was killed early in my life, and I was raised in a whor*house in Flotsam.” Lorilai said, and Regis took that moment to seek out some wine he had scented. “Eventually when no one could guide me, I fled and lived on my own. I do not know much of our culture; I was not given a choice in such matters.”

The mistress nodded as Regis poured himself a glass and took a tentative sip. It wasn’t the best wine he had tasted, nor the worst. A solid cheap middling wine which would do well to warm him. Mistress Poppy looked at the skinny succubus critically, taking her face in her hands, and feeling along the divots in her clavicles, which made Lorelai flinch. The mistress withdrew and nodded, before floating back behind the screen, only her tail swishing back and forth as she adjusted the spigots.

“I will not pry.” She called over the din of the running water. “But a clanless Bae is a danger. To many. If you seek refuge here, which you alone can decide, you will become my own. This is not a decision to be made lightly, nor quickly. But I am one for forward words so expectations can be understood.”

The water stopped, just as two more people came in from the back hall, one of which was carrying a rather heavy looking oiled leather bag and the second was carrying a tray of bath salts, oils, and soaps.

“For now, you shall be cleaned.” Mistress Poplar announced as Lorilai looked to the two who had come up bearing burdens. A male and a female Succubae, who looked on curiously. “This is Lady, and the gentleman is Azure. You are to do nothing and allow them to clean you. Have you ever been touched by kin?”

“No.” Lorilai breathed and looked positively greedy for the experience.

“Lady, Azure, do not scrub her harshly, and if the tub needs to be refilled, do so as many times as necessary.” Poppy ordered, and walked to the table where Regis was standing. “She has been a captive, and she needs touch, be wary, and if you feel faint, call me, and I shall send in more.”

They smiled softly, and Lorilai smiled back.

“If you need anything, ask us.” They said in unison, taking one hand each, and helping her along. “And if it is too much, speak it, and we shall wait.”

Tears came to Lorilai’s eyes as she was led behind the screen. Regis watched with an almost clinical disinterest at the happenings, when he was nudged and was motioned to the French doors at once side of the attic which led to a balcony.

“Bring the wine, Emiel, I fear we shall need it.” Mistress Poppy said, and Regis dutifully gathered his glass, a second, and the wine in hand. They stepped out into the chill night air, which made it taste all the fouler, and she led him to a stone seat, which was still moist from the rains.

“Before I ask you her story, for I shall need it, I have something to say which I am sure is already on your mind.” She began sitting and flinching as she shifted forms to her far more human one, though she was just as nude. “I know you are working alongside the Witcher, for that is what he is, despite what the papers write of him. I know you are investigating the disappearance of the girls of the city. On that too I have news, but not good, and not bad. None of the girls in the district, nor any other district in the city have been taken. I shall let that sink in a little, because I am sure it comes as a shock.”

It did, but Regis hid his surprise in his glass as several men in the street below, likely men of the army who were able to move about at night, whistled up to her.

“We have been keeping an eye on things from the first set of kidnappings.” She informed him. “We have had four kidnappings here, in the past month and a half, an honestly slow few months, all things considered. And we have only suffered one murder. Not in my establishment for any of them.”

“Of course,” Regis agreed. “And I too imagine that the other establishments have been equally as vigilant, considering that the first place the police enjoy sniffing is up the skirts of whor*s?”

“Indeed.” She said with a curt nod, all business. “Our business, until the curfew was called, was booming. Men had already begun to fear approaching common women who could potentially scream they had taken advantage, and so we once again became the safest bet. Women too feared common men approaching, so our female clientele has also seen quite the uptick. We have also had many loose lipped police seeking the release only we can provide from their tensions. I am sure you see where I am going with this.”

“I do,” Regis nodded gravely. “And you wish to know how and why I got involved, why I didn’t just let things play out.”

“I know how, and I think I know why, as you stink of love.” She wrinkled her nose but softened the blow with a light and musical laugh, which Regis drowned in his wine. Then her face turned grave and serious. “Contrary to popular belief, though, I know you specifically don’t hold this particular one, we care about humanity. We have a mutually beneficial relationship with humanity in which a healthy human provides much health to us, and we provide much to them. This city has long been a cesspit, and it will continue to be so for many centuries I am afraid. But it is my home, and has been for countless centuries, and when the people in my home suffer needlessly, and outside the scope of regular city problems, I grow concerned. You have at your hand a Witcher of a renown so great that he is a legend, you have the whole of the police, and now the army at your literal beck and call, but the only swipe anyone has gotten at these foul men was once, and by happenstance. Why are houses not being searched? Why is there so much hesitation?”

“Magic.” Regis said, and Mistress Poppys eyes darkened. “Old magic, foul magic, chaos in its most concentrated form.”

“And you have a second purpose here.” She said, and Regis hesitated, and then decided to place his cards, what little he had of them at any rate, on the table.

“Forgive me, Poppy, for I have found out in an overly quick manner, that those who I trusted once, I cannot any longer. You are included.” He said, and she looked wholly confused for a moment, before her face masked, and she took a long sip of her wine. “I have established myself here through a great amount of toil, and I have made a life for myself here by learning about everything including the deep underdark in which you hold a place of power. That means that you know of what I am speaking, and the betrayal of which I suffered by one I had respect for, but no longer carry.”

“Then, she was held by Ele’yas.” The succubus breathed, and pointedly poured both she and he another glass. Regis nearly broke his but held steady. “We didn’t know.”

“You lie.” Regis said simply, and set his glass down pointedly, watching as her eyes darted to his now clawed hands. “It is a very rare thing, when I am this upset, Mistress Poppy. A very rare thing indeed. You are extremely fortunate that I have need of you, for if I didn’t, well...”

He didn’t have to elaborate, the paling of her skin was telling enough.

“I know many of the others, our kin, have taken my leadership for a passing eccentricity, after all I was only violent when necessary, and the lessons imparted on my direct kin were lessons to all of the gravity my upset could impart.” Regis continued watching keenly as she sipped her wine. “We have long lorded over the lesser of the ministerium, for that is the natural order. We are the apex, you are at risk. Nature in its purest intention. But I dislike ruling, I dislike imparting my will on others, and I trusted others when I became involved, that I would have the truth in matters. I trusted that my own reputation, even as guileless as it seems, was enough to forestall stupidity.”

“You wish for me to care for the girl.” She stated suddenly, and bluntly. It angered Regis so much the lights in the district flickered, and the people began to look around below them with unease.

“You would care for her regardless, for she is your kin, and the truth of the matter is that you knew of her, yet she served a purpose, so she stayed in captivity.” Regis’ voice was quiet, even, and he knew it was utterly terrifying despite his light speaking. “I require several things of you, and now that you understand the importance of matters, you will understand that you do not have a choice in them.”

She nodded, and set down her glass, looking at the men below who were gathering amongst each other, and beginning to seek the gates.

“The first is a primary concern, which for the moment trumps all else, I need anti-venom.” He said, and she looked at him, her eyes wide. “She was potent when she bit at the wrist of my lover, and he suffers even now. I trust you have much on hand, for little accidents?”

She nodded swiftly but didn’t speak at all.

“The second thing I require is honesty.” She said, and at this she flinched. “I believe you in that you have gathered much information from the papers, but you, and others, know more than you are letting on. It is my own error to think in terms of humanity when it comes to human ordeals, but with Bethany I misjudged the power structure. I realize that the six is a very mixed bunch, and you do not wish to be outed, so you will understand when I ask, have you told anyone?.”

She hesitated.

“About the puppet master? No.” She said haltingly. “Everyone thinks he is human. But old. Very old. A mage perhaps, or one born under one of the blessed stars. When we do see him, he masks himself, yet he is the one who keeps us to rights. He knows of us, and our identities, and he funds us. He is keen, but knows he cannot be seen, for to be seen, is to be known, and one who is known can be killed.”

“Has anyone asked about him?” Regis felt the anger falling away to a keen curiosity.

“Yes. But all of us but one has kept our word. Marquita.” She said. “And even so, she is an apt liar, for a human. She’s above all of us, above all others, but values the life of the meddler, and she protects it.”

“That’s five accounted for.” Regis frowned.

“And so it shall remain, for the sixth, Christoph Ganrier lays dead,” She frowned deeply. “His death came at a poor time. We have been rudderless for months, or at least I have. My order was to wait for the Puppet master to swoop in like he always does. Yet no order has come.”

“Then you know of whom I will speak, this meddler” Regis said, and the succubus looked to him sharply. “And you understand that my wrath will eclipse his, your loyalty is first to kin, and then to others.”

“Ma’am?” The doors were pushed open, and Azure popped his head out, letting out the sweet fragrances of Sweat pea and myrrh. She is ready for you.

“We shall continue this, later, after we care for the poor judgement you made” The Mistress stood up and walked into her rooms. Regis followed shortly after, glaring at her.

He had drugged the poor Lorilai within an inch of her life. She had been relaxed, clean smelling, and fresh when he began to carve out the soul of the thick horn along the white line region. Of her claw. Her foot, as he feared, had an ulcer. He carved away piece by precious piece, exposing the area of the ulcer which resided in the corium. In the center of it, a broken off top of a carpenter’s nail resided. He pulled it, cleaned the area, and then wrapped her claw with soft bandages. Her second claw was much better, though it had been bruised, likely by her fight with Geralt. When he moved to the next foot, both claws were compromised, and both leaked foul smelling pus into a bowl, while she sighed with a keen relief. Both claws were stripped of horn to the corium and then they were wrapped.

The injuries Lorilai had suffered were because of the hard stone in which she had to trod on day in and day out. And what added to it, was the poor upkeep of her hooves in general. Regis clipped, and sculpted the horn till he was satisfied, and then he sanded his work smooth.

He finished with her hooves, and quickly did an inspection of her body, wrapping whatever injuries he could, and applying cooling salves to whatever didn’t need to be wrapped. None of this went as fast as Regis would have liked. Yet the succubus had fallen asleep, her face free of worry with Azure and Lady draped on either side of her, clutching her, they themselves sleeping.

“Come, she rests, and now I must understand your decision.” Poppy said, and Regis dutifully followed her out as the house servants began to throw the mess he had left behind away.

When they once again reached the balcony, the red lights had been snuffed, and only the old oil lanterns lit the way. The streets were empty now of people. And they were indeed truly empty here. There wasn’t a soldier or a police officer in sight. It lent credence to her declaration that no one had been kidnapped here, at least, no one out of the ordinary. Still though, Regis remembered many a time, sharing this balcony with the very creature who sat across from him, he remembered her soft flesh under his hands. He remembered the wet heat of her folds. He remembered being lost in the abyss of pleasure and thinking it universally shattering. But now those memories seemed dull with the reality of what he held in his hands now. Hard angles, muscles, a heat made wet by oil, a stiffness between his body that wasn’t his own.

“I love it when you think like that.” She cooed, her eyes closing and her cheeks pinkening. “Your thoughts are particularly potent, fresh even. I would offer you…”

“And I wouldn’t take it.” He smiled somewhat unpleasantly and ruined the mood.

“Tell me what you know of her.” She spoke after some time, the flush draining, and her body shrinking in on itself.

Regis spoke quickly and concisely on the matter. He perhaps expected her to be upset, to curse and froth. But he again misjudged someone, for Poppy was, at her core, a pimp. She thrived in the trade of bodies, exchanged them, and she would take those unwilling, and bend them to her will. Instead, she just sighed knowingly, and only showed a bitter regret that many of the girls who left her care or sought out other houses of ill repute likely had suffered similar fates.

When he finished, she simply nodded, and then sat in recollection, her hands on her dressing gown on her knees, framing those which men often craved in a sculpture of flesh.

“My third demand,” Regis interrupted her thoughts which caused her eyes to drift to his own. “Has to do with those who I shall name. Adamar Taghavi and Ishmael Bonelli. I see by your expression you know these names, and likely know them well. They are keys to this, to the murders. If they chance here, you will hold them, and you will notify me right away. We need to act now, because otherwise it will be far too late for many girls.”

“I cannot hold them.” She said after a time. “And despite everything, I wish I could. They are under his direct orders, and should…”

“You are between a rock and a hard place my dear.” Regis’ eyes had darkened, becoming black as the night around them. “I come to you for our history has always been one of mutual understanding. However, I have a feeling whoever this man who takes the false mantle of Puppet Master and the Murderer we seek are interconnected. I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation. Not truly. You still take me for a fool. But I can assure you as kindly as I am now, I will raze this place to the ground should I find out they, or any others that are connected to the murderers, were not held on my order. You understand the risk that houses to you.”

“That would make you no better than him.” She looked at him, and seemed to be recalculating what she knew of him.

“One has to fight the same battles, in the same way.” Regis said simply with a small shrug and an easy smile which showed his fangs. “After all, I could come to you with all the kindness in my heart, which I have, and it hasn’t apparently moved you. So now I resort to threats. I know you are not a perfect person, and you seem to think I am. I am not. I have never proclaimed to be. You will take care of the clanless Bae in there because you allowed her continued captivity till it no longer served your purpose. Somewhere in your heart lies a soft spot for her, for you feel guilt at your actions. You will help me capture these fools because you also know, in your heart of hearts, that you will be destroyed by them eventually, when your usefulness dries up. I, on the other hand, am not like him in one extraordinary way, I wish you to thrive when all is said and done.”

“Then why did you come after the trade?” She snapped, angrily, fear leaking out of her every pore. “After all the work we did!”

“Everyone deserves to have a choice.” Regis said easily and rose. “And one cannot choose when they are at the mercy of others. Perhaps that should be your lesson in all this. The drug trade leads to dependence, the body trade leads to dependence, and reliance on another for your wellbeing and livelihood leads to dependence. You have been involved with this man for so long that you cannot see the forest from the trees. You have no idea how much power you have because you have been standing with your mouth open while others vomit into it in the guise of feeding you. And you will not turn away from it for it is the easy way, not until a threat is made which is much worse than others. So here I am.”

She sat for a moment, looking angry, looking hurt. Looking all the pretty things that succubae looked when confronted with truths they didn’t want to hear.

“What if I say no?” She asked.

“Do you really wish to test me in this?” Regis raised a brow.

“You wouldn’t touch me…” He moved toward her, smiled, and felt the world shimmer into brightness as he pulled himself apart and surrounded her. When he solidified behind her she gasped, and tried to release pheromones which would hypnotize him. But Regis didn’t need to breathe.

Stupid, child. He spoke directly into her mind as his hand tilted her head up and exposed her neck. I gave you a choice, and your hesitation speaks to your intent. I do not plan on leaving anything further to chance. You shall be the last one, hold out.

“Please, let me go, I’ll agree… I’ll….”

He bit down, and the flood of her blood in his mouth was delectable, enticing, and just what he needed in the moment to clear his head. It was rich, heady, gamey where humans were clean tasting. But he wasn’t going to drain her. He was going to do something he had learned to do in his youth. He found the energy within her with his own, and twisted around it, stretching it like taffy until a thin thread formed which he took into himself. When he did, he wove it into his own energies, and took it over, sending himself into her, enthralling her, and binding her to himself. She screamed into his hand as he did this, for it was painful, and the pleasure of his bite was vastly overpowered by her soul succumbing to his will. Before long the thread pulsed with the beating of his heart, and she stilled, as he imposed his will upon her. When he let her go, she was blinking and brought her hand to her bloodied neck.

“Stand up.” Regis ordered, and she snapped to obey. “Take three steps forward, good, now turn, face me.”

She did, and her eyes were wide and full of tears.

“Did you speak true when you spoke to me tonight?” Regis asked, and her eyes widened.

“I did.” She said, and the tether between them prevented any lie from passing her lips to him.

“Good!” Regis smiled softly and wiped the blood from his mouth with a kerchief. “Do you understand what you have done? Do you understand the spell in which you are under?”

“I do.” She bowed her head.

“Good.” Regis said and his voice was far colder than it had been. “From here on out, you shall go about your daily business as usual, but you will do as instructed. You will fetch me the antivenom, you will see to the care and recovery of the Bae sleeping in your bed, and you will report the movements and or capture of Adamar Taghavi and Ishmael Bonelli. Further, you will send reports to me of any movements from your organization, the six is no longer, and you will seduce and or find out the names of every person who brings you orders from the interloper. If you can, you will find out the interloper’s name.”

“And if it puts me or my people in danger, what then?” She demanded, looking up to him.

“You should have thought of that before thinking of betraying me to your new master, for that is what you were thinking to do wasn’t it?”

She took a deep breath in, her hands clenched into useless fists, and then she nodded.

“You will not speak, write, pantomime or otherwise attempt to communicate to anyone, nor anything, monster, man, mage or otherwise about what has taken place here.” Regis said, and her eyes found his banefully. “You shall carry on as if it is business as usual, and you will inform me of any interesting changes. Likewise, for you are well respected and feared in the community of the body trade, you will keep your ears and eyes open for word of more kidnappings.”

She pursed her lips.

“I shall do all that, and more if I am able.” She said and looked to him, the anger turning into determination. “I only ask one thing.”

Regis raised a brow.

“Please protect us if you can.” She said and fear, true terror whipped through the thread between them. “There is a reason the six is no longer, and the interloper is the cause.”

“I will try my best.” Regis nodded softly. “Now, the antivenom.”

She nodded and hurried off.

The second she left, he turned, and gripped onto the Balcony with shaking hands. He was angry, more than angry. He was livid, and it wasn’t a familiar emotion to him. He knew deep down, logically, that what he had done was for the best. He didn’t like to resort to thralling others. He felt dirty and disgusting, and he felt like he had betrayed himself. But he had done so with the others, and he had let Poppy go for too long without being chained.

It is for the best. For my mate. And that thought scared him as he hissed into the dark.

“He isn’t my mate.” He spoke aloud, softly, and angrily.

But he could be. The voice which spoke to him was one of dark promises, one he had tried to ignore for the whole of his life since he lifted himself from the tomb. The voice had followed him, and dark as it was, it helped him many times. If you were honest.

He wanted to be honest. He wanted to be loved, and he wanted to protect those he cared about. He wanted to protect! One couldn’t protect himself or his family or the people of the world without sacrifice. He couldn’t pretend to be human; he couldn’t be kind to those who didn’t deserve it. He had to lie, lie about everything.

You need to protect him over the others. He thought bitterly, looking over the dark streets. For without him this world is lost. You need to tell him. Everything.

But the world was strange, for the world had gone on without Regis even knowing of Geralt’s continued existence. Perhaps it was for the best, after all, for Geralt to have disappeared and reappeared quietly. How many times could they have crossed paths, within miles, within inches, and neither of them would have recognized it. Regis had apparently nearly run Geralt down and hadn’t given him a second glance. He wondered for a moment; how different life would have been had Geralt not been kept away for so long. Had he returned.

There was a bitter reality there too. For if Geralt had returned sooner, perhaps their meeting wouldn’t have been on kind terms.

When at last he had the vial of antivenom in his hands, and instructions on how to utilize it, he didn’t bother with the door. Instead, he took to the thick air, which was growing breezy, and back into the black of the night.

---+++++++++---

Geralt lay in a fitful liminal space between meditation and sleep. He had left Vernon Roche, and Istredd to their tasks, and had nearly followed Regis’ scent to the red-light district, but something warned him away from that. If he had been in his right mind, he perhaps would have pushed through that thought, but he wasn’t. Instead, he made his way back, getting lost twice, for they had been in a part of the city he hadn’t recognized and in the dark, he got turned around until he found a map.

When he returned, the inn was empty, save for a note which told Geralt that if he and Regis needed to, the kitchens were open to them, and that they would have to re-open in the morning for full service as the fair was a lucrative time.

Geralt didn’t begrudge them the opening, and he certainly didn’t begrudge the larder, which held meats, cheeses, and bread which was still fresh enough that even a human would enjoy it. He sat in the dark, shivering and ignoring his body as he ate and drank. At the end of it, he returned to his rooms, took a bath, and tended to his sore wrist. He waited for an hour, listlessly at the window, and watched the military men walking down the road on horseback chatting and jostling one another. When no sign of Regis came, and the feeling of fire beneath his skin got to be too much, he took himself in hand.

It had been a fruitless effort.

So, he laid on the bed, his fever from the succubus’ bite growing hotter, and his co*ck lay pained, his balls throbbing and full. He relieved himself twice in that time, for his prostate had also swollen, and his bladder therefore was smaller for it. If he didn’t get relief soon, he knew what would come, and he didn’t want to live through it, for each time he had, death had seemed the better option, though he did eventually recover. He didn’t even have enough of a mind of his own to wonder what was taking Regis so long, instead, he lay on the bed, shivering, pained, and praying to all the gods that Regis would come to him, and he would be able to relieve the pain.

A soft sound at the window, and the flutter of curtains in the now cool breeze, had Geralt cracking open a fevered eye, and he was met with Regis’ own, which were filled with too much shame and guilt for Geralt’s liking.

“I am sorry I kept you waiting, there were complications I didn’t anticipate.” Regis’ voice washed over him, and Geralt sat up swiftly. “Be still, Geralt, I need to prepare a medicament for you, as well as prepare myself.”

“Do you need any help?” Geralt’s voice sounded worse for wear, as if he had been screaming. Perhaps he had been, he didn’t remember.

“No, I must see to myself.” Regis informed him glibly, as he set something down on the table, and quickly withdrew a syringe. “I was lucky, the place I left Lorilai was one which had anti-venom. I am sure you understand how it works.”

“I do.” Geralt nodded eagerly and stuck his arm out. He waited there, like a fool, for many moments, until Regis had gathered what he needed. When the vampire approached, he swiftly took Geralt’s arm in his hands, and cleaned the area of the injection. Then the needle went in, and Geralt shuddered. Even pain felt more pleasurable than the misery he was suffering.

“There, now, let me see to myself, as this will be a long night even with the venom negated, for we have to work it out of your system.” He said and pulled away. Geralt nodded. He turned to the bathroom and left the door open as he went inside. “Any news from the others?”

“Well, it turns out that Ele’yas was hiding bodies, by cremating them in his back garden.” Geralt couldn’t help but try to lean to see what Regis was up to. “Not surprising, and not connected to our murders as far as I am aware.”

“Yeah, I could smell the ammonia, I was convinced he had a cat for a time.” Regis called out, and Geralt nearly toppled over the edge of the bed in his curiosity. “All the corpses were male, however, so I didn’t bother with it.”

“Can you tell the difference?” Geralt asked, and put his feet on the ground silently, peaking where he could see Regis, without his shirt, and then heard the tell-tale sign of relief. He darted back feeling oddly embarrassed.

“Yes, males and females have different smells when they are lit aflame.” Regis grunted, and Geralt rested his face in his hands so he wouldn’t be tempted to look. “Surely that isn’t the only interesting tidbit?”

“Yennefer isn’t here right now.” Geralt said as the water flushed and he chanced a peak again, through his fingertips this time, as if they would shield him. Regis was in the process of removing his pants, awkwardly. He had kicked his shoes over to one side and had one foot lifted in the air as he pulled his long legs out of the trousers. “She is in Ellander. I was right about the talisman, it had been doused in the fat of some priestess, and if she went there that meant it wasn’t old, but fresh. Not sure when she will be back.”

“That is troubling.” Regis kicked his pants into the air and began to fold them neatly, Geralt realized he had moved from the bed, and he was salivating. “What would it serve to find out who? If I may ask.”

“uh…” Geralt said, swallowing thickly, as Regis set his pants on the side of the tub and began to strip out of his underthings. “Well, in theory she could be able to track the talismans by the tissue, if she can find a body. Or, if she finds a body and it’s intact enough, she could potentially make it speak. The priestess could potentially know her murderer.”

“Well, that’s something, at least.” Regis muttered, turning back around and grabbing a washcloth from a shelf. He dropped it, bent over to retrieve it, and Geralt nearly lunged. His mind was swiftly clouding over with need, true need. And the flash of Regis’ assets from the back while the vampire puttered unaware made Geralt’s already fire filled blood boil over.

“I-Istredd,” Geralt stammered and swallowed thickly as Regis turned on the water and the smell of soap effused the air. “Istredd is working on something of a panica, er pis aller. A way to negate the talismans. He seems to think that no magic is infallible, and there is a back… door… somewhere…”

Regis chuckled as he quickly soaped up his important areas. Just as soon as he did, he was rinsing himself off with another rag, not caring that water was dripping all over the floor, and running down his torso, between his legs, down his thighs.

“He may be right, I began my own attempt at gaining a back door, as you so aptly put it.” Geralt could see him grinning as he focused on cleaning himself. Geralt inched forward, his body moving on its own, a string of pre dripping from his co*ck onto the floor much like the water had from Regis. “I am not exactly sure if it was the right thing to do, as I am suffering rather unendingly with my morals vs what I need to do to help, but I gave someone an offer they couldn’t refuse, quite literally. I have learned that this may be far deeper than just a set of murderers who set this place in their sites because of its magical properties. I have a feeling one of the big crime bosses in the area may well be linked to the boss of the murderers. Someone has given enough money to way the main powers. To that end I have enthralled one of the… Oh… hello.”

Geralt growled and pointedly took in Regis’ scent where he didn’t get to wash, his neck, and the area behind his ears. His hands snaked around the vampire's front, and he pulled himself flush with Regis’ back. When he did so, Regis shuddered and pressed back into him.

“Hmmm couldn’t wait a few more moments?” He asked.

“Left the door open.” Geralt purred low in his throat and shifted his hips across the vampire’s backside. “You wanted privacy, you should have closed it.”

“You are remarkably coherent from someone suffering from Succubus venom.” Regis drawled and gasped as Geralt began to kiss along his neck and shoulder.

“I have been remarkably celibate, and I am not going to ruin the one chance I have, drugged or not.” Geralt growled and thrust a little more forcefully. Regis widened his stance and pulled forward for a moment, Geralt thrust forward instinctively seeking out the contact, then he felt Regis close in on him.

“If you must.” Regis chuckled as Geralt’s hips thrust and he growled. “May as well take the first edge off anyway.”

Geralt reached for Regis’ co*ck, but his hand batted Geralt’s away. “No, not yet.” He said, and Geralt huffed against his shoulder, and his eyes rolled as he began to thrust.

“T-talk to me.” Geralt groaned, and Regis leaned over the sink arching his back a little.

“I have enthralled one of the Six main...” Regis began and then his breath caught as Geralt growled against his shoulders. “Six… Enthralled…”

He couldn’t wait anymore either. He fumbled for something, anything to use as lubrication. He quickly handed it to Geralt, who opened it, slathered himself up, and pressed in.

“Oh… f*ck…” Regis was panting, he didn’t quite understand why he was so viscerally affected so quickly, but the moment he felt Geralt’s co*ck between his legs he lost his famed patience. “f*ck… Geralt…”

The speed at which his co*ck filled left him dizzy and breathless. Geralt groaned low, and didn’t hold back, his hips slapped into Regis’ with wild abandon, holding Regis’ hips with his hands. His hands shot pleasure into Regis through a magical means he couldn’t fathom.

“f*ck Geralt. f*ck me.” He panted and Geralt whined as he thrust hard, unyielding, and utterly perfectly. It was all too much, too perfect, rough, and wonderful.

Geralt growled, snapped and kissed and bit along Regis’ shoulder. The sudden wonderful falling apart of the vampire had every piece of him burning. Pleasure cascaded into pleasure, and he keened as Regis pressed back, meeting Geralt’s every thrust.

“Oh.. Stars… stars… Oh!!!” Regis tenses trying to hold off the inevitable, and the embarrassment did nothing to help. He was cumming, in great ropy busts into the sink, his eyes shut, and his sound muffled by fang bitten lips.

Geralt felt him tense, and the heat around him became searing, then he called out, pain and pleasure ripping through him as his body finally responded to something. He gasped and he came, and he felt everything flooding around him as he shook violently. He pulled away dizzily for a moment, and then his eyes were drawn to the vampire, who stood, his hands supported on the sink, panting and flushed down to his middle back. Then his eyes drifted down, down to the rounds of Regis' ass, and to his hole, where Geralt’s seed was dripping down onto the floor.

Regis suddenly tensed, he shook his head, and he looked back at Geralt.

“The… venom….” He stammered, and Geralt growled low, grabbing him, “I was supposed to… oh f*ck!”

Geralt had lifted him, slammed him against the wall, which shook everything in the building, and slid back in. The flames seemed to heighten even further as he felt Regis’ legs locked behind him. He snarled and then pushed forwards, licking Regis’ open mouth until they were kissing, grinding against each other, and scrambling for one another.

“Bed… please… bed!” Regis called out as Geralt moved and sucked a livid bruise into Regis’ neck. “Geralt!”

He was lifted, as if he weighed nothing, and for Regis that was a novel thing indeed. Geralt was too far gone to realize the reaction of the vampire, which was a sudden high call of pleasure. No, Geralt’s logical mind had left him, and all that was left was the need to f*ck, to breed, and to claim. They gracelessly met the bed, and the second they did, Geralt grabbed ahold of Regis’ legs pressing them beside his shoulders and began a pace even more punishing than before. Regis swallowed a cry as all he could do was hold onto his own legs and ride out the painful pleasure which had twisted through him at the overstimulation.

Geralt looked as a god to Regis, and to Geralt, Regis looked as a feast. The venom hit Regis and he cried out as his body sizzled and sparked, and he broke out into a sweat. Geralt shouted as he thrust, and the bed shook beneath them. Pleasure built, and built, till it erupted, again from Regis first. He cried out and cum painted him from his neck down. Geralt’s eyes widened, and his hand loosened from Regis’ leg, and he trailed his fingers through it. Regis was looking at him through a single open eye, panting, whining really, as Geralt had stilled and was looking to the fluid with half lidded eyes.

He placed his fingers on his tongue, and then sucked them into his mouth. He was making small, aborted thrusts as he did so. Regis watched in wide eyed fascination as Geralt breathed in, and let the fingers, not quite cleaned of his spunk, trail down and down across his body.

To the witcher, the smell and the taste was better than the sex he was having. He wanted to wear Regis, smell like him, be consumed by him, and consume him. He came then, with Regis’ taste on his mouth, and his scent on his skin. He came into the warm wet heat and groaned as Regis tightened around him perfectly. The haze of the venom was leaving him pulse by pulse, but his fervor wasn’t calming. Oh no. He shivered in pleasure and pulled away, and Regis looked to him through hazy eyes.

“Is it any better?” Regis asked, as Geralt shifted. “What are you… hnnghK!”

Regis’ sound was of surprise as Geralt lifted his hips up and began to suck, lick and kiss at Regis’ used hole. He keened and writhed as Geralt worked at him, but sooner than Regis had hoped, he stopped. Confusion stole over him as Geralt maneuvered over top of him, and realization hit far too late for what Geralt had planned.

Geralt kissed him, and his seed was painted across his tongue. Regis gasped, and then he grabbed ahold of Geralt, licking his mouth, and Geralt let his seed be shared between them. When Geralt pulled away it was a dirty thing, spunk trailed between their lips, and he was panting.

“Mine.” Geralt growled low, his eyes flashing. “You are mine.”

Something inside Regis snapped at those words. The control he had, of which there was very little left, completely left him. Time seemed to slow as he snarled and grabbed Geralt by the shoulders. The Witcher's eyes widened, and his teeth were bared as Regis attempted to flip him. But Geralt snarled, angrily, fiercely. He twisted and grabbed Regis by the shoulder and Regis flipped around, his arms coming up in instinct and catching himself on the wall above the headboard. He hissed as Geralt entered him again, and then whined when Geralt’s hand found his neck.

“Say it.” Geralt snarled, and Regis instinctively tilted his head, a thrill rushing through him that he hadn’t had since his first mate, a thrill that should have alarmed him, but instead forced him into submission. “Say it!”

Geralt’s mind was in overdrive. Instinct snapped through him as his hips snapped forward and he grabbed the nape of Regis’ neck like he would have an unruly kitten. He was salivating, his co*ck was pulsing in the searing heat of Regis’ hole. Like a kitten, or more a cat in heat, Regis’ body arched and he whined low in his throat. Geralt could see the dark blue vein on the side of Regis’ neck, and a hunger like nothing else he had ever experienced, hit him. But something was holding him back. The answer… he needed the answer…

Regis called out as his neck was pinched and his body shivered.

This is it… this is it! One part of him cried.

It’s too soon! Another cried out in fear.

He shivered and felt tears coming to his eyes as centuries of hope coalesced into the single moment which could make or break everything that he was.

“I’m yours!” Regis practically screamed as it attempted to get stuck in his throat. “I’m. AHH!”

Fangs pierced the vampire’s neck, and he screamed. He screamed in the language of his people, and it wasn’t a scream of pain, but a scream of joy. Then pleasure raced into him, hot, and wonderful, his body arched, and he choked as he realized something wasn’t as it should have been.

Venom? He couldn’t voice it. He… fangs… venom…

Then Geralt swallowed his first mouthful, and the blood tasted better than he could have ever imagined. It was ambrosia on his tongue, liquid sex in his mouth. It was Regis in concentration, and he could feel him, he could feel him! Just like before!

Mate… mine!

But it was one sided. It was one sided and Geralt lifted whining. He found himself spinning, dizzy, drunk off the blood of his lover, who was swiftly becoming more.

Something more is needed…

Pain seared through him, and he found himself upright and speared by Regis’ co*ck. His head was ripped to the side so swiftly it cracked.

“Say it.” Regis snarled. “Say it!”

Don’t make me beg…. Please… please… Geralt… please….

“I am yours… I always was…” Geralt breathed, and pain again bit into him.

It was quiet. Everything had gone silent. He felt time slow, and the silence was broken by a sound. A sob. Fangs withdrew and he could feel the venom pulsing through his head. Then he felt something inside him, something which had longed to be open, cracked.

Please… He begged in his head, his breath had stilled, and everything stopped.

Regis swallowed.

The dam shattered.

The transcendence of their pleasure twisted around them both, as the bond they had both yearned for, speared its way into them. Their souls met in the middle, light and dark, good and bad, a witcher and a vampire. Understanding swept through them, as they ceased to exist as separate peoples, and they wound around each other so tightly they couldn’t tell where one person ended, and one began.

org*sm burst over them both in unison, when the taste of Regis’ blood flooded Geralt’s mouth yet again. His own teeth having found the same bite and tearing it open. They had become the symbol which Regis wore, an ouroboros, a snake perpetually eating its tail and writhing for the pleasure it found in the act. Color burst forward, sound burst forward, and they knew one another.

More!

Two voices called out silently, in unison.

More!

Two bodies moved as one, pleasure beaming from them like light from the sun.

More!

Tears, weeping, hot, sticky, and sore skin stuck to both too sensitive and too dull all at once. They laughed, they cried, and their cries turned into screams as the pleasure wound itself around them like a ribbon, like the rope of a hangman’s noose.

The last vision the witcher saw was of Regis, his head kicked back, his fangs on full display. He was calling out, calling to his siblings of the joy he felt, of the truth he had discovered.

The last vision Regis saw of the witcher were hazy yellow eyes boring into him, into his very soul.

I see you.

And Regis wept as Geralt’s eyes closed, for it was the truth, he was seen, he was understood, and now everything would change.

---+++++++++---

The light above the operation amphitheater where the body lay was bright, and it made the body, which lay in advance decay look less like a body, and more like someone had taken a shovel full of swamp and laid it upon the silver steel table. Yennefer of Vengerberg lowered her arms, and the priestesses surrounding her bowed their heads.

“Her name was Molly Flint?” Yennefer asked, and the head priestess, who had, like all the others before her taken on the moniker of Nenneke, nodded. “She did not die in pain, if that eases you.”

And it did, for everyone in the room let off a collective sigh. But Yennefer’s eyes were on the chunks of missing flesh where only bone lay. From her knees to the swell of her neck, the flesh had been carved.

“And you found her…”

“In Flotsam, at a sight of old power.” Nenneke the current stated. “She was found by a line layer and his crew two weeks ago.”

“And no one knows of any signs or sigils around the body?” Yennefer asked.

“None.” The priestess replied. “The site had been removed by the line layers, as they planned on building a road there, the machines and men tore up everything, not even the obelisk was spared.”

“Her soul doesn’t linger here.” Yennefer said, and pinched the bridge of her nose where a headache was building. “After I am finished here, you may lay her to rest in whichever way you see fit.”

Nenneke the current, nodded to the other priestesses who solemnly bowed their heads and turned to exit the theater.

Yennefer felt empathy for them, as she listened to the soft snap of the door. The whole entire purpose of Melitele’s temple was to aid others in times of need. The woman who was laid out on the table had been in flotsam for just that, seeing to the education and care of a populace who still held some rather backwards beliefs. She was well loved by the populace there, and no one apparently had a foul word to say about her. At the same time, their distrust and distance from people not of their own ilk had led to them not declaring her missing. It was the temple which had noted her absence, first a friend who she communicated with regularly, and then she missed a vox call with Nenneke the Current. They had set out, and found her, for she still had many talismans within her person which the temple used for protection, and to find wayward souls.

“I am sorry my comfort is cold,” Yennefer said, lifting her eyes to the Priestess, who was caressing the desecrated cheek of the woman. Just like Geralt had said, the woman had been plump, and a picture of her lay with many others in the hall showing her bright eyes and a mouth that always seemed like it was smiling even when the picture was supposed to be serious.

“The comfort comes from the fact that she has been identified now, by an outside means, and the investigation into her death will be taken with a great amount of care.” Nenneke the current said softly and withdrew from the corpse. “I would ask why someone would do such a thing to such an innocent and wonderful soul, but sadly I am aware of the workings of the world, and those who are cold to it. I am only sorry that you cannot continue your investigations further with her. The body lay in the swamp too long, and there is nothing for which you can find her voice.”

“I am sorry too.” Yennefer sighed though from impatience rather than disappointment.

“And I have an answer for you, for the question you asked earlier this morning when you arrived.” She said, and Yennefer looked at her. “Even if this man, who is murdering innocents, has figured out a way to transplant living tissue into another, Melitele speaks that that which belonged to another for the purpose of birth, shall always belong to that person. Any magic which is utilized to try to change that, will make the organ infertile, or the babes will still be that of their donated mother’s. We are born with every ovum that has potential. That potential cannot be altered to that of the recipient.”

“That’s what I thought.” Yennefer said and felt another small sliver of hope die within her.

“You do not want that sin upon you, Lady Yennefer.” The Priestess said, removing the gloves, and setting them beside the corpse. “Had this knowledge been gained for the greater good of all, without the murders, without the lust, and the callousness, then Melitele would have smiled upon it, for she is the goddess of motherhood. But the means does not justify the ends.”

“You presume too much.” Yennefer snapped, and the woman looked to her kindly despite her outburst.

“Perhaps.” The woman said and turned to leave. “However, your history, and the lengths you have gone to, to see that which was taken from you returned, are well known, and warned against. You may think me cruel in my words, and my warning, but you have also not made the effort to heal that piece of yourself either. The chaos which surrounds you is not of your own making, and you do not owe those who have brought you into this problem so much that you cannot withdraw. I urge you to think about it, spend some time here perhaps. You owe it to yourself, and the ones you proclaim to love to see yourself well, and you haven’t been well, for a very long time.”

“Is that all?” Yennefer snarled. The woman nodded, and then took her leave with slow even steps.

When Yennefer was alone, she breathed deeply, and regretted it for a few moments, for there was nothing she could do against the stench of decay.

Without waiting any further, she stepped to the body, donned gloves, and took a small piece of flesh from the corpse. The moment she did something inside her snapped, and she gasped, feeling faint, and woozy. She held herself up on the side of the table, the flesh falling to the floor, as something within her had irreversibly changed. For a blind moment she floundered, trying to figure out what curse was laid upon her by the dead woman’s body, but she could find nothing out of place. Her vision returned, and she felt emptier somehow, lighter, but she felt something else too, something she had suffered as of late, but felt it all the keener now than she had before, she felt lonely and alone. She reached into her mind, to find the link between Geralt and herself. One which he had damaged so badly that he no longer suffered it. But she had. The wish was directed at her, linked their fates, and linked fates couldn’t be separated, not completely, not even with the death of the Djinn. She had found strength in it, even after everything. It was her link to her old life, one which had been robbed from her, but had given her much in return.

Nothing existed in the spot where Geralt once stood upon her mind.

Panic flooded her as she searched her head for something, anything other than the memories of Geralt, which had taken on the desaturated colors of all her other memories. She reached for the Xenovox at her side and dialed it into Ciri.

“Ciri, can we speak?” She called out, and knew her voice sounded shaken, afraid.

“I just got finished with a job, and I am heading back to the police station, can it wait?” Ciri asked.

“I am not in Dragfa, I am in Elander.” Yennefer snapped angrily. “Is Geralt safe?”

There was a moment on the line where Yennefer could hear nothing.

“Yeah, he is.” Ciri said, her tone neutral and not saying anything. “Why?”

“I,” She hesitated, and then straightened her back and straightened her dress. “I just had a feeling is all. Not a premonition or anything so solidified. Just a feeling.”

“I see,” Ciri said and there was another pregnant pause, where feelings Yennefer didn’t want to deal with twisted around inside her, burning through her like acid. “Is there anything else?”

“No, I suppose there isn’t.” Yennefer said, then quickly disconnected Xenovox. She stood there, feeling angry, helpless and alone all over again.

“Well, it’s now or never.” She said, pushing aside the conversation to focus on the task she had before herself. She went over to a table, and pulled out the sealed container which held the mage’s soul within it. Then with chalk laden with salt, she drew a complex and complicated seal across the floor. After inspecting the work for any flaws, she placed several candles. Then she, with her shoe, scooted the piece of flesh she had dropped into the proper position.

It took her an hour to activate the seal, for it was strong, and she wanted nothing to break through or interfere. When the candles lit, and burned copper green, she opened the jar. A specter appeared before her, and she shook out her long hair and stretched.

“You made the seal correctly, I am impressed.” The specter turned to Yennefer and grinned.

“Well, you can teach an old hat new tricks from time to time.” Yennefer smirked and then motioned to the flesh, which was glowing the same copper green as the flames of the candles. “I have learned her name, her year of birth, the names of her father, and mother, and I have learned that she was well liked. Her name is Molly Flint, she was born in a small town in the center of Temeria called Ashfield. Her father's name is Cody, and her mother's name is Susan. She was born in fourteen seventy-two. Can you call her to you?”

The specter flickered for a moment, and then she smiled.

“You are in luck, Yennefer.” She said as she turned to the flesh and crouched over it. “Molly, we need you, for just a moment.”

The flesh writhed, and stilled. Yennefer raised a brow as she heard curses, and then poked the flesh again, harder this time.

“Molly, come forth, child born in Ashfield! Born of Cody and Susan!” The specter cried out. The flesh jumped, and then tentacles of flesh burst forth from it, surrounding the mage specter. What stood up from the floor was a grotesque visage of writhing flesh which looked like worms and dripped onto the floor where copper green fire would sprout up.

“Now where am I?” the monster burbled through a mouth that kept shifting. A singular eye met Yennefer’s and it seemed to brighten. “I am alive again?”

“No.” Yennefer shook her head, and the eye looked to the body. “Molly, I need your help.”

“Ah,” The monster shuffled for a moment and seemed to melt before taking a firmer shape. “That’s better, well, you interrupted a lovely spot of tea with my parents, who I haven’t seen in ages. I do hope you do not plan on imprisoning me here.”

“Nothing of the sort, I just have some questions.” Yennefer smiled as warmly as she was able, and the construct looked at her, now with two eyes that were roughly where they were supposed to be.

“Well, I will try my best to answer them.” She said. “But be quick, the pull is mighty.”

“We are after the man that killed you.” Yennefer said, and the construct nodded.

“Then you are looking for a tall fellow, who looks like a Hakklander.” Molly said, and Yennefer enchanted a pen to write every word she spoke. “Long in limb, thin as a rail. Long Dark brown hair, and a goat's beard. His face, all told, looked rather goatish as well. He had a weak chin under the beard, and he could practically fit the span of his hand between his nose and mouth. His mouth was wide set, like a fish, and his nose was wide set with a narrow ridge, and he had deep lines both under his eyes, and to show his smile. His voice was rather nasal and annoying. He spoke like a man who grew up in the slums and than learned a learned accent later. Liked to roll his r’s, liked to hear his own voice.”

“Did he tell you his name?” Yennefer asked.

“He called himself Berty.” Molly said and shook what was supposed to be her head. “He apologized profusely for having to kill me, as if the death annoyed him. Of course, this was after I slept with him, for he charmed me first. While he charmed me, he said he was a scientist, one who studied anatomical arts. He said I was a fine specimen of true beauty, born out of time. I was flattered.”

“Did he tell you why he killed you?” Yennefer asked, both amused and amazed that the soul of the woman who was killed was answering so easily.

“He said that I was a pure soul, and had I been a young and sprightly thing I could have served a different purpose, but as it was, he said he needed the one thing I hated most of myself, the fat of my body.” She shook her head again and laughed, though it sounded like someone drowning in a water pipe. “I was terrified, of course, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it. He said he needed it because fat was a protective layering, and it was protection he planned to gain from my demise. He also said that my death would help further science, for what they planned to do would open many opportunities for many people. I had no idea what he was talking about.”

“Was there anyone else there with him?” Yennefer asked, as Molly’s body began to lose shape again.

“There were, a young buck of a child, who seemed to thrill at me being in bondage, and another, a rather non-descript man, seemed like he was in his early forties, perhaps late thirties. He had thinning hair, and he was pale. Very pale, as if he hadn’t seen the light in years.” Molly gurgled. “But he said nothing at all, just looked on indifferently to me. Ah…. Lady Yennefer, for that is your name, isn’t it? I… I am remise to ask, but what was my fleshed used for?”

“He wasn’t lying.” Yennefer sighed and knew she had reached the end of the conversation. “He used it to create protective talismans. Very strong ones. You must have truly been as innocent as you say.”

The grotesque thing laughed, losing more form.

“Ah, well, kindness is easy, and all the rest take too much effort.” The slowly melting pile burbled. “The only sin in which I do believe I committed in life, was that of sloth. I disliked effort, and if I could, I wouldn’t do much of anything.”

“Thank you for your words, and may your rest be peaceful.” Yennefer said, and the candles snuffed out as the flesh shrunk back in on itself.

“See, Yennefer, I told you one of them was spindly as a long-legged river spider.” The specter of the mage grinned.

“So, you did.” Yennefer sighed. “Now, go back into the vessel, I do not wish to force you to this time.”

“So, you still plan on going through with it?” The specter’s smiling face fell, and a look of concern passed it.

“It is the best hope I have.” Yennefer bowed her head. “You are my ace. He needs you, like he needs the souls of others, to make sure his sacrifice is complete. It will have to be my trump card; with you I can negotiate.”

“You would aid him?” The specter sighed. “Of course, you would. I would have too, for who I was when I was younger, is not who I was when I died. One of us should be happy with our lot. Fine, Yennefer, I shall go. If you have use of me further, you know how to call me now.”

Yennefer nodded as the specter floated over to the jar and turned to ash. Yennefer quickly gathered anything and everything that had missed the jar, and she sealed it shut. When she did, she sighed, and then heard an intake of breath.

When she looked up it was into the eyes of Nenneke the current, and she was holding a blade to Yennefer’s face.

“I knew you were up to no good.” She hissed, and Yennefer smiled. “Nenneke the first was right in her writings of you. I was a fool to allow you to come here. I will not profane this place with your blood. Leave. Leave, and never again shall anyone who has been blessed by Melitele give you aid.”

“Harsh words.” Yennefer looked at her and found she didn’t have the strength to even be angry anymore. “I shall leave.”

She gathered the jar, and covered it once again with soft cloth, and then she raised her hand. A portal appeared.

“For what it’s worth, Nenneke the current, I think Melitele has finally blessed me with an option.” Yennefer said. “And I think you are afraid of what it will mean. Ah well, pray, and may Melitele smile upon you.”

With that she stepped through the porthole and blinked her eyes. When she finally focused, Istredd was sitting on her desk, looking at her through squinted eyes.

“Did you learn anything?” Istredd asked, his voice cold.

“Much, come, let us rest, and perhaps speak of old times.” Yennefer sighed, and Istreadd’s eyes brightened.