It took us ten minutes of hurried jogging to reach the abandoned church. It was small for a church, made of faded stone and wood.

“In there,” Roach said, hunched over to catch his breath. “Nabbed him at that side door.”

“Message for you sir,” came a voice from behind us. Roach and I both jumped, but I recovered first, whirling on the speaker. It was another messenger, like the one Jim had used on the first day.

I took the slip of paper the boy was holding out and scanned it quickly.

Got your message. Send me the address. Don’t go in without me.

-Ajax

I dug out more coins and handed them to Roach. “Go with the messenger. Get Ajax here as soon as possible,” I said. Roach was still breathing heavily, but he just nodded grimly and took the coin.

As the two ran off, I approached the church carefully. Everyone assumed that the Decoction Killer works alone, but there was no reason he couldn’t have lookouts. Scanning the wet streets, I saw nothing suspicious. I stepped up to the church door and drew my sword and shield.

I forced myself to take slow breaths and loosen my deathgrip. My heart was pounding like a drum, but I knew that going in tense would just harm my ability to fight. I itched to rush in. I knew that the smart move was to wait for Ajax. The killer and his victim had been in there for twenty to thirty minutes though. How long did murder take? Did he torture the victim first? Mix the decoction on site or beforehand? How much time did I have? There were too many variables.

After hesitating for an eternity, I checked the door. Locked. I glanced back to the street, willing Ajax to show up. He didn’t. I took a deep breath and shoulder-checked the door.

The door broke open with a pop and shower of wood splinters. The church hallway was dark and empty. Rows of wooden pews filled the cavernous space on the left. To the right a flight of stairs led up to another door. Candlelight shone under the door like a beacon.

Committed now, I charged up the steps. The next door put up more resistance, but still crashed open when I hit it. I had only a moment to take in the room before something came flying at me. I brought up my shield instinctively, and a glass vial shattered against the wood.

Some of the cold liquid hit my face, but most sprayed the floor. A man tried to follow up the throw by charging, but wild slashes of my shamshir drove him back. He eyed my sword cautiously, but calmly, as he backed off.

The man was tall, caucasion, and had long dark hair. He held a long dagger in his right hand. If he was surprised or concerned by my entrance, he showed no signs of it. He charged again, capitalizing on my hesitation. He feinted at my face, then drove his dagger at my gut.

I slammed my buckler down on his wrist, forcing his strike wide, and slashed down with my shamshir. He twisted as he retreated, taking my cut on his shoulder. The blade sliced neatly through his leather coat and into the flesh of his arm, but it was hardly the debilitating cut I was hoping for.

As he fell back, he twisted his dagger, cutting a line on my shield arm from elbow to hand. My chainmail protected my arm, but where it ended, the knife bit deeply into the meat of my palm. I dropped my buckler from the sudden pain, and it clattered against the wood floor.

The man backed out of striking range, taking quick, precise steps. He couldn’t go far in the small room, however, and was soon backed against an open window. My face felt numb from where the liquid had hit. I took a cautious step forward.

He darted in again, but my longer sword gave me an advantage. After exchanging a few strikes, we disengaged again. Blood was dripping freely from his left arm in fat drops. I would have felt a lot better about it if I couldn’t feel a chill spreading through my veins. My heart was hammering away, but I could feel fatigue in every muscle.

The man snapped up another vial from the table I hadn’t even noticed and sent it spinning at me. I summoned my force buckler. The translucent disk snapped into place just before the vial struck and shattered. This time, the liquid hissed and sputtered as it dripped onto the wood floor.

The man gazed at me cooly, studying my display of magic. Then without hesitation, he jumped through the window. It was so sudden and smooth an exit that I stood stunned for a heartbeat. Then I charged after him.

After two steps, my legs gave out and I crashed to my knees. My entire body felt cold. I scrambled up and over to the window. The man was fleeing down the cobblestone alley, already a dozen feet away. I sent a force push after him, but it dissipated uselessly. I grabbed the rope he had slid down, but paused as another wave of fatigue hit me.

I closed my eyes as my brain went dark. I forced them open. The man was almost to the end of the alley. I could still catch him. My cold muscles put the lie to that thought. I slid to my knees in front of the window, then turned and put my back to the wall.

My face was freezing. I scrubbed at it and came away with a viscous brown liquid under my nails. My fingertips started to go numb. I clamped my hand over my cut and focused on my breathing. Just get through it.

After a minute, heat returned to my bones. After two, my face still felt numb, but I was able to stand. Glancing at the doorway, I made note of the brown liquid coating my shield and splattered against the floor and wall. If I had taken the full dose I probably would have gone down hard.

Taking stock of the room, I nearly had a heart attack when I locked eyes with a second man. This one was fat, bound securely to a chair, and gagged. He made no noise through his gag, but his eyes held plenty of questions.

I staggered over to him, working the last of the cold from my fingers. The ‘ropes and knots’ proficiency I picked up at fifth level guided my hands. Even fighting the last of the numbing drug, it took me only a moment to untie the gag.

“Thank you,” the bound man said. “Your arrival was very timely.”

His tone was calm and collected. Not what I would expect from someone that was almost forced to drink acid. It immediately put me on edge. I had intended to untie the rest of the man’s bindings, but decided to hold off. Him being restrained would help with my Persuasion by Ethos skill anyway.

“What’s your name?” I asked and circled back to his front.

“Arthur Green, at your service,” he said affably. “I oversee the importation and exportation of textiles.”

As if he were introducing himself at a dinner party. I stowed my shamshir and leaned against the wooden table. “And do you know why the Decoction Killer targeted you, Mr. Green?”

“Not at all,” he said.

“Have you ever seen him before?” I continued. I tried to fix the killer’s face in my mind. Tall, pale skin, dark brown hair. Or maybe it was black?

“No, I have never met the gentleman before tonight,” Green answered.

“I’d hardly call murder gentlemanly,” I muttered half to myself. I turned to examine the contents of the table. It was like an alchemist’s laboratory in miniature.

A large glass beaker of brown-green liquid simmered on some sort of heating element. It looked like a bunsen burner, but had no gas line. I assumed the blue flame must be maintained by magic. Next to the burner was a set of long metal tongs. It reminded me that the killer had been wearing thick leather gloves.

“Not to be a bother, sir, but would you mind untying me?” the cloth merchant asked. “I would like to get home before it gets too late.”

“In a moment,” I responded. “What were you doing at the track today?” As I spoke I inspected a small bag lying open on the table. It had four separate sections padded out with straw. Two of the sections were empty, but the other two held glass vials stoppered with cork.

“Betting on the race, of course,” Green answered.

“Have any luck?” I asked, remembering Roach’s reason for following the cloth merchant in the first place. I pulled out one of the glass vials and examined it. It was half filled with green liquid. The other half was presumably in the still bubbling away decoction.

“I am afraid not. It seems Lady Luck was not with me today in any of my endeavors,” the cloth merchant said with a forced laugh.

I replaced the green vial and took out the other. It was filled with a red liquid. Either the killer didn’t need this for his potion, or I had interrupted him before he could add it. I assumed that the last two spots were for the numbing agent and acid he had thrown at me during the fight.

“If you lost your bet, why did you get a purse from the receptionist?” I asked as I put back the red vial.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” he said. His voice was flat, any sign of affability gone.

I buttoned up the bag of vials and turned to face the bound man. His face was expressionless, as if every muscle had gone slack. It would have been a damn fine poker face if his change in attitude hadn't been a dead giveaway.

“I know the receptionist at the track gave you something after the race. What was it? Money?” I asked, slipping the bag of vials into my backpack.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” he repeated in a monotone.

I put my pack back on and walked over to him. “I’ll just see for myself then,” I said. It took only a moment to find the large bulge in his coat’s front pocket. When I reached for it though, the man snapped and bit me in the hand.

“Son of a bitch!” I yelled, smacking his head with my free hand and pulling away. I couldn’t yank free though. My hand was caught fast and the initial pain doubled. I stared in horror as the rest of my hand was pulled into his mouth.

A mouth that now had far too many teeth. Rows and rows of needle sharp teeth undulated and wriggled before plunging into my arm.

Roaring in pain, I cross-drew my knife and started stabbing frantically. The man, or what I had thought was a man, bled profusely, dark blood pumping from dozens of wounds, but didn’t stop chewing. My arm was pulled in up to the elbow. The teeth ground audibly against my chainmail. Metal rings popped and I could feel teeth puncturing flesh.

My hand felt like I had stuck it in a meat grinder. Everything was too hot. My breath pumped in and out, but I was drowning.

I clawed at his eyes, his jaw, scratched deep furrows in his neck, but the teeth kept punching in and out like sewing needles. With a scream I used both arms to lift the man, chair and all. I slammed it against the wall, the floor, but to no avail.

I lost control of the chair when the teeth reached my shoulder. The creature’s face was only inches from mine. One eye gouged and bloody from my flailing, the other staring at me in hatred. I pushed off with both feet as the wiggling teeth bit into my shoulder, shredding chainmail.

I tried desperately to scramble away, dragging both of us across the floor. My back hit the table. With a surge of inspiration, I rolled atop the creature so I could use both feet to stand. My right arm, fully enveloped now, popped sickeningly. The pain made my gorge rise, but I forced myself up.

I seized the large beaker from the table and almost dropped it as the heat burned my hand. Forcing myself to hold on, I slammed the beaker into the creature's face. Boiling liquid sloshed everywhere, burning wherever it struck.

The liquid sizzled and spat as it melted flesh. The creature keened and thrashed wildly. The pain was overwhelming as the jerky movements further shredded my arm.

The world got dark. I was on the ground, the creature shrieking in my face. I flailed desperately, all conscious thought lost. I shoved with my arm and kicked out with both legs. Pushing off the table and floor.

I finally got a foot against the chair and pushed. With a sickening slurch, I pushed the creature away from me. I scrambled back, into a corner of the room. I stared in horror as the creature spasmed and shook. The wiggling teeth still worrying a chunk of meat and bone, even as the creature was in its death throes.

Seeing the bone, I looked at my shoulder. The hand I clamped over the wound was pressed against the joint.

My right arm was gone.

Blood pumped from my shoulder, spurting through my fingers even as I tried to clamp down on it. I stared dully at the blood pooling on the old wood floor. I was vaguely aware of hearing the creature’s death rattle before the world slipped away.