Chapter 11

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The standard tactic of laying low somewhere near the person of interest and eavesdropping on his conversations did not work this time. Poyr, the light-worshipper from whom the boy-informer had learned of the sect's existence, led a daily and disgustingly law-abiding life. That is, he broke the laws, of course, but in small ways: buying food from the black traders, occasionally exchanging surplus produce for useful items rather than depositing them in a warehouse, bribing overzealous guards, and the like. At night, he preferred to sleep peacefully in his own bed, surrounded by his household. He worked as an oiler - processed fish oil (or fish itself, Celeste did not get into the intricacies of the process) into oil and combustible mixture for torches, lamps. Laskash worked part-time for the man by arrangement with the headman.

The ghouls didn't like the crafts quarter. For several reasons. Drunkards and the poor were rare there, which meant they had to look elsewhere for prey. Frequent guards walked around, and in addition, the natives led a mostly daytime lifestyle and slept at night, so that the girls moved through the deserted streets in short runs. For reasons unknown, the area had previously been settled by many middle-class citizens with ties to the sea - rich fishermen, clerks, and others who had saved up enough money for a house of their own but could not afford to buy a mansion. As a consequence - small plots with small houses, low fences, great hearing what neighbors say... It is possible to steal a person from here, of course, but there will be a lot of traces.

In his former life, Andrew's background in surveillance and espionage was limited to reading detective novels. He had not worked in the police, had no ties to gangsters, and his sluggish attempt to work as a journalist had failed because of his tendency to write the truth. Had he had any experience, perhaps he would have come up with something clever. Alas. The skills he'd acquired in his new body focused more on finding a victim and a brief stab out of the darkness followed by sucking blood - unhelpful in this case.

While Andrew hesitated, deciding what to do next, there were serious changes in the life of the city. Too serious to ignore. The search for the priest at the head of the sect had to be postponed.

The long-awaited winter finally arrived. The change of season for the locals was expressed in new clothes. People diligently wore raincoats, hats, and looked for other ways to protect themselves from the ubiquitous moisture. Rain was falling from the sky. At brief intervals throughout the day, drops of water drummed on the roofs of houses, poured into small streams in the streets and accumulated in pits and ditches, gradually forming full-flowing rivers where dust had lain before. Walking around the city became difficult because the drainage systems did not work, and the drains were clogged with garbage and earth. The sewers turned into a continuous stream of roaring water, or just dirty water, or ponds of muddy standing water - in short, it was wet everywhere.

The girls were not spared the trouble. Although Celesta paid attention to the deposits of mud on the walls, showing the level to which the water had risen, a lot had changed since last year. Collapses, leaky pipes, and corroded equipment had all contributed to the destruction of the city. The ghouls had to urgently caulk the hole leading to the underground river, using the leftover sealant. Using crowbar and swearing, they cleared numerous blockages in the path of the stream, diverting the danger from their homes. The workday began immediately upon awakening and merged into one monotonous and dirty labor, occasionally interrupted by feeding. After sunset, Celesta and Medea circled the nearby corridors, marking those where the water level was too high, then there was hurried patching of holes in the walls of the dwelling. Then one went about working while the other searched for an opportunity to satisfy her hunger.

Medea finally appreciated the merits of her friend's proposed method, and even began to find a certain pleasure in paying for the blood of the poor. She, with her incredible good looks, had no trouble convincing men to help a beautiful but miserable woman get by. She did not even leave money in all cases, especially if the victim was a regular donor. Strange as it may seem, more recently there have been such donors. In most cases, they were Morvan-worshippers who had lost their mentors and whose disturbed psyche demanded a new guru to guide them in the right direction. The poor people had completely lost the ability to think for themselves. There was also one pervert who had a crush on the honey-haired, undead beauty. Celesta vowed to unite the people into a cult at the earliest opportunity, but for now, alas, there was no time.

Oddly enough, she was not going to look for another "apartment". The place turned out to be comfortable, even if it had flaws. There was one flaw that had to be corrected to live in warmth, comfort, and tranquility. According to estimates, it was necessary to clear a few pipes and build a dam in one place, tightly packed with boards and clay corridors to direct the flow in a bypass. Of course, next winter will inevitably bring new problems, but they will be easier, and much less work will be required. Assignment for the hydraulic engineer.

Celesta thought with grim humor that the existence of a ghoul required not only physical strength but also training in a wide variety of human knowledge. Psychology, anatomy, the basics of commerce, the biology and behavior of local creatures, the ability to move silently and hunt, construction, medicine - to help those too badly injured by fangs - topography, espionage, now hydrology. The list could go on ad infinitum, and experience in the shittiest part of the city, the sewers, would be an important part of it.

They lacked tools, and their clothes had long since become rags. The friends had one dress each, the ones they wore when they went out into the city to hunt - they had spent their time underground naked long ago. Injuries and scratches would heal instantly, at most after a good portion of blood, but the cloth would tear and never be repaired. Therefore, if an outsider suddenly appeared, attracted to the damp corridors by the sounds of pounding crowbars and shovels, a surprising picture would await him - two naked, covered with a thick layer of dirt girls (one of which looks like an expensive photo model, and the second is nice) are together doing repairs.

"Real Playboy..."

"What did you say?"

"In my world, there was such a magazine for lovers of naked women. They would pay dearly for our pictures."

Medea looked around at herself and Celesta and suddenly laughed: "Yeah! You know, I did a show for our "Classy Boy" once, but my father destroyed all the prints. He wasn't a very strong magician, but he had enough power for one newsroom. He got arrested for damaging a public building and got a huge fine."

They both felt no fatigue, which was a great advantage. The inevitable loss of strength had no effect on performance. The ghouls recovered easily from a few sips of blood. The demon inside each of them demanded a lot, but it also gave a lot.

"What do you think," Medea smiled slyly, "it might be worth going out hunting like that?"

"Don't even dare think about it! There are all sorts of whispers among people, so we don't need to give any more food for gossip."

Sooner or later it had to happen - people had to know about the ghouls living near them. Now it didn't matter if one of the donors had let it slip, or if one of the Richard porters had guessed who their guides were, or if Fakasius' men had blabbed, the fact remained that the gossip among the poor had not stopped. The guards and artisans were unaffected by the new "horror story," which led Celesta to assume the source of the rumors was some low-level donor or agent. As a matter of fact, she regarded everyone who shared blood regularly, once or twice a decade, as a source of information and treated them accordingly. In other words, possessive. If she got her hands on one who blabbed, she would tear him to pieces for the edification of the others.

"Well..." Beauty hissed angrily, hitting her foot with the shovel. "Naked girls on the street are much more interesting than some ghouls, whether seen or not. They'll change the subject in a moment."

"You just want to have some fun," Hit. "So do I," Hit. "To get away from this boring stuff. Hold the board. Sorry, honey, you're gonna have to be patient. It won't be long now, the rains will stop soon."

"I know!" Medea snorted. "That's what I told you about the climate!"

Dinirs were running out, clothes were tattered, and informers needed something to pay them. There was a simple choice: either to sell the goods accumulated for a "rainy day" cheaply, but quickly, or to look for work urgently. One could lead Richard's caravan - the guards were now sitting quietly, keeping their heads down in the rain-soaked streets. Holiness hinted at something in his way the last time we met. Celesta hadn't been interested then, but now she might have to take him up on his offer. It's time to stop being so clean-cut. Or try something else? Rob the port control building: that's where they always keep large sums of money to pay the soldiers...

The ghoul mentally began to make a list of things she needed. Four pairs of pants, a shirt, a jacket to replace the tattered one, boots or, at the very least, sandals, a shovel bent, nails needed... The fact that he had to wear women's clothes annoyed Andrew. Not because they are women's - compared to the other troubles the appearance was perceived as an absurd trifle - but because of the discomfort. The dress was bad to crawl on walls, it clung to ledges or bushes, constantly torn, in short, interfered with movement. Even Medea preferred to wear pants if she wasn't going to show her face. According to her stories, the Sylvan girls rarely wore men's clothes: the religion was rather rigid about the separation of the sexes, although there were exceptions, such as the warrior-girl orders.

It was worth meeting with Richard at least because of the news he was willing to share. Communicating with those in power was not in vain, and in addition to the purely material dividends, it brought a fair amount of useful information. Guardian officers had indeed recently begun to actively solicit small bands of bandits operating in the Pit. They promised shelter, protection, and sometimes weapons and supplies. Such friendliness had never been seen before. Higher-ranking officials worked with the leaders of large gangs - here the stakes were bigger. Richard, for example, was offered to become a kind of feudal lord, to have an entire village at his fingertips.

The authorities intended to encircle the existing settlements with another ring of small forts, where they would place detachments of former mercenaries. They would add men, arm them at their own expense, and swear not to interfere in matters on the condition that they would arrange for a steady supply of food to the city. When the bandit tried to deny the idea, citing the sheer number of creatures in the area, the officiant grinningly advised him not to worry. The problem would soon go away, he said.

Richard promised to think about it.

"They offer another option," he told the girl next to him. Close, but not too close. "A permanent job, like the guards. A full paycheck from the treasury, living in the city, all the associated privileges."

He decided to talk to Celesta deliberately. The clever undead would not babble, but she could advise him what was useful. Borak, though loyal to the point of speechlessness, does not shine with intelligence, and that was for the best - less temptation to throw off the ringleader. The ghoul knows a great deal, and most importantly, knows how to apply her knowledge. So let her help her ally! Lucky him, nothing can be said. He was lucky, both when he met Celesta and later when he decided not to kill the undead. When you think about it, he had a lot to gain from the acquaintance.

Let her continue to drink blood - as long as it helps him.

"The Duke was determined to take control of the city." The girl sat perfectly still, only a low whisper coming from beneath the handkerchief that hid her face. "I think he's got his plan all worked out, and that's what he's doing. It all goes too smoothly. You don't have much choice, you either fit into the growing structure, or you're eliminated when you're not needed."

"You mean the village is better?" Richard clarified.

"It's up to you to decide. The authorities will control the ex-gangsters. It's inevitable." Celeste paid no attention to the indignant hiss of her interlocutor, "Surely they will assign an officer with greater authority to assist you or monitor you in other ways. When do they expect an answer?"

"In a month and a half at the latest."

"They want to determine by the spring."

"I don't know how they intend to clean up the area," Richard pondered. "If you leave the city for twenty-four hours of travel, it's as if you're going to hell."

"Is it really that bad?"

Taleуa is, after all, a human city, and the creatures are destroyed here. They are not allowed to grow, to unite into packs. Things are much worse from here. Although from one perspective, mutants starve each other to death. The strongest survive. They were bred for the most part to eat human meat, and are not interested in simple beasts. That's why there aren't many of them left, but they are more dangerous than the ones in the city.

Celesta took note of what was said, but nothing more. She was concerned with other matters now - primarily whether the ringleader was going to smuggle contraband back through the line of posts. If he had been made a serious offer, it would be foolish to squander his reputation on trivialities and greed. Richard, however, had no doubts, firmly setting a date for the future crossing. Well, the choice was his.

The conversation with His Holiness had to be sacrificed to the desire to live in comfort. Celesta was fixing up the repairs, finishing the last drain for the stream, and hoped to be rid of the threat of the flood in about three days. They had to hurry: the newfound "ghouls worshiper" were bothering her more and more. Deprived of their guiding hand, the donors began to seek the sphere of application of their efforts, which could not but disturb the undead, accustomed to secrecy. They urgently needed something to occupy them, preferably with benefits. Medea was restraining the fanatics' zeal for now, but she wouldn't last long.

There was a possibility: one of the loonies was working as a loader in a harbor tavern. That is, he could give his unscrupulous master an idea about a new supplier. Another morvanite in a former life was an alchemist and knew how to use two herbs and a local mineral to give the beer a "unique, persistent taste" that was inconspicuously addictive. The effects of the mild drug passed quickly, and in earlier years it was even sold freely in some pharmacies. Trouble was, the meager dope market in Taleya was tightly controlled by serious people, and one was afraid to venture into it without preparation. Celesta was going to test the product first, see the results, build a chain of maker-buyers, enlist Fakasy's support - she'd have to share with the old goat, but what could she do? - and only then produce serious batches. The cultists would find something to do at once: they could combine their service to the Lord of Darkness with replenishing the budget of His earthly messengers.

In short, it was nearly two months before the ghouls visited the Artisan Quarter again. Once again they were unfortunate: the master of Poyr had an urgent order, for which reason he forced his subordinates to work day and night. The conversation was again postponed. Laskash had mentioned several other names of people serving the Lord of Light, but first, nothing more was known about them, and second, Celesta decided to kill two birds with one stone. Let Morvan's slaves follow the servants of his brother and enemy, proving their loyalty and usefulness by deed. With special luck, which Celesta dared not hope for, it would be possible to infiltrate her man into the camp of ideological opponents. It is unlikely that among the dull-witted fanatics there was a person with a suitable mindset, quite artistic and, most importantly, loyal, but what if she was lucky? An agent among the light-worshippers is bound to be needed - if not now, then later.

That's why we must first get to know the people who voluntarily put their necks to the fangs of ghouls. For what they do it, what makes them do this weird thing, what can be expected of them. How well they were thinking, after all. Celesta fed on three, Medea promised to bring two more, making a total of five. Then she could consider whether to deal with them, whether to bring more people into the cult or to cut them all out mercilessly. Yes, she considered that option, too - because the owner shoots a mad dog.

It took another week to form a cult. Everyone was checked, and they were especially talkative in Medea's presence. They were all men, and the beauty of the undead was seen by them as an extra sign of the touch of Darkness. So Celeste preferred to watch the conversation from the sidelines, especially since being an aloof observer allowed her to more accurately profile each cultist. As she regretfully admitted, all of them had mental problems. Not being a specialist in psychiatry, she did not know exactly what is the name of the disease in which a person's critical thinking fails and he rejects any evidence of his wrongness. The perfect fanatics. It would be very difficult to control them, and there could be no talk of replenishing them. On the other hand, there is also no need to get rid of them: they are good for the role of small informers, cannon fodder, or food reserves.

Remembering Carlon's actions, Medea acted out an entire play. A man was brought to an underground cell - a scrubbed technical room in the sewers - and left in front of the Morvan statue in complete darkness. When the client was " ready," an undead came to him. Wrapped in a translucent robe of ex-curtain, her face stained with blood, her fangs gleaming in the dim light, her snow-white skin, and the scarlet streaks in her pupils, she bore a striking resemblance to the one from the underworld. The mere sight of her threw her off balance, and when the woman began to speak... She made wonders with her voice. Celesta had never heard her recordings, but she knew for a fact that the world had lost a great singer.

She preferred to act differently. To unite with the person in thoughts, to get into his skin, to feel his interests, desires, aspirations - and gradually to direct the conversation in the right direction. Whisper on the verge of hearing, trusting bowed head, smooth hand movements mesmerized the man, clouded the mind to the point that he could not resist the orders of ghouls, and openly blurted out his most secret thoughts. A familiar and relaxed interlocutor was easier to put into a trance, but Celesta had already hunted twice in this way on the streets, erasing the memory of her victims. More blood was needed, though: using the awakened ability took its toll.

Andrei was not surprised by the capabilities of the ghoul's body; he did not throw himself against the walls with cries of "Impossible"! In his past life, he had often met hypnotists, psychics of all kinds, so he felt prepared and for bigger miracles. So far, what was happening was within the framework of ordinary - for him ordinary - knowledge, in some ways even evoked nostalgia for bygone times. Hypnosis? A voice that made men go crazy? Yes, half of the gypsy women did it for a living! The barrier in front of Illyar's temple or Carlon's magic was another matter: they were phenomena of a different kind.

As hopeless as the Morvanians were in matters of faith, they did a fine job of surveillance. They managed to find time to follow the devotees of the Lord of Light who were gathering in the temple, and they identified the head, a short, thin man who was called Master Garresh by others. Surveillance of the rank-and-file cultists was no longer necessary: Poyr was lucky. The ghouls were only interested in the preacher, and now that they knew his identity and address, they had to decide how to proceed.

"I don't understand why you're so obsessed with this priest," Medea said frankly. "The sect is small, it stays away from the authorities, and it does no harm. I think we ought to start trading now, save some money, make some connections. I've been thinking more and more about having the tavern, with the income from the customers and the safe food from the drunks."

"All taverns are under someone's protection," Celesta responded. "It's not a bad idea, but you'd have to have an outside cover. But you're wrong about Illyar's servants. Imagine waking up one night, getting out of bed..."

"By the way, I'm tired of sleeping on a bare mattress. When the money comes in, we'll buy sheets."

"...and you can't leave the room. How's that for you?"

"Why can't I?" Medea wondered.

"Because all the passages and exits have scalding barriers, like the one in the temple," she explained melancholy. "Of course, you can break through the floor and find yourself on the lower tier and float away along the stinky river, but that's not what we're talking about here. I think it is necessary to find out what and how the remaining magic of Illiar's priests works, and if there are ways to counteract it."

"I still think it's premature for you to kidnap Garresh," Medea tried to insist. She liked to have the last word. "What are we going to ask him? About the entrance to the sanctuary? I'm sure he doesn't know anything about the barrier; people cross the threshold freely."

"We will find out in the process of interrogation."

"He's kept his connection to God, and it's not known what he's capable of."

"Until you try it, you won't know."

"But why do you have to go right in there!" Belle was put off by Celesta's confident and calm tone. "Let's try to get into his house first. If he is able to do something, he must have secured the house"

Andrew pondered the suggestion and admitted its merit. Indeed, the priest's dwelling was worth seeing. If only for the sake of getting an idea of the character of the person living there.

"Okay, let's do that. Where does he live? In the Artisan's Quarter?" Celesta grimaced unhappily. "I'm starting to hate that place."

Garresh lived in a true fortress - at least, from the point of view of the not-so-sophisticated ghouls. His house was visible from all directions, a hole in the corner of a tiny garden, and no windows on the first floor. In the past, the building seemed to have been used as a storehouse or barn, or something similar. The narrow windows on the second floor with concreted frame crossovers were in favor of the first version. Despite its austere appearance, the building did not give a gloomy and depressing impression, and the people who lived there seemed content with their home.

The artisans avoided the division into communities that were usual for the poor. The authorities did not need to keep an extra eye on the artisans, who, for objective reasons, united on their own into a kind of brigades. This made it easier for them to work and fulfill the city's orders. Those who preferred to work at home could not go anywhere. People were firmly held by their families, where they could get good tools for free or at a low price, store materials, and finished products. There was also a post of Artisan Warden, somewhat similar in function to a headman, but on a much gentler level. The authorities needed artisans, so they pampered them with a carrot in addition to the stick.

Usually, the leader of the light-worshippers slept at home, but on this night - the third in a row for Celeste, who had followed him - he had gone somewhere with a young man who lived with him. What the relationship was between the couple could not be ascertained. Though she could tell from overheard conversations between neighbors that the men were considered lovers, the ghoul had never seen any sign of it, and they slept in separate beds. The older one was in a room overlooking the road, and the younger one was across the street, his window overlooking the neighboring courtyard. A rather large family lived there, who liked to poke their noses into other people's business. One had either to go in through the door or try to squeeze through the narrow opening in the window of the priest's room. A man of normal physique wouldn't dare hope to slip through the small opening, but Celesta, with her slim figure, might well try. Well, at least there's some use for a woman's body.

There was no need for experimentation: the door closed with a simple lock, which opened with a slight push of curved iron. In their free time, the ghouls unwillingly mastered the weirdest professions. Many of the doors and manholes in the sewers were closed, and the girls learned through experience that it was far easier to learn the craft of burglary than to spend time trying to break open what were still solid rusty obstacles. It was tough at first; then, as her skills grew, it became easier. Now Celesta quickly made her way to the first floor and silently cursed at the sight of the scrubbed floor.

As usual, it was raining outside, and going underground and staying in an ambush for a long time was not conducive to cleanliness. The water that dripped down her cloak, along with the mud from her boots, had already formed a dark puddle on the floor, jeopardizing Celesta's plans to keep her visit a secret. The burglar threw off her outer garments, pulled off her clean dress, and began hastily picking up the dirt with her clothes, mentally scolding Medea. Now the laundry would have to be done. She piled the clothes on top of the soiled dress and, spitting on everything, threw the boots on top - six whole dinirs, but they were worth it - she threw the resulting knot behind her back.

Quietly slapping her bare feet, Celesta went up to the second floor. The first thing she was going to do was to look around Garresh's private room, hoping to find something interesting in it. Cautiously reaching out, the ghoul touched the wooden door, fearing a painful electric shock. An ordinary door, no pain. Courageously, the girl pushed harder, then more, pushing with the palm of her hand. A short, sharp creak rewarded her: The door flew open. Perfect, she could go in.

The priest, judging by the furnishings, was an unpretentious man. The usual army cot, issued from the warehouses as a bonus for the best workers, a blanket from old supplies, a light wooden table with drawers and a pile of garbage on the tabletop, an armchair with a plaid thrown over it. In the corner was a duffel cupboard with a meager supply of clothes and - Celesta immediately tensed - shelves of books. On the wall hung a symbol of Illiar, a white cross with a black dot in the middle, its crude workmanship and dull metallic luster coupled with scratches suggestive of antiquity. It looked odd on a plain white wall; it would have looked more like a museum window display case or the massive robes of some fantasy paladin from a church story.

As Celesta stepped over the threshold, she feel it. Her body refused to obey and fell to the floor like a puppet with strings cut off. The pain didn't come - just bewilderment and a strange heaviness in her ears, her thoughts jumbled, making it impossible to focus on any one thing. She didn't know how long it took before the ghoul recovered from the unexplored effects. But she did know that the faint smell of burnt flesh did not bode well. She'd better get out of here and fast.

The attempt to rise was not successful: the undead woman felt as if she were pressed to the ground by a multi-ton press. Her arms were still inactive, her head rested on the floor like a dead weight, her eyes staring blankly at the bookshelf. Without knowing why Celesta began to read the inscriptions. Judging by the visible covers, the priest hadn't read anything forbidden - just the usual technical literature and a few entertaining novels. There were also a few philosophical works, judging by the titles, that had nothing to do with magic, that was all. The ghoul could move her left leg a little, and the rest of her body stubbornly refused to pick up her mind's signals. Why this was so, Celesta did not understand, and she did not think much about the oddity. Maybe it was because her foot had not crossed the threshold of the room or some other reason.

She was slowly pulling herself by her toes, and she mentally cursed the idea of contacting a priest. She didn't have a good relationship with the servants of the gods, dark or light. Slowly, very slowly, one millimeter at a time, her body slid over the threshold. She wondered how long it would be before dawn. Suddenly thin needles pierced the tips of the fingers, and then there was a detached sensation of pain in the back of the neck. The sensation was returning. But it took Celesta at least half an hour before she was able to pull herself up and crawl back to the stairs, staggering with her hands. She had never felt so bad.

The weakness was gradually gone, replaced by hunger. It was as if an unknown force had drained the undead of all her energy. A little more, and the phantom of madness would grin viciously from behind the ghoul's shoulder. She would have been foolish to leave Medea to go off on her own. Celesta rose wearily, stood, overcoming her fear, then finally gained her resolve and closed the door to Garresh's room. If there was any trace left inside, there was nothing she could do about it.

Slowly, shifting her legs like an ancient grandma, the girl went downstairs.

"And I knew it wouldn't end well!"

As soon as the shaking Celesta arrived home, Medea became very active. She put a tub of water on the fire, bit her own vein, and made her friend drink some blood, then ran off, telling her not to go anywhere. She came back just in time to fill the tub, satiated, and brought a couple of rats with her. While Celesta satisfied her hunger, she filled a large trough with boiling water and sat the slightly flushed burglar in it.

The hot water wasn't invigorating, but it was still good for the bodies of the rebels, so they liked to bask in the warmth. And now Celesta felt better, Medea's care and the blood she'd been drinking. She knew she wouldn't be fully recovered until tomorrow, after the hunt, but she felt the difference very well in comparison to her recent state. Her hands were no longer shaking.

"Tell me," Medea demanded.

The ghoul crouched beside her, frozen in stony immobility. The living, when they were nervous, began to run and fuss; the undead did the opposite. The woman listened carefully, not interrupting or commenting on the story as usual. Only the flaring red dots in her pupils betrayed her tension.

"So you didn't feel anything until you stepped over the threshold?" She asked, seeing that Celesta had finished speaking.

"I didn't feel anything in the room, either. I just passed out - thoughts separate, everything else separate. "

"Nothing at all? Last time we felt some kind of barrier before entering."

"No, no sign of a trap," Celesta shook her head. "Unless, of course, it was a trap."

"What else could it be?"

"Perhaps the consequences of the ritual, or the priest is simply used to protecting his personal space. He has no reason to fear the servants of Darkness, and for humans, Illiar's power is not dangerous. At any rate," the injured woman corrected herself, "we've heard of no such thing, and the alive enter the temple unhindered."

"I honestly don't care why you almost died," Medea said firmly. "I won't let you go near the priest again. You can say what you want, but I won't let you hunt him."

"I just need to observe for a longer time, gather information more thoroughly..."

"Forget it," she hissed like a snake. "This prey is not for us."

Celesta closed her eyes tiredly. The water was cooling, and dawn was breaking over the land in a glowing shaft. There was no time or energy left to argue, and there would be no argument. Medea stubbornly refused to listen to any argument. But she had a point: the priest had indeed managed to surprise her. She should have known that a servant of the Light with arcane knowledge was different from an ordinary man, and she should have prepared herself better. Ghoul had acted alone, recklessly refusing backup, tramping around the house, gathering insufficient information about the victim. The first pancake was a mess. She would wait, consider the lesson learned, gather rumor and gossip-perhaps catch and interrogate a rank-and-file member of the community... She would by no means forget the sect, but she would wait with serpentine patience for the right moment for the one good shot. Not now, later.

Next time she won't make any mistakes.

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