t’s said that some cities come alive at night; in many, if not even the majority of Urban Fantasylands, this is quite literally true, as so many of the residents spend the day asleep, trapped in a puny human form, or quite literally dead. This is a bit awkward for those urban fantasylands that operate out of cities that roll up the sidewalks at 9 PM.

(For example, undead political action groups in Darkest Tulsa lobby to extend public transportation to operate at all hours, rather than essentially ending services by 7.)

Night being the best time to do illicit and secret things perhaps explains the percentage of the population that work as some sort of detective or criminals (The line between the two can become quite thin, admittedly.)

Perhaps appropriately, graveyard shift call center operations have perhaps the highest proportion of undead employees of any business, as not all vampires, for example, have inherited fabulous wealth from a previous identity.

--Quote from an internally circulated employee email at Mystery Play LLC, presumably not for public consumption.

It took a lot more digging through the notes to find information on the mercenaries that Hugo Delacourt had hired. There were five men, but one of them stuck out at me as a likely suspect for being the one who’d retrieved the Ripe-making snake. “The Blind Swordsman, Johnny Zats”

Who else would you send after a snake that could kill you if you looked into its eyes than someone who couldn’t see?

Johnny Zats lived in an apartment in the same neighborhood where I’d first heard about the snakes, along with his service animal.

I wasn’t sure what sort of curriculum trained hellhounds as service animals, but when I approached the door of his walkup the door was charred around the oversized pet door and there were several signs posted with “Warning: Pyroloquitor “ and some graffiti that was just “Oh god, oh god, the dog breathes fire oh god’. It wasn’t subtle about the hints, is what I’m trying to say.

I knocked, then immediately dived out of the way of the blast of fire coming for my shins. If they post the warning signs that clearly even I can be taught.

“Speranza! Bad!” I heard from inside, and a skinny man in sunglasses opened the door, looking around and not seeing me. He wasn’t one of our regular bit players- a local? Or maybe a new hire I just hadn’t met yet.

I coughed to get his attention. “Johnny Zats? Derek Criss. I had a few questions about the last job you did for Hugo Delacourt. Can we talk?”

He reached behind the door, and I suspected he was going for his sword. I raised my hands defensively. “Just. Talk. Not here to fight. I’m working for the widow Delacourt and as far as I know, a guy who goes by “the Blind Swordsman Johnny Zats” ain’t likely to be the guy who made her husband’s kidneys rot from the inside.” Unless of course he’d delivered a live, unrestrained ripe-making snake to someone who could actually see.

Johnny relaxed by inches. “Wouldn’t be too sure about that until you hear what I tell you, but come on in, son. Speranza! He’s a friend, stay good.” He turned around and walked inside like a man who knew his own house so well he didn’t need to see it. I followed him, shutting the door behind us.

The inside of his place suggested that someone did his decorating for him, or at least someone concerned about how visitors would see the place. The furniture was mostly second-hand, but it all matched. Nothing on the walls, but some sculptures here and there. He nodded at a chair. “Siddown.” Once I did, he waved to the dog, who moved to sit next to him.

“This here’s Speranza. She’s my partner.” Speranza growled, low and rumbling.

“Nice to meet you both.”

“Yeah, well, maybe not. So, the widow Delacourt, huh?” He sighed. “If you like, pass her my respects. I’m not sure I got her husband killed, but I think the job he asked for me to do may have gotten him merked.”

I sat back in the chair- it was nice and overstuffed, comfy even at my regular size, probably. “Tell me about it.”

“So you probably know the basics, right? Delacourt got word that there’s some sort of big bad hoodoo being planned, and wanted to head it off at the pass.”

“Yeah.”

“One of the things that was being brought in was the Bidi-Taraubo-Haza. Makes you rot from the inside out if you look into its eyes. He asked me to get it because well…” He tapped his glasses.

“I figured as much, at least, based on the name.”

He nodded. “Yeah, trade thing. Everyone’s got ‘em in the dubious mercenary biz.”

I had actually considered a career in that, before I wound up being an actor. It was one of the few options open for trollbloods. But to be honest? Mystery Play work pays better.

Johnny continued. “So it came in down at the docks, the same slip that sumbitch Spider Bonaparte uses all the time when he’s bringing in ‘exotic goods’. I’ve got an act I do for this shit, you know? Blind man and his dog. Me and Speranza wandered up to the slip, waited for the guard they had stationed at the plank to try and rough me up, and well, Speranza here’s real protective. He jumped into the water to put out the fire.” He scratched his hellhound behind the ear. “And Speranza led me up the plank and down into the hold. I had to slash up a couple more of the guards on the way in- back of the sword, of course, there was a bonus for not killing anyone. Wasn’t hard to find the box it was in, either. Speranza started growling' and it smelled like the reptile house at the zoo.” He clicked his tongue, and the hellhound wandered into the kitchen, returning with a beer can in her mouth that she handed to Johnny. Tiny thing, to be as deadly as its reputation. I could hold the case in one hand, and made sure it couldn’t see out. Transparent plastic and glass have a feel to ‘em, so it wasn’t gonna be like carrying a gorgon’s head through the park like that one time.”

That...highly specific example almost begged for a clarification, but I decided against it. “So you brought it back to Delacourt.”

He nodded. “Met him at the place we agreed on. Dive bar called Torino’s. Popular with folks in my line of work. I handed over the box, he handed over the check…” He trailed off, opened his beer, and took a long swig. “See, neither of us figured that the fucking thing could count as ‘meeting your gaze’ when you just -scryed- it. He used a bit of magic to confirm it was in the box, and his eyes flashed weird.”

“Ahh, hell.”

Johnny nodded. “Think that’s how it got him. He thanked me, and took the box with him. But I’m pretty sure he died that day, it just took a while for it to work because of how he looked at it.”

I rubbed my face. “Thanks. GIven how careful he was being, I don’t suppose he gave you any clue as to who might be pulling off this whole doomsday ritual with all these snakes?”

Johnny shook his head. “He mentioned that he might have another job for me later, but never got back. Probably because he’d passed on.”

“Yeah, there’s apparently another one of these shipments coming on tomorrow, and he wanted a big crew for it, but no indication that he’d hired anyone, just bought the weapons for them.”

“If you’re gonna look into it yourself, son, which it sounds like you might, I’d appreciate it if you gave me a call.”

“I’ll do that.” Easy enough, since I’ve already got his contact info. “Thanks for being willing to give the widow some closure, Mr. Zats.”

“Pft. Call me Johnny, son. Ain’t nobody ever called me Mr. Zats.” He chuckled as I got up to leave. “Take care now, Mr. Criss.”

“Will do.”

It was nearing dark when I left, so I figured it would be a good time to head back to the Delacourt place and report to Laura. And besides, a little more time in the open might give the assassin room to make another move on me, and maybe Lorraine, who I was pretty sure was still watching from the shadows, would get another shot at him.

After his last attempt to run me off the road had failed, I figured he wouldn’t be trying it again. Which is probably why I let my guard down and got boxed in SUVs. There were two gunmen in each of the cars on either side, and one in each to the front and back, all leaning out of the windows and unloading fire on me and the poor haunted convertible. This was part of the play, of course, and I should have expected it.

I wasn’t actually getting hurt, though I lost control of the car as the two cars on either side pulled back and let me veer off the road and crash into a post. I struggled with the seatbelt to get loose when the gunmen got out of their SUVs and started walking up to me, then decided to play as though I’d been knocked out.

One of them got close enough to check me, poking me with the barrel of the gun. “He’s gone. Maybe dead. Ain’t sure if he’s breathing.”

I heard Simone’s voice. “Well, check, dumbass. Spider’s tired of him poking into our business.”

He turned back to me, raised the gun, and I grabbed him and threw him at the guy on the other side of the car, then hopped out without opening the door.

I cracked my knuckles as I straightened up. “Really? Mooks with guns? I figured you had more respect for me than that.”

The window on one of the SUVs came down, and Simone looked out, drawling in her Bastienne voice. “Well, I did have to test you to see whether we could have a proper contest. Would the rest of you please grade Mr. Criss on his performance?

The rest of the gang piled out of the cars. That was a lot of guys with guns, and a few with chains and.bats, and all I could do was think back to the number of times I’d been on the other side of this same fight. I sighed. “Okay then.”

Everyone here, except maybe Simone, was probably going to expect me to try some wizard shit. Simone knew it was really me under the Criss glamour, so she expected me to fight my way out bare handed.

I compromised. I closed my eyes, and threw one of Lawson’s poppers into her car, then turned away to punch the first guy I could reach.

Lawson’s party poppers are basically flashbang grenades designed to -look- like you’re tossing something mystical. They’ve got a glamour on them and generate a floating magical circle around your palm when they leave your hand. Simone screamed when it landed in her lap. When she could see and hear again, she was probably going to be really pissed. I decided to finish these guys first, so I grabbed the guy I’d just punched by the head and threw him at one of the other gunmen.

They both went down in a heap, and the others shifted away from the fallen uneasily.

“I smiled. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

They were getting paid, and we had to make it look good for the cameras. The two gunmen who were still up opened fire until the guys with the bats and chains got in close, then drew knives and joined the rest of the rush.

Special effects had set me up with some other gimmicks; glowing shield effects that didn’t actually do anything but -looked- as though they deflected attacks, because most magical shields don’t do as well as my own hide and bone. But I had to make it -look- like I was wizarding my way out of the situation, at least to an extent- it’s what our audience expects. They’d probably be editing the stream so the folks I tossed around got picked up by telekinesis or something instead of me just throwing them bodily.

I pulled out the pre-loaded wand Lawson had handed me to deal with the last of the thugs, tapping him on the forehead with it and announcing “Bang!”, which sent him reeling back against the car door just as Simone was about to open it, forcing it closed again. I waited for her to get out. She...probably wasn’t going to be in a good mood.

She wasn’t. She threw a curse that blasted the door right off the car, sending it flying at me and forcing me to duck. “You could at least have let me watch you at work.” Her eyes were still watering from the party popper. “But this is fine. Perfect even. I get to fight you and no one can…”

And that’s when someone started shooting at us with a real gun, of course. Simone shrieked. Not in fear or surprise, but anger at being interrupted right when she was going to get what she wanted.

I’d only rarely had a chance to see Simone cut loose before. This was mostly for the simple reason that she wanted to aim all that me, and well, she was an actual trained combat magician, while I was a ‘guy who played dumb muscle as a paper tiger for rich assholes. I didn’t figure that I’d give her the fight she wanted, for all she figured that having a mythic bloodline counted for a lot.

Now she had a target that had gone weapons free, and one Lorraine was probably going after too. I almost pitied the guy.

Only almost, since he had tried to kill me a few times.

Simone was flicking her wand like a conductor’s baton, chanting crisply in a language I didn’t recognize. Not that that’s surprising- I never did take the magical linguistics courses since I can’t cast spells that aren’t preloaded. It was still overcast, given the rain yesterday, and suddenly there was lights flashing in the sky, then thunder...and then a bolt crashed down, lighting up the night in the direction the shots had come from.

“Holy shit,” I said.

Simone smirked, and chanted another spell, because the lightning flash had illuminated the guy in the motorcycle helmet, and now she could see her target, as well as Lorraine’s silhouette as she charged after the man. No lightning, this time. She brough down her wand sharply, then raised her hand, and the wind picked up, hard enough and fast enough to blow the guy off his feet, which let Lorraine catch up with him.

There was a ‘thok’ off in the distance, and it looked at first as though Lorraine had cut off the guy’s head. Something round bounced along the ground…

...it was just the motorcycle helmet, and a moment later he disappeared from underneath her, still managing to slide away despite it all.

There was a chorus of “Fucks!”. Mine and SImone’s almost simultaneously, Lorraine’s a bit later, since she was further way.

It took a few beats, but Simone stalked towards me, and poked me in the chest with her wand. Counting coup? Not exactly. “We were interrupted unfairly this time, Mr. Criss. I shall find you again. And next time you will satisfy me, yes?” Then it was her turn to vanish, with a slightly flashier effect than our assassin; she chanted again, and a phantasmal sea creature rose from beneath the street to carry her away.

Lorraine ran up to me, carrying the motorcycle helmet. “The little shit’s smart. This was a fakeout. The real helm’s a cap he was wearing underneath it, but it didn’t cover his face. I’ll sit down with some of the artistic team had have them draw him so we can go over film footage to see if he’s appeared anywhere without it.”

“That’s good. That’s...something, anyway.” I took the helmet from her, and squeezed it between my hands until it cracked and shattered on the ground. “He’s going to wish he didn’t lose the helmet if I get my hands on him, though.”