Chapter 5

“I’d rather you get a good night’s sleep. You look like a starved ghoul.”

Rachel answered pointedly. “I appreciate your concern for my health, Sam, but you see, something is keeping me up. A pact that needs fulfilling, as it were. You might know something about that.”

“I would never put that sort of pressure on you, Rachel. You put that on yourself. And killing yourself for it, well, I consider that to be quite counterproductive. Don’t you think?”

He pulled out a dining chair and sat in it. He rested his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands to watch the heated crystals sublimate and fog up the inside of the aludel.

She scowled at him. She fumed as much as the crystals.

“You wanted souls Sam. This is how I get your souls, dammit. The last one should have counted for something. But he didn’t. So here we are.”

Sam tsked. “Of course, he counts, Rachel. Once he’s in my possession, that is. As long as the souls are marinating in their meat vessels, they are of no use to me.”

An impish grin curled onto his lips. “Of course, they don’t have to. You can always take it upon yourself to do what the judge, in all his wisdom, could not.”

He flicked his wrist and, in his hand, appeared a thin misericorde dagger. He twirled it deftly and then offered it to Rachel.

“And condemn my own soul to hell? Nice try Sammy boy,” Rachel replied, ignoring the dagger.

The demon shrugged. He clenched his fist around the dagger, and it vanished. “Well, worth a try anyways.”

He crossed his arms as he sat back in his chair. The crystals had stopped sublimating. Rachel extinguished the flame to allow the upper collection chamber to start cooling. The sublimate sweat that beaded along the inside of the glass began to drip into the bottom of the chamber. This fluid was what she would mix her powder with to imbue it with the desired properties.

“Now, tell me all about this new soul.”

“Nothing I’m interested in telling you.”

“Oh, Rachel, you vex me.”

“Happy to hear I have that effect on you.”

The demon chuckled. “You see? That’s why you’re my favorite witch. You’re so darn prickly.”

He stood again and went to lean against the frame of the window and began to trace aimless curlicue shapes into the fogged-up windowpane.

“I want to help you, Rachel. But you have to help me help you.”

“That always seems to work out just swell for me,” Rachel replied sardonically.

“More than you think,” replied the demon quickly.

He dragged his palm across the windowpane to erase the aimless shapes he traced in the fog. The pale blue glow of lightning illuminated the window momentarily, and then shortly after, thunder rumbled.

“I want you to succeed.”

“And I want you to tell me where my sister’s killer is.”

“You still owe me one soul.”

Rachel stood abruptly. Her chair squealed against the wooden floor. Her hands were clenched into shaking fists.

“I gave you ten souls, dammit!” Rachel yelled.

“Nine. You gave me nine. They don’t count unless they’re dead. Shall we go over the fine print again?”

“It’s always something with you, Sammael. You’re screwing me over. You’re making me do your dirty work for you for nothing, aren’t you? I bet it was you who convinced that last judge against the death sentence. You sniveling son of a –“

Before she could finish, she was thrown violently to the wall by an invisible force. Sam apparated out of thin air right in front of her and, before she could catch her breath after having the wind knocked out of her, he clenched his hand around her throat to strangle her, sliding her up the side of the wall. Her feet kicked helplessly. She tried desperately to pry his hand off her neck, but it was hopeless. He easily overpowered her. He snarled, baring sharp canines and when he spoke, his voice echoed. “Now, now, you watch your mouth, young lady, or I might have to wash it out with soap.”

He released her. She collapsed to all fours, gasping for air.

He held out a hand to help her up. Coughing, she took it, and he pulled her to her feet. He sighed and put on a cheery smile. “I suppose I know to leave well enough alone. So, I’m off.”

He reached up to his head. A fedora popped into his hand just in time to fit snugly onto his head. In his other hand, appeared a bottle, which he placed on the kitchen counter. “This. Is a wonderful sherry. A strong Oloroso. Whenever I’m having a sleepless night, I’ll have a glass. It knocks me right out. It’ll do you some good. Need anything else?”

“I need more crystals.”

“I ought not to. You’re killing yourself with them. Believe it or not, you’re the last soul I want to see in hell.”

Nevertheless, he flicked his hand, and a small leather pouch appeared in it. With a sigh, he placed the pouch beside the bottle of sherry. “Do try to restrain yourself, Rachel. I truly mean it when I say, “I care about you.”

Rachel nodded, but she knew damn well that she wasn’t going to restrain anything. She was going to use any means possible to get that last soul if it meant finding her sister’s killer.

Before disappearing back to whatever circle of hell he resided in, Sam lifted his nose in the air and sniffed like a bloodhound.

“Someone’s on their way, and they smell lovely. Bergamot, and a hint of… hmm, deceit? Curious. Could it be my new soul?”

Sam gave a hungry smile. He touched the tip of his hat and sang, “Happy hunting,” before finally disappearing with a sulfuric crackle.

A loud knocking came just as he left. A startlingly loud knocking. Rachel jumped as if knocked awake from a weighted nightmare.

Lightning flashed and bleached the living room white, casting fleeting insidious shadows. Thunder crashed, threatening to break the window panes. The storm was directly overhead. Rachel perked her ears, waiting for the knocking to come again. Sensing the possibility of danger, she instinctively reached into her pocket where sat three tiny ampoules. Each ampoule had a different shape so that she could tell even in pitch black which contained what potion. The marble round one contained the shadow-shift. The one shaped like a star, the jimsonweed potion, or ‘cat-eyes’, as she called it, allowed her to see in the dark as clear as it were day. The cylinder of the ergot, or Magicka, a jellylike salve rather than a potion, once crushed into her hand would give her arcanic convergence with her Magicka-imbued cane. These three potions, she always kept on her nightstand or in a pocket, ready to break in case of emergency. The cat-eyes and the shadow-shift she would pop into her mouth and crush the ampoules with her teeth. The magicka ampoule, she would crush with her hand right before grabbing the cane to fly out the window.

When the knock came again, she clenched the three ampoules in her fist and went to the door.

The knocking came again impatiently.

“I’m coming!” she yelled.

She wanted to crack the door for a peek to see who it might be, but just as she turned the doorknob, the door burst open, and in barged a woman that, at first, she could not recognize, but after getting a good hard look, she realized with a shock was none other than Isolde Fischer.

Isolde shivered and stomped the floor and rubbed her cold hands vigorously. “Mein Gott, what weather we have! It is positively pouring from buckets out there and -“

A loud crashing of thunder interrupted the supposedly lobotomized woman. She lifted her hand as if to present ‘Exhibit A.’

“And I am soaked as a sponge. That is a saying in English, yes?”

Rachel could only gape while Isolde shook off her rain-sodden white wool coat and tossed it onto the coat rack. Beneath the coat, she only wore a pale pink satin nightgown of the sort that might be bought in a boutique on the Rive Droit in Paris. To be dressed like this in a storm, and without an umbrella could only mean she had come urgently, and clandestinely, the motives of which were far beyond the rope of comprehension for Rachel, who struggled now to grasp how a woman who was supposed to be lobotomized, was in her apartment.

Isolde finally turned to Rachel. Her eyes brightened as if pleasantly surprised by Rachel’s presence. She smiled coyly as she began to tease water from her hair. The dripping water pattered onto the parquet floor.

“I enjoy the rain, but this rain, no, this storm, certainly feels like the wrath of God, yes?”

She went to the window to look outside. “Look at what we have! A man collecting all sorts of animals onto his boat. Two of every species, I suppose. One male, and one female. Surely this storm means the end of the world. I do hope he has room for us!”

Rachel glanced up at the clock on the wall to see that it was two in the morning.

“May I ask the reason for your visit at this hour, Miss Fischer?” Rachel finally asked.

Isolde scrunched her face as if the question was silly. She continued to tease water from her hair. She was shivering, so Rachel grabbed a bathrobe for her from the bathroom and tossed it to her. Isolde caught it and used the soft cotton to mop the water on her face.

“Change into it if you like,” Rachel said. “I advise that you do so you don’t catch a cold.”

“Wouldn’t want to catch a cold, would I? Mother would be tremendously upset. Thank you,”

Rachel noted the scorn-tainted tone of her voice — the icy emphasis of the word ‘mother’.

Isolde set the bathrobe on the kitchen counter, then pulled her nightgown over her head. Rachel glanced away from the abrupt nudity.

Isolde tossed Rachel the nightgown. Rachel hung it on the back of a dining chair and positioned it near the radiator to dry.

Once Isolde had wrapped herself in the bathrobe and all the water that was in her hair had been thoroughly squeezed out onto the floor, she picked up the sherry bottle that Sam had just left on the counter and studied its label with growing excitement on her face.

“Oh, super! What good taste you have! You should know, this is my favorite. My, we’re off to a good start, aren’t we?”

Rachel cringed, realizing that it was no coincidence, but rather Sam’s idea of divine intervention, or rather, ‘diabolical’ intervention, that the sherry in Isolde’s hand happened to be her favorite.

Isolde began pulling kitchen drawers out.

“It’s in the second drawer from the right,” Rachel said, understanding what she was looking for. Isolde acknowledged with a nod and from that drawer, produced the corkscrew. She twiddled it triumphantly in her hand then proceeded to twist it into the cork of the sherry.

Sensing she was not in any immediate threat, Rachel snuck her emergency ampoules back into her nightgown pocket and then went to the cupboard to grab the closest approximation to sherry glasses she could find. Whatever the reason Isolde was here tonight, it was a golden opportunity for Rachel. An opportunity to learn more about the murders. A step towards getting her last soul.

After the cork came off with a pop, Isolde handed Rachel the sherry bottle. Rachel poured the glasses and handed one to Isolde.

“Super,” Isolde exclaimed. She raised the glass. “Prost!” She said cheerily, then took a sip. “Mmm,” I love it. “Oh, what a wonderful taste. It brings back such good memories.”

The smile disappeared. “Uff… and bad ones, I should say.”

She took another sip, and her glass was empty before Rachel could even start on hers. She held it out to Rachel for a refill and Rachel obliged then went over to the dining table and sat and stared curiously at the alchemical devices there.

Cautiously, Rachel approached her. “What sort of bad memories do they bring?”

Isolde pulled her eyes away from the devices to look Rachel up and down. “A very private sort, of course. That is until I know I can trust you.”

She cocked her head towards Rachel and smiled. Rachel, standing awkwardly in the middle of her living room as if she were the midnight guest rather than the other way around, smiled back tepidly.

“Does your mother know you’re here?” Rachel asked.

“Of course not. She does not think me capable of leaving home.”

“I cannot imagine why.”

Isolde crinkled her nose naughtily as she sipped.

“So why are you here?” Rachel asked.

“I have the same question for you.”

“I’m investigating a double homicide.”

“Yes, I know. But why?”

“Why? Your mother hired me. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Isolde shook her head.

“No. Of course not.”

She turned her eyes toward the alchemical devices and added, “It’s not like we have a shortage of detectives in Germany.”

“Perhaps you do. Perhaps that’s why your mother hired me.”

“I doubt it. I think it has something to do with whatever all this is.” She pointed with her chin at the glassware.

“That too,” Rachel replied. “I’m the best there is, and my tools make me the best.”

Isolde laughed loudly. She turned red in the face with laughter. She took a sip of the sherry to calm herself down.

“That wasn’t meant to be a joke,” Rachel responded flatly.

“I’m so sorry. Do forgive me, but you cannot be so naïve.”

“That’s quite a lot coming from a lobotomized woman.”

Isolde snickered. “It is, isn’t it? But now here’s where I tell you why I’m here. Perhaps it’ll help with your puzzlement.”

Isolde nodded. “I’m here to warn you that you are being led astray.”