A Devil of a Job

[IamLEAM1983]

Three was slightly caught off-guard by Charles' question, but it didn't seem to be that much of a big deal, either. "Uh, I'd need a city map in my face so I'd be able to show you..."

Slightly ahead of him, Archie moved to the library's workstation and pulled up a satellite map of Hope on the projector. Catching that, Three coughed and dispelled his unease. "Right - Evan Sanders was killed here," he said, pointing with a finger. "2548 Oak Drive, in Renton. It's as residential an area as they come, so scaling any of the immediate houses would've been difficult for the killer. He would've been spotted. Depending on the pointer or painter model he used, though, he could've staked out a place with decent sightlines half an extra block away. We have two gas stations here, one strip mall there - and the roof of the local elementary school."

He pointed at other areas. "Those other spots don't really make much sense for us to check out, they're not in sight of any of the house's windows, and especially not of the magnetic locks or the interior control panel. We haven't been able to pull up the place's exact floor plan, but this is a pre-Battle neighborhood. Cathedral ceilings, bay windows, wide spaces and few obstructions. Fifties or sixties' construction, tops. Ideal for sniping or laser painting. Practically the only spots that are out of sight would have to be the ground floor's bathroom and most of the basement."

Amazo, who'd silently stepped in a few minutes earlier, considered Charles' suggestion. "Teleporting inside would be feasible, but doing so would disrupt movement detectors and air displacement sensors. Griffin's always compensated for people like him, along with blinkers and teleporters. Just dropping in is suicide for the average thief, you have to break in classically and hope to God you're able to disable the central panel before the silent alarm goes off. As for everything else, security systems are designed to be mage-proof, as well. They're some of the hardest objects to hex, and for good reasons."

The snake shrugged. "I could make your car stereo squall, maybe blow out your car's alternator if I pushed a little. I can overload desktop computers if I give them one good arcane shove - burn the motherboard, CPU and RAM modules out in one fell swoop. Security systems are designed so knocking them out triggers them. Idiots with some talent might think they just hexed a home protection package into slag - but the silent alarm still went off."

"I'm with the kid on this," he said, looking to Three. "This is tech-based, there's no overt magic involved. Zeb is right in saying we found serious traces of faith magic, but anyone can be faithful in something. I've seen MIT conferences buzz with as much latent power as a televangelist's fire-and-brimstone scams and Transhumanism advocates who tied Humanity's technological progression into God's imperatives."

[Karl the Mad]

"That's one a' Winters' areas," Charles remarked, gazing at the map. "I'd expect sight lines 'n shit all over th' damn place." He pointed at the center. "See? Cathedral a' Saint Patrick. One a' th' tallest buildin's left in th' city from before th' Battle, aye? Big ol' open bell tower, right th' top? See th' whole fuckin' panoply! I say we check 'er out first."

"J-Jenkins is right," Preston muttered. "Cathedral wouldn't have modern security; old magic, probably. Runic stuff. Easy for someone to g-get in and use for a snipers' nest."

[IamLEAM1983]

The soldier shrugged. "It's worth a shot, even if targeting a single house's security system keypads with a laser beam from the top of a bell tower seems like a stretch. The elevation and distance would need to be matched up just enough so the resulting angle isn't ridiculously steep - and the guy would need a pretty serious scope. Either that or we're dealing with a career sniper reorienting as a career system disabler."

[Karl the Mad]

"There's been stupider shit done by smarter fellas," Jenkins shrugged. "I'm headin' fer th' Cathedral, anyone wanna come with?"

"I'm with Drake," Hauser muttered, sidling close to the soldier. Katherine had already left, bound for the shuttle port as she was.

[TennyoCeres84]

"Since you guys have everything situated, I'll be off to see d'Aubignier," Aislinn said, waving goodbye to them. She grabbed her helmet and bag on the way out and rode off toward the library on her motorbike.

[IamLEAM1983]

Aislinn was quickly redirected to the Institute, Matthias not being in as a library technician on this particular day. Barely ten minutes later, she'd be in sight of the establishment's large cubic structure, its irregularly spaced windows being a concession offered to the local Guildmates. Unlike Tam, however, Aislinn found herself directed to one of the middle floors. The lobby looked like any research campus' front desk, but one of the building's peculiarities stood in how every window offered electrochromic capabilities, all controlled by a wide array of sensors - about one per window. Essentially, the main hallway's windows brightened as she walked past, while Guildmates that walked ahead of her caused those same panels to grow dim. This way, mortal research assistants could keep normal work hours without feeling sunlight-deprived, and the vampires didn't have to risk their lives.

She'd be directed to his office, a remarkably spartan space that wouldn't have looked any different from the kind of interchangeable community campus teacher offices you'd expect to find. For all of his years, he didn't seem too intent on putting forward any sort of pre-Accords display of wealth. A little more and the selkie could have been paying a visit at a professor's office, and she could've passed for a postgraduate of some sort. She'd catch him on the phone, apparently exchanging business talk in French, judging by his matter-of-fact tone. Not being currently involved in tests or active research, he was wearing his customary black suit and red tie, tight-fitting PVC gloves constricting his hands and slowing down the otherwise supernaturally fast growth of his fingernails. The fact that he was wearing these and hadn't left his nails assume their customary talon-like appearance suggested he was expecting a bit of pen-holding for the day.

He'd fed recently, judging by how subdued his bloodline's constant undertones of rot happened to be. He'd always look haggard and deathly pale - even at his absolute best - but he had the relaxed composure of a classically undead vampire whose instincts were being comfortably curbed by a decent meal.

"Ah, miss McConmara," he said, smiling, gesturing for her to take a seat. "How are you today? I was told of your presence in the building by the front desk. I have to admit, you've all managed to obtain a bit of a reputation for yourselves."

He scoffed amusedly. "You'll find me favorable, but some of my colleagues are worried that superhumans returning to the forefront means research opportunities will wither for us. These are misguided notions, of course - but you're all still young. This city hasn't seen a single team of vigilantes that didn't need to fight for its legitimacy. Most of it all is mundane concern, with a few supernatural bigots thrown in for good measure."

* * *

Gravity generators and inertia dampeners willing, Katherine would feel as though reaching some seventy-five thousand meters of altitude in the span of twenty minutes wasn't any different from going out for a highway cruise. Drifting past its apoapsis and correcting its course with its micro-thrusters, the shuttle also managed to make the concept of being stuck in a blazing comet that could be seen over half of Europe's shores seem entirely natural. Starr even had the relative misfortune of being stuck directly next to a big man of some years who snored most of the way through. As always, the pilot sleeply announced when he'd reached Delta velocity, when they'd reached their single manoeuvre node and when he'd begun to "kill" his gained speed to guarantee a safe landing in London. Falling around the planet in a circular motion might have seemed impossible a few decades back; but it was hardly noteworthy, nowadays. People slept in one hemisphere, partied in another and sometimes worked in corners of othe world that would have appeared remote.

Katherine's shuttle took her to Heathrow, from where it was easy enough to hail one of London's distinctive cabs and head for Southwark, in South Central. Griffin Securities' main offices were still located in the Shard, seeing as the company still had its own office tower in Hope. Not feeling the need for another dominating fixture, Nigel had long since opted to focus on Hope and purchase already available English real estate. The twenty-seventh floor was entirely Griffin's to use, being largely devoted to European administrative and marketing subsidiaries. Most of the company's actual engineering had been of American make since its inception.

A quick phone call was all Katherine had needed to schedule a welcoming committee. Julie Traynor, an anthro chimpanzee with a clear Estuary accent and a prim-looking power suit was waiting for her at the company lobby.

"Miss Starr," she said, extended a hand. "Julie Traynor, CCO for the European branch," she said. "Right away, I'd like to tell you that our hearts go with those who've lost loved ones in this tragedy. I took the initiative of contacting the High Court to offer my condolences to the Fae King. I can't tell you how distraught we are at the thought of our offered hardware being circumvented like this. Most of us are reacting to this as if it were some sort of personal betrayal. I've reviewed the employee files myself, but I just can't find anyone with a dossier that would explain any of this."

She pursed her lips together. "Of course, I've had to defer to Scotland Yard for most of the actual investigation. We don't have much to offer, but we're more than happy to collaborate."

If anything, Starr would pick up on Traynor's sincerity. It really was Nigel's style to stick someone with empathy in the Management track. Maybe other candidates had shown up that had been better at crunching numbers or downsizing during tough times, but the former superhero hadn't turned corporate for the money. He'd traded the Voice for a suit in order to be able to cast a wider net in his aspirations towards social justice. For decades, the company had maintained a sterling reputation and seemed unlikely to lose it any time soon.

* * *

Saint Patrick's was as Gothic as was to be expected, its only scars being partially torn-off spires that had lined either side. A few projectiles had grazed the cathedral during the Battle, damaging the presbytery's garden more than anything else. A few spires had been left in their marred state as a sort of reminder, while everything else (of what little there was to restore) had been taken care of. It was a Catholic church, the run of the priests that had helmed this big stone block nearly all of Irish descent.

They were past service hours, but Three felt the same way he'd always felt in the two or three Christmas masses he'd seen before ending up with this ragtag group: that he was being watched. Faith magic was tough a concept to grasp in this day and age, seeing as Stephen Hawking had never managed to reverse his paralysis through healing applications of Physics-based belief. A lot of people assumed faith was the exclusive province of the religious, while the believers were merely the most outspoken group who - just as unconsciously - tended to use this peculiar source of arcane power. Aidan was one of those who wrestled with that concept, especially seeing how both Zeb and Amazo could be tapped for an insider's perspective on the Hereafter...

It gave belief a generally odd bend. Why bother with all this if angels probably mixed in with the rest of us and maybe even pestered in morning traffic jams, just like the rest of us? Couldn't faith be expressed informally? Some people could resolve that issue, others couldn't. Dogma was too important for some.

In any case, the trio would find Father Xavier Curran, a thin, if solidly-built man in his sixties, going over the altar and tabernacle after the morning's service. With a full head of gray hair and pale green eyes, along with a surprising lack of wrinkles, he definitely stood in the "nonagenarian" category, legally recorded as sixty-five but appearing twenty years younger. There was nothing odd about this, seeing as Jimmy's boys could all have spoken about the father's extensive university track as a long-distance runner. Curran had never given up on his running and training habits, enjoying a healthier lifestyle than most of his youngest parishoners. Every year, Father Curran ran the city's marathon and came out of it somewhere in the top five for his age category.

Sometimes, according to gossipers, he paced himself to give the year's glory to someone else...

Of course, supernaturals were allowed to run it, as well. Speedsters ran it in laps, after the track was cleared.

Curran happened to turn as he finished fussing over a wine stain on the altar, and caught sight of the three men. "Charles, Preston, Aidan," he said, nodding to each of them individually. "What can I do for you?"

Other gossipers claimed Curran was one of those "useless" superhumans, with his near-uncanny ability to remember names and faces he'd see once a year. If you gave him a name, it felt as though he'd never forget it, or the mug that went along with it.

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn smiled at the vampire. "Hello, Monsieur d'Aubignier, I'm well, apart from what I'm currently here for," she greeted, then scoffing and rolling her eyes. "Just because a superhuman team shows up doesn't mean the need to research would die out. That'd be like saying there'd be no need for research at a library because Wikipedia has all there is to know. We both know that's not true. I think even someone like Quigley would still be required to research, so I think your colleagues can relax."

The selkie was fluent in French to the point she could have conversed with him completely in his native language. However, she was accustomed to mostly speaking English; it was rare for her to be able to use any of the other tongues her parents had taught her or her siblings.

[IamLEAM1983]

As for Matthias, he'd been speaking English in some form or another since the Hundred Years' War, despite his native French. He didn't exactly sound American, but he also had lost some of the usual pronounciation keys common to the Old Country.

"It's more or less what I told them," he agreed. "Even if research subjects grew scarcer for us, I'd still find myself with more work than in the past two hundred years. Technology keeps evolving and we're beginning to implement specific uses for electronics and graphene membranes in some of our diagnostics equipment, and we couldn't see half of what we do through if it weren't for etheric diffusion technology."

He shook his head a bit. "I still remember Archibald giving us some of his spare parts, back in his most prosperous days. We used them to design the isolation room's interface. Otherwise we'd have to use the same standards in place in nuclear power plants and other isotope-based facilities. Connecting to a reusable remote frame is much easier than slipping in and out of a biohazard suit - especially for people like me, who sometimes don't have enough energy to work during the day. The night hours are short at this time of year, so I..."

By way of finishing his sentence, he lifted a travel mug he'd left on his desk. Humans wouldn't have smelled much of anything, but the sealed container couldn't quite prevent the metallic scent of blood from reaching Aislinn's nose.

"I don't mind," he admitted, shrugging. "All I need is one mugful more than at night, and it saves my human colleagues from having to pull graveyard shifts. They'll all lie to my face and say they don't care, but I can smell the exhaustion, the built-up sleep debt. They smell... unhealthy to me."

After a brief nose wrinkle, he stood up and rounded his desk. "Ah - but this isn't a social call, is it? I don't smell your parlor's ink on you, you've gone a while without working your trade. The Hall's being busy again?"

[TennyoCeres84]

The tattooist nodded. "Yes, we've got another case to work on. There's been several murders of Fae children, specifically Oberon's offspring. Each of murders have had letters referring to sanctimonious verses of one kind or another. Some are clearly from the Bible; others are much more obscure. It was suggested that we look in tomes like the Maleus Maleficarum. Our killer, who calls himself Michael, considers his kills to be witches and demonspawn. Oberon's breaking out the big guns in retaliation; it looks like we might be meeting Krampus sooner or later," she explained.

[IamLEAM1983]

d'Aubignier's eyes widened. "Really? Then you'd best prepare yourselves for more murders - of adult men and complicit Fae. The Christmas Devil never kills directly and he usually leaves his victims alive, but some don't survive their trip to the ER. In which case, they're treated as homicides. My younger associates compare him to Batman," he said, scoffing. "They say you'll never see him before it's too late."

Evidently, he didn't believe a word of it. "But yes - I can have a copy of the Maleficarum brought up here. I'll help you sort out the relevant passages."

He returned to his desk and called someone on an extension, switching to German, this time. He asked for the Witches' Hammer, in all likelihood, and seemed to ask that all his calls be withheld for the afternoon.

Looking back to Aislinn, he pursed his lips together and sighed. "Be very careful with this investigation of yours. You're young, and the Krampus' strategies are definitely of the extralegal variety. Even if you pull out your badge and state you're operating on the behalf of the HPD and Evergloam's guards, he won't hesitate to remove you if you're in his way. He won't kill you - he never does - but broken bones aren't above him. Oberon's hellion is a career criminal in everything that matters, except the expected chain of convictions. Stop him and you'll bring Oberon's wrath down on Hope. Don't stop him, and even vampires as old as myself could end up in stretchers."