The curtains of Exie's villa all billow as the door flies open.

"Greetings, ladies, lords, and devil's wards," says Barnabas in the dramatic tone of a showmaster. He yelps as someone shoves him from behind, breaking his pose. "Hey!"

"Clear the door," says Juliet, propelling him inside. "I'm not a teleporter."

"I could show you how to fake the act."

"Another time. Hi Exie. Hi Des. Hi David."

"Close the door behind you," says David, laughing. "There's a grackle out there that would dearly love to take a stab at our bathroom mirror. We've been shooing it out all morning."

"Show it the shinies on the ship that just arrived today," says Barnabas.

"Another rich one?" says Exie, raising an eyebrow.

"Stuffed to the gills with assorted noblefolk. We were hoping you might recognize names." Barnabas strides forward and drops into a deep and deeply characteristic bow, depositing a small paper register on the table in front of Exie. She plucks it up.

"Olivier Bolton?" she says, glancing at me.

"Not one I know. Keep reading."

We work our way down the list, finding several minor lords and ladies, a deacon, and the right-hand woman of a sugar-and-fur syndicate operating out of the city of Coprana's main port.

"Don't touch the one with the shell tattoo on her left wrist," I say. "Short woman, olive tanned, black hair. The rest, tax to Hell and back."

"Even the deacon?" says Juliet.

"Overseas proselytizing and crimes against children."

"Tax and a shakedown, got it." She makes a note on a register of her own. "Barnabas, do we have Maurice on board for this one, or do we need to go with Iván instead?"

Our two human brick walls. I haven't seem Maurice outside the local school in ages; he melts into a puddle whenever the kids get excited to see him, and it feels cruel to keep dragging him away from them.

Barnabas confirms it. "Maurice has yet to recover from the paper heart one of the kindergartners made him in yesterday's class. He's been a tearful wreck all day."

"Iván it is." Another note. "We should really just write him off our intimidation roster. "Promote Bethel in his place. She'd enjoy that."

"Maurice will still tear a person limb from limb if they threaten the school," says Exie.

"True." Juliet cocks her head at the note she just made, then scratches it out and makes another beside it. "Maurice, reassigned to full-time teaching duty and part-time bodyguard at the local school. He does like taking on the child smugglers, though. We can keep him on for that. Barnabas, is that everything we have to report, other than the newspaper?"

"What newspaper?" says Exie.

Barnabas and Juliet break into identical grins. With another flourish, Barnabas produces absolutely nothing, then plucks a folded newspaper from a nearby bread-box. I'm still not sure why there's a bread-box in the villa's living room, but given that our adopted orange villa tabby likes to sleep in it, I suspect I've already found my answer. King Charles II gets whatever his little furry heart desires. Ostensibly for overthrowing the Puritans, but I'm pretty sure that's just a tongue-in-cheek reference to the snooty nobleman we had in here once, who complained about the cat hair the entire time Barnabas and Juliet spent conning him out of half his father's fortune.

"You see," says Barnabas, brandishing the newspaper with great solemnity. "There's been something of a scandal on the mainland. I am sure we all remember the church leaders whose son left home about a year ago. Heeded God's call and vanished to the jungle to visit the mission is sister spent six years funding. The search for him was quite high-profile, I've heard; he was set to inherit his father's position in the Church."

I press a hand over my mouth to hide my smile. Oh, this brings back memories. We had quite an illegal amount of fun following the search for David and the fictitious mission in whatever papers we could get our hands on. I was wondering when news of our latest twist in the case would break.

"Of course," continues Barnabas, "it's rather difficult to get letters in and out of the jungle, so there's been no word from the missing man himself. Or so the public and the searchers were led to believe. As it turns out, the family did receive a letter about a month ago, and has sought so desperately to hide that fact, the media grew quite interested in the matter when news came to light. There have been... rumors."

"You're killing me here," says David. "What is it? What are they saying?"

"I will let you read it for yourself."

David confiscates the newspaper. Me and Exie cluster around him as he spreads it out.

"Oh, you didn't," says Exie.

Barnabas claps a hand to his chest in mock offense. "With such a good opportunity handed off to me for maintenance? You wound me, ma'am."

"Read it out," I say, elbowing David.

He obliges. "'A prominent Church leader has stepped down as his prodigal son is revealed to have joined a jungle cult his sister funded with Church donations for more than six years.' Searches have been called off... the family is defending themselves from further financial scrutiny... investigation into the search itself, which has been ongoing for over a year. Subsequent letters—oh, you didn't." He bursts out laughing. "Three more letters? Barnabas!"

"It keeps going," says Juliet, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Keep reading."

"Oh my God." It's Exie this time. "Allegations of witchcraft. Parents under scrutiny for their ties to a school that burned down last September under suspicious circumstances, potentially linked to another cult... speculation that they were aware of the jungle cult all along. Barnabas, what did you do?"

"It says the letters were verified by family members!" says David, still wheezing. "When did you learn to forge my handwriting?"

Barnabas drops to one knee, captures David's hand, and plants a delicate kiss on the back of it. "With such pretty cursive, how could I ever forget its shape?"

"You're jesting."

"Not at all." A sly smile creeps over Barnabas's face. "Would a kiss somewhere else convince you?"

"Get a room, you two," says Exie without looking up. Juliet leans in beside me as Exie reads off a few more excerpts of the article. She drops it on the table when we reach the end. "That's it. Barnabas—what are you two doing?"

"Shooing off a grackle," says Barnabas without missing a beat. He spins David like a ballroom dancer, and they sashay out the front door together, arms around each other's waists.

"This is all yours from now on!" Exie hollers after them.

"I know!" Barnabas hollers back.

"Just don't get our parents killed!"

"No promises!"

This is followed by a yelp as David cuffs him. Exie shakes her head, but she's smiling as she gets to her feet again. "Thank you both for the news. I should talk to Clarice about mailing back some of my family's jewelry to reinforce whatever con those two have going. Juliet, is there anything else down on the docks that we need to talk about? Now that we've got a moment of peace."

"I don't think s—"

Juliet breaks off at the sound of light footsteps dashing up the villa path. Haven skids to a halt, spins smartly on their heel, and says, "Shoo," to a large grackle before shutting the door behind them. They lean against it. "Des and Exie? There's someone down at the docks who wants to see you. Nobody we recognize, and he didn't give a name."

I exchange a glance with Exie. Her brow has furrowed, a look she only displays when she's genuinely unsure about something.

"We can go armed," I say, and she nods. "Haven, did he give you any other identifier?"

"None. But he knew both your names."

That's rarely a good sign. If this is some messenger of my sister's, I'll throttle her for scaring us. "What did he look like?"

"Old. He had a hood on, though. I didn't see his face."

"Tell Bethel to shadow us. We'll signal if we need any help."

"Anything else?"

"Where does he want to meet?"

"Around back of the storehouse behind dock six."

We exchange another glance. That's a pretty area for the docks, and not at all somewhere I'd expect an aspiring murderer to lure his victims. We'll be hidden from the docks themselves, but able to shout for help easily.

There's nothing for it. I arrange a few more backups with Haven, then send them off. Me and Exie make our way down to the docks together. True to his instructions, we find the visitor in the little olive grove behind the warehouse. His back is to us as we approach, and he stands at ease, hands clasped and head tipped up to watch a bird singing somewhere in the branches. He sways slightly as though keeping time with its song.

"You asked to speak with us?" I say when we've drawn within a room's width of him. The man startles. If he's here maliciously, he's doing a good job of acting otherwise.

"Ah," he says, and my blood runs cold. "Thank you for obliging. I apologize for any distress my presence might induce... I am not here to harm you."

With that, he turns and lowers his hood.

It's Massingham.

The former headmaster of Melliford Academy stands before us, plainly robed like I'd expect of a traveling monk. He did not escape the school's fires unscathed. Burn scars pattern his forehead and draw silver patches on both his hands. His expression hovers somewhere between regret and bashfulness. But he is, against all odds, alive.

Even as we gape at him, he drops his head. "I am not here to cause you injury, expose your operation, or ask forgiveness. I only wanted to thank you."

I'm first to find my voice. "You escaped."

"By God's hand. She reached down to me in the midst of that fire, as I lay bleeding from the demon's departure. Her grace truly knows no depths, that she deemed such a wretched old man worth saving after all that he has done. I live in her service now. For however many years I have left to serve her."

He doesn't seem to be lying. His eyes are clear. I'm not entirely sure what to do with this.

"Do you need anything from us?" I ask.

"Only if you are willing to grant me passage on one of the ships you have sway over, bound for this sea's other side. Somewhere difficult to trace. I will make my way from there."

Out the corner of my eye, I see Exie watching me. We need another adult in the room. So I draw a deep breath, touch a hand to the cross I always wear, and call on God. If she really did save Massingham, I'm sure she'll have thoughts on this situation. I'm scarcely two lines in when a sense of peace settles over me. I lower my hand.

"We can do that," I say.

The ship boards that evening. Massingham does not speak to us again, save to wish us both God's blessings, and reiterate his thanks. His eyes glisten as he says it. It's not my place to judge what God already has. It makes me wonder what kind of person Massingham was before the demon took him. Whether he too was innocent and subsequently corrupted. What went through his mind and heart as the demon convinced him to "right a deep and grave injustice." If the experience of the First Prophet was to judge, such compassion runs in the Massingham family line.

I sigh and pull my mind back to the docks and Exie's side. Massingham has boarded already. I can see him standing at the ship's prow, tall and unbent, face lifted to the setting sun. Then the ship casts off, and the swelling sails obscure him. Only as his ride glides out onto the golden water does a rich tenor voice rise. The hymn is one I recognize. An ancient song of praise, passed down through generations of the Christian Church, through centuries and across denominations. As it rises strong across the water, even the wheeling birds fall silent to listen.

I don't want the song to end. But if God forgives, maybe I'll hear it again one day. A voice like that will truly have a place among her choir of angels. 

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