A gurney constructed of a metal frame and white canvas is laid on the bare floor of the castle kitchen where a peculiar scene played out an hour before. A female mage crouched by the side of the dead while adjusting her dovetail blouse over navy, pin-striped pants. Her wardrobe was a clashing combination put together after a late-night call from the Queen's men which consisted of two heavily armed guards knocking on her door and demanding she follow. In these times, she was among the first of her gender to wear men's clothes in lieu of skirts, and received many nasty looks regarding her sense of fashion.

Her hands were covered, too. A pair of cream-colored gloves were rolled up to her elbow, drenched in the smell of lavender. A fair-haired guard in his twenties offered her gloved fingertips a look of skepticism; he was fairly certain the runes embroidered on their sides were illegal.

"If you continue staring at me like that, I'll have no choice but to blush, Sir."

"Forgive me, madame. I only wonder why a respectable woman would dabble in the art-" he said this word with the least amount of respect conjurable, "-of necromancy."

Oh, yes. She had heard this tone many times before.

"My father has been quite successful in the field, as I'm sure you're aware. Naturally, I followed the path he laid out for me. Besides, necromancy is the study with the most room to grow." she continued after a pause, "May I ask your name, Sir?"

"Sir Richard Townes."

"Sir Townes, my name is Seeley Whitney Jr, and I don't care for the tone of voice you've used with me."

Named after her father, Sir Townes thought with a sigh, how indecent.

"If you must call me by something, Seeley is fine. Be sure to remember it. I'm going to be absolutely famous in the field of necromancy. You'll see. Now- where's the woman they found here?"

"Mags. Makes the best pies in all of Upton. She's out in the hall. I suspect you saw her coming in."

Seeley had seen the woman, but the guards who summoned her were quick to usher her through the kitchen doors to the gruesome scene inside. Six. Six men dead. Some of the bodies were twisted and melded together while others sustained minimal damage. All involved were deceased except for poor Maggie outside.

This part of the castle was dimly lit. Peering into to the hall, all Seeley could make out of Maggie was a doughy middle and chicken-thin legs. Indigo banners emblazoned with the Queen's insignia blew in a light breeze behind her.

"Pure magic. Some people call it the Black Blaze." Seeley  stated, "She's lucky she survived. Not many people are capable of an explosion this large. He must have been an Abnormal."

"It is rather odd, considering. The guards were told a deranged beggar entered the cellar to reach a reserve of rum. The cook, her husband, and the scullery maid found him drunk off his horse. The maid went to the authorities, the husband went back to bed, and Maggie stayed behind."

"Is she making any sense?"

"No. She seems to have lost her memory. Forgive me, but as a mage, shouldn't you be wearing a mask?" Sir Townes asked, indicating his perfectly sculpted mouth to Seeley. As she suspected, the young man had no magical talent whatsoever; if he had an inkling of witch in him, he would be gloved and swaddled. Her eyes lingered on his devilish features, his angular jaw working into a frown. She considered his looks an improvement on his personality.

"No need. Not for something like Witch's fever. To contract the disease, it requires a magically inclined person to come in contact with fluid from an infected. I'd need to lick it off the ground. Simply put, I'm not at risk of infection considering our current circumstances."

This image was too much for Sir Townes. A white-blond eyebrow shot to his hairline. Green eyes regarded her with disgust. "Madame, I do not think that talk is fitting for someone of your station."

"Station? My father was a little famous; I'm hardly royalty. Besides, I told you to call me Seeley." she struggled not to laugh.

This didn't suit Sir Townes. He couldn't possibly call this strange woman so familiarly. Releasing a breath he said, "Perhaps we can compromise with Miss Whitney."

"We're going to get along splendidly." Seeley oozed sarcasm. Snapping her fingers, a violet spark lit the dim kitchen.

"What's that?"

"An incentive. Corpses don't wake up on their own and we need information. Since Maggie's not talking, we'll have to go another route." Mumbling an incantation, the spark turned into a current chirping between her fingers.

The corpse of Sir Anthony was gray with death and a sticky resin of blood blanketed his royal blue and silver uniform. A bruise the color of swamp water was already forming around his mouth and under his eyes. Seeley placed a hand on either side of the cadaver's face, warmth flowing out of her gloves until Sir Anthony's skull lit up. After a moment, his throat began to flex. He swallowed, and then his eyes fluttered open.

"S-Sir Anthony!" Sir Townes gasped, stooping next to Seeley like his legs were turning to jelly. Up close, Seeley noted Sir Townes had perfectly sculpted features. He might have been royalty of some kind for all she knew. Sir Anthony on the other hand was crooked all over like an apple at the bottom of a barrel that's gone uneven.

Sir Townes glared at Seeley with something caught between admiration and derision. God help us, he thought, bringing corpses back to life- it's blasphemous.

"W-what is this?" a throaty growl erupted from Sir Anthony burned flesh. Piercing blue eyes shot across the room to the empty seat where George Starkey had detonated. "Mags? Mags? Mags!"

"Maggie's just fine, Sir." Sir Townes stated, placing a trembling hand on Sir Anthony's shoulders to comfort him. This calmed the corpse, if only a little.

The old man coughed so hard, black coagulant spilled from his lips. "I'm dead. I'm dead, aren't I? This heat- it feels like I'm on fire." he said.

"That would be the Black Blaze." Seeley replied, "Do you recall what happened?"

"I-" Sir Anthony's eyes became unfocused, "It's so dark in here." Finally, his head snapped back with a pop.

"What's happened to him?" Sir Townes asked with concern, "Did he go to sleep?"

"No. He's dead. He died- again."

"I thought you revived him?"

"Necromancy is- difficult. To bring back a soul, you need someone who's freshly dead, but I can't keep them here if they're at peace. Be glad for him. There's nothing left to hold him in our presence. He must have been quite the fellow."

One of the best, Sir Townes thought. He offered Seeley a hand up, the knees of her slacks covered in dust. She caught a waft of cologne from his cotton clad chest; like Seeley, he was dressed hurriedly. The same pair of guards that escorted Seeley from her townhome took her to the handsome establishment of the infamous Townes clan, a white mansion that climbed three floors high. A servant answered the door, and the young Knight followed shortly after in civil wear.

"An imperfect soul would be ideal for my 'art' as you called it."

Sir Townes frowned, his eyes glancing across the room, "That one. The one in the middle. Try him."

The one "in the middle" shared quite a few similarities to Sir Townes. They were both blond, green eyed, and dark of skin tone; they both would have been tall were the corpse not missing both of its legs.

"My cousin. Alexander Lehman. A dangerous playboy."

Adjusting her gloves, Seeley repeated the incantation from before. A fan of coppery hair stuck up from the back of her head, alive with the same electricity she used to animate the corpse.

Alexander sputtered to life, spasming all over. His eyes were wild, small, and blue as they focused on the woman bent over him. "I was certain I was in Hell- and now here she is- before me stands an angel!" he said.

"Charming, but those lines won't work on me, Mr. Lehman. My name is Seeley Whitney Jr, I'm an independent investigator of the Queen's hire. You, Mr. Lehman, are recently deceased. Are you aware?"

"Of course, I'm aware. My bloody feet are gone. I've been saving that line for just an occasion like this."

"Wonderful. I'm glad to see you in good spirits, Mr. Lehman. Considering your predicament. I have some questions I'd like to ask you."

"Wait- Richard? Is that you?"

Sir Townes gave a curt nod, offering the corpse a wave. Both of his thumbs were hooked in his suspenders, his shoulders slouched. He considered the different ways he could deliver the news to Aunt Becca regarding the death of her only son. Tonight was going to be a night to remember.

"Richie, you can do better than this flat-chested, man-legged- ow! What was that for?" Alexander said, rubbing the place behind his ear where Seeley smacked him.

Seeley was used to back-talking maggot fodder, but this particular insult was a sensitive topic for her. "Mr. Lehman, if you won't stay on topic, I'll release you to oblivion." she glanced down at her slacks with a sigh. They were made especially for her at a boutique called Belle-Fille. I'm not man-legged. I'm not. They fit wonderfully.

"What- no! No! I'm talking!"

"A little too much." she snapped, a spark flying from her forefinger.

Suddenly, a polished boot was pressed against the side of Alexander's blood-stained face. "I don't have time for this. Talk." Sir Townes spat.

Alexander's brows joined together, "Always the serious one, Richie. So you want to know about the Abnormal?"

"Go on." Sir Townes nodded.

"Alright. Me and the boys, we're in the mudroom playing rummy. Suddenly there's a knock on the door. It was the scullery maid- the pretty one with brown hair. She says there's a mess in the kitchen, someone broke in. Says it's worse than that. His eyes are fevered. Witch's fever. So we wake Sir Anthony, seeing he has experience with the like.

"When we get here, Mags is sitting by the table. She's talking to this guy like he's me or you. Wants us to help him. But the thing's going south, he's starting to- move a little.  He's all sweaty and his skins getting all twitchy like they witchy folk do before they explode.

"I think maybe a shield spell will help so I erect a barrier. It helped a little. Only my upper half. Next thing I know, I'm on the floor screaming. Then I felt like winter all over. That's all I remember." 

"Mr. Lehman, there's no body. The Abnormal's gone." Seeley said slowly, indicating the room with a wave of her hand. No bones, no blood, and no sinew to be found. The only scraps left belonged to the guards.

"How the hell should I know what happened to him? He was here. Right there on that stool."

Considering this, Seeley straightens her blouse and whispers privately to Sir Townes.

"Hey- what's going on?"

"Miss Whitney is a talented necromancer, dear Alexander, but I'm afraid you're time here is limited. There's a phone in the room next door. She's offered to open a channel to your next of kin. So you can say your goodbyes."

"Goodbyes?" Alexander sniffed, wiping his nose with a graying hand, "Like Hell. That doesn't sound like me at all."

In the end, Alexander did make one last phone call. As soon as his mother's voice came through the line, his neck went limp and no more words were spoken. Seeley was positively drained. Though she tried to stay strong, she slumped against Sir Townes's back in a moment where she almost succumbed to sleep. To her shock, his face turned apple red.

"P-pardon me." he stumbled away. They were standing in the hallway outside the kitchen, a series of expansive golden arches and flowered carpet beneath their feet. The kitchen itself was down four steps with a short overhead fit for squat servants like Maggie. The six bodies now laid in separate gurneys carried away by soldiers still in their casual wear. Like Seeley, they were called urgently without proper time to dress themselves.

"You're rather young." Seeley remarked, rubbing her nose. The smell of char and burning flesh lingered.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're rather young to be knighted. I've heard the story, you know. It ran in the papers. Richard Townes. You're more famous than my father was. A young boy runs away from home to take his father's place in the war. He gets discovered, but desperate times call for desperate measures. They decide to keep him anyway, and he returns home a war hero."

"Well, it's just that. A story. I wouldn't waste your time with such things, Miss Whitney."

"You're a proper bad liar, Sir Townes." Seeley made a decision. She liked this man. A lot.

Seeley's father would tell her not to bother with men, were he still alive. There were more important things, like necromancy, he would say. Yet, she was seconds away from asking Sir Townes the most inappropriate question a woman can dream.

"Maggie! My love! I thought you were dead!" James jogged through the hallway with impressive speed for a man of his size. One hand cupped Maggie's face while the other held his pale trousers in place. Brown hair highlighted by gray laid limp across his sweating forehead. He said, "Maggie, can you hear me?"

Maggie's hazel eyes were round and unblinking. It looked like she had been crying.

A physician attending the aging cook replied, "She's in a daze, Mr. Sweetapple. From what I can tell, it looks like a delens was used on her."

"What's that?"

"An erasing spell. To wipe away memories." the physician shrugged. He was dressed all in black, a dapper suit likely put in a rush. It was covered in wrinkles. "Be thankful. Her face was scorched by Black Blaze. Raw magic."

"I-I don't see anything wrong with her."

"Yes, it's healed nicely. Whoever did this is an excellent alchemist."

"N-not a mage?"

"Not at all, Mr. Sweetapple. See this mark on her forehead? The circle indicates the area where memories are held in the brain. A mage wouldn't do that. You see, alchemy is a rather precise science, and mages- well, they can be a bit unpredictable." as the physician said this he smiled at Seeley.

"Where is he? Where is the bastard?"

"What bastard, Mr. Sweetapple?" Seeley asked politely from behind. James turned to face her, his flat lips pursed so tight his jaw began to bulge.

"The beggar- the fiddler- the damn drunk we found in the pantry! He did this- he did this to her! I'll rip his bloody remains to shred! I'll have him burned!"

"Mr. Sweetapple- we haven't found a body."