They opened the door and Marie ran in. Marie was Cora’s friend. She was either Cora’s best friend or Cora’s only real friend or both. Prostitute, thief, and occasional ballerina, her recklessness drove Cora half-mad with worry. They had spent more nights than they would ever admit sitting up, hoping the pennies Marie threw into wishing wells got her home safe. Marie was theatrical, charismatic, daring, and beautiful. She was Cora’s polar opposite, and Cora never quite understood what made them such good friends (but was grateful nonetheless). 

Cora was used to Marie calling at all hours of the day and night, with some dramatic story. Yet the blood she was splattered in from head to toe was too dull to be a stage prop and her gasping sobs had no element of theatre. 

Cora guided Marie onto a chair and rested an awkward hand on her shoulder while they tried to remember what the active ingredient in smelling salts was. Marie took deep, shuddering breaths, and made many broken attempts at speech. “Cora. You once promised you’d stay by my side, no matter what. You promised that if I was ever in trouble, you’d do everything you could to help me.” Cora saw the trap, but they had never seen Marie cry like that. So, of course, they walked right into it.
“I remember.”

“My friend is dead.”

Cora had been prepared for many problems, but not this. When they didn’t respond, Marie carried on. “Lily, the half-fairy, you know her. She’s sweet. She had a cough, you gave her a draught for it.” Cora remembered. Lily was quieter than most of Marie’s friends, with a subtle watchful intelligence that Cora admired. “I-” the facade of calm Marie had built up crumbled, and she cried with heaving sobs. “Someone cut her up. Real bad. Not even cut- you remember when that stupid earl let his pet lion loose and it killed a newspaper boy? Like that. She- I couldn’t see- they tore her face off.” Cora looked around their shop as though there was a potion that would purge the horror from their mind. Their shop was their refuge, but they couldn’t stop the outside world from getting in.

Cora knew there was nothing to say. And as with every other human since the beginning of time, they felt the need to say something. Anything. They couldn’t comprehend the idea of Lily - kind, clever Lily who’d never hurt a soul - dead. Murdered. They knew, academically, that terrible things happened. To hear the penny dreadfuls talk, savage murderers lurked in every alleyway. Drallum was the kind of city where certain deaths went unnoticed, Cora knew that. But knowing it was different to believing it, and terrible things had never come near anyone Cora cared about. 

Most of all, they had never hurt Marie. Cora had let themself believe that Marie was invincible, rendered immune to suffering through sheer force of will and an approving goddess. The shattering of that myth hurt. 

“God’s Marie, I’m sorry.” So inadequate, but Cora couldn’t think of anything better. Marie made eye contact with Cora, blue eyes tear-filled but unblinking. 

“You promised that if I was ever in trouble, you’d do anything to help me.” Cora watched the trap close with resignation. They had, after all, walked into it.
“I did.”

“Help me find who killed Lily.” 

“I’m an alchemist, not a detective.”
“I don’t want a detective. Any detective I could afford would tell me it was a client, a random lunatic, and really what did she expect in her, ah, line of work. I’m going to find who did it, but I can’t do it alone.” Cora twisted their hands into their sleeves, trying not to bite their nails. It would be unsanitary. They wanted to help, but they knew they couldn’t. Their only talents were making potions and being inconspicuous. Their fear of letting Marie down twisted in their gut, choking off their refusal. 

“Besides, Cora, you can’t stick your head in the sand any longer. The city is changing, not how it changes all the time so don’t say that. There’s something new here, something dark. There used to be raids maybe once every six months? And we’d bill them if they broke anything. Now constables are smashing places up every other week or more regular. Bookshops that have run for decades with no problems have closed, because their owners got strung up for sedition. Those constables in black are hurting people or waiting to, and my friend has been torn limb from limb by what she called ‘a man with no face’. This isn’t some lordling’s bid for parliament. This is something bigger, don’t you dare deny it.” Cora couldn’t, so they stared at their shoes. It was everything they had been too afraid to put into words for the past few weeks. 

Cora did what they always did when faced with horror; ignored it and focused on practicalities. “I suppose there’s no way I can convince you to get some sleep before we start investigating?” Marie’s smile was a pale imitation of her usual grins, but it made Cora feel a little less sick.
“No, there isn’t. You’re with me?”
“Gods help me, I am.”