The interior is an assault on his nose, so many different smells in an enclosed space. For someone with a normal sense of smell it’s just a little irritating. For someone like him it borders on painful.

Inside, the ground floor has a bar and is filled with small round tables, all of them occupied. The space is alive with conversation and an eclectic mix of people. Even here, in this room where everyone is eating and drinking, trade is taking place. Fortunes are being read on one table, information exchange going on in another, contracts being signed with worn looking arbiters in other corners of the room. It’s all happening here.

If he had more time he’d take a seat, listen in. It’s one of the best ways to learn things without having to pay for it.

He weaves his way through them and heads for the stairs at the back of the room. Poe’s stall is on the top floor.

The first floor is usually where the mediators descended from celestials sell their goods and the top floor is where those descended from demons do business. The two groups have traditionally kept strict lines with each other, but it seems that might finally be changing from what Hope said and from the healthy mix he’d seen on the ground floor.

The lights on the stairs are weaker, their light yellowed. He heads straight up to the second floor and pushes through the double doors to get inside.

It’s quieter up here.

The hard timber floorboards together with the overhead restored oak beams give the space filled with stall canopies a cramped feel.

There are three lines of four stalls each. Only a few have a corner of their panels pinned back for buyers to peer in. The weak light inside the stalls cast the shadows of their occupants onto the beige fabric walls. Outside each one is a black sign, scrawled on in white chalk. The space around the stalls is limited, with a few queues of buyers waiting to go in and everyone else squeezing in around them.

As he walks, all the stalls with their panels rolled back entirely are ones selling food or apothecaries. Their goods perfume the air.

The stall he’s aiming for is the last one in the third row, right by the balcony. On its sign is a highly skilled drawing of a peacock with its plumes standing proud. Beneath it, missing the elegance of the drawing, is a hastily written out ‘closed’.

The panel is down and Nulla can’t see any shadows moving within.

Without waiting he slides his hand in through the gap on the side and pokes his head through.

‘Oh, look at that, another pillock that can’t read—’

The words stop as soon as Nulla unfolds to his full height within the confines of the stall tent.

Poe is seated and has his booted feet up on a flimsy looking table, a cap pulled low over his eyes. In the poor lighting they are almost entirely black. He blinks up at Nulla, clearly taken aback.

‘Oh. What are you doing here?’ Poe asks, putting his feet on the ground and standing. He’s holding a phone similar to the one Hope had given Nulla and he shoves that into his pocket before getting up and coming around the table to stand in front of him.

Everything about Poe is slight. He’s about 4’9 and skinny. His t-shirt hangs off his frame and leaves his tattooed arms bared. The jeans he’s wearing are extremely tight and his boots are shiny black and pointed with a slight heel. Nulla completely dwarfs him which he knows Poe doesn’t appreciate.

Staring up at Nulla, Poe scratches at the scruff on his chin with black painted nails. ‘You’re a bit early nah?’

‘Yes,’ Nulla says, ‘so I’ve heard.’

‘Well, good to see you and all but I’m closed. You didn’t see the sign?’

Nulla sighs and just looks at him.

Poe holds his gaze for a moment before discomfort flickers across his face, the muscles around his mouth twitching. He masks it quickly and turns away.

Considering Nulla used to hunt his ancestors down, it’s understandable.

‘What do you want then?’ he sits back on the table, and it creaks ominously. Clearly Poe is unbothered because he doesn’t move instead folds his arms. ‘You know it pisses me off when people come in expecting freebies.’

‘You can come by the sanctuary,’ Nulla says, smiling gently, ‘I’ll make sure you have a good meal.’

That Poe owes him a life debt and therefore Nulla doesn’t need to pay for his services goes unsaid. It wasn’t a particularly unique story.

A couple of centuries ago, a few New Celestials had thought they could abuse their powers and mess around with demon descended mediators. One of those mediators had been Poe and Nulla had intervened. The whole thing had left a bad taste in Nulla’s mouth and since then he’d had a very different view of the New Celestials.

Clearly unimpressed by Nulla’s offer, Poe keeps his stare pinned on him but after a second, he frowns. He tips his head back and sniffs lightly at the air.

‘You’ve been with a Demon Lord?’ Poe asks, eyes wide.

Nulla nods. ‘Yes. About an hour or so ago. It’s partly why I’m here. What’s happening with the Boundary? Ignácio said it was weakening and that more demons are crossing over. He told Hope at the sanctuary that he was going to speak to the Ascendant about it but never returned.’ He doesn’t mention that the Demon Lord who crossed over was a fallen Prīmus Celestial.

‘Shouldn’t you be speaking to the Ascendant then? If you’re looking for information, she’s got more than me, you know that. She doesn’t trade from the Night Market anymore though. Been keeping business to her own house.’ He shrugs. ‘Personally, I wouldn’t conduct business in my home, but she can afford extra bodyguards I guess.’

Nulla gestures to the chair intended for guests in front of Poe. ‘Do you mind if I sit?’

‘Guess you’re not leaving then. Sure. Sit.’ He gets up, going back to his side of the table and sitting down too. He tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocks back on the rear legs of his chair,

‘I’ll be speaking to the Ascendant,’ Nulla explains, ‘but I have something urgent I need your help with. I know you keep your ear to the ground so thought it would be worth asking you as well.’

‘Because of the Demon Lord?’ Poe shakes his head. ‘I guess if anyone was doubting that the Boundary is weakening then that’s proof enough.’ He shrugs again, not looking particularly concerned. ‘Look, all I know is that there’s been an increase in demons crossing over in the last few years. You know how it was before; those really powerful ones have always crossed over, but  recently it’s not just half-decent ones getting in, you’ve got real weaklings walking right out as if it’s not a problem.’

‘What do they do when they crossover?’ Nulla asks.

Typically, the demons who cross over are those powerful enough to do so, but they’re also ones that feed off of human energy in some form or another, like incubi and succubae or contract demons. They have a reason to cross over. It’s their presence here that had birthed a vampire race in the human realm.

Weaker demons who don’t require human energy of any kind don’t benefit from crossing over. They lose energy faster and risk dying here by running into celestials.

Under Nulla’s steady gaze Poe glances away, shifting in his seat.

Nulla knows his eyes are unsettling. In this darkened and closed off space, anyone on the receiving end of his unwavering attention, will be discomfited.

He appreciates Poe’s help and despite it not being mutual, he likes him. But Nulla is built for efficiency and action. He will use whatever means necessary to gather the information he needs. Deliberately making someone uncomfortable doesn’t phase him in the least. Neither would breaking a bone or two, where appropriate.

He likes to avoid the less savoury options though.

When Nulla remains silent and waiting, Poe meets his eyes again. He licks his lips in a nervous tick. ‘They’re saying the age of Celestials is coming to an end.’

Nulla waits.

Poe swallows. ‘You heard that there are less Celestials out here patrolling, right? Well. It’s not that there are less. They’re disappearing.’

Nulla narrows his eyes. ‘What does that mean?’

Poe flicks a look at the tent’s panel. ‘They’re saying someone is taking the celestials out, Nulla. That’s why we’re seeing less of them and more demons. And they think the weakening Boundary is a result of that. People are starting to wonder if the realms will merge. They think the demons are coming because soon the Boundary will cease to exist and they’ll be able to crossover completely.’

A light bulb hangs from the metal frame of the stall, suspended there by white electric wires either side of it. Nulla stares at the weak glow at the centre of the bulb as he digests this new information.

Just earlier this evening what had woken him up was the death of a celestial. That he’s certain of.

Of course, Poe is referring to the New Celestials, not the Prīmus.

But who would have the power to kill them? Demon Lords might pose a significant threat if they outnumber a New Celestial. The New Celestials are strong, but not to the same capacity as the Prīmus.

‘Any information on who they think is targeting the celestials?’ Nulla asks.

Poe shakes his head. ‘Nope. And trust me, most are foaming at the mouth wanting to know. Personally—well, I’m not particularly sorry to see them go.’

Fair. ‘What about Ignácio? Do you know if he managed to speak to the Ascendant?’

Poe sighs and rubs at the centre of his forehead, like Nulla is giving him a headache. ‘Yes, he was seen going in and out of her home. But that’s all I know. I haven’t seen or heard of him since, alright?’

‘Okay.’ Nulla pulls out the pouch tucked beneath his hoodie. ‘From now on, I need you to report anything you hear to me. Whether its demons crossing over, celestials missing or Ignácio. Please.’

Poe curses under his breath. ‘Better feed me,’ he mutters, ‘what’s that?’ He sits up and leans his elbows on the table trying to get a closer look. ‘It feels old,’ he says, ‘is this the thing you said you needed my help with?’

Nulla nods. He pulls the pouch open.

The pendant appears, an unnaturally bright silver in the shadowed tent.

He lays it on the table with great care.

This is the only thing he has left of her.

He runs his finger along its length before looking back up at Poe.

‘I need you to trace a soul for me.’