“Ha-ha, well, that was how things turned out. But it wasn’t like I wanted to kill him.”

“Liar!”

“For shame!”

“You’re so twisted!”

That prompted a chorus from the crowd and left Rogue feeling bamboozled. The last detective committed suicide? What could be bad enough to cause that?

He looked at Rico.

“No way, Rico. I can’t work with a murderer. Call the chief.”

“Don’t worry, Detective Rogue. They’re equipped with safety devices. Right there on her throat.”

He looked again. There was a black choker around the witch’s neck. Not just the white-clad girl’s, but around the neck of every witch in the room.

When his eyes were back on Rico, she said, “That’s their collar.”

“Collar?”

“It’s a type of manatech. If any of three conditions are met, they’ll instantly kill the wearer. First, a direct act of murder. Second, leaving the designated range—in this case, the empire’s territory. This applies if any part of them leaves that range. Finally—”

At that point, the white-clad girl took over.

“When mana over a specified threshold is detected. This leaves us only capable of generating a child’s level of mana.”

She followed that with a titter, but at what, Rogue wasn’t sure.

“Wait, but your hands are still free. You wouldn’t even have to use a spell,” Rogue pointed out.

Pens, knives, their own teeth—if their hands were free, there were any number of means at their disposal. Those collars didn’t look especially durable; a girl could easily rip them off.

“No, Detective,” Rico said, “These collars don’t come off. They will remain in place until the wearer’s death is detected. Until that time, nothing can break them—not even a magic sword.”

“A harsh truth,” the white-clad girl said, nodding.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?” Rogue said, glaring at her. “I just heard that you made the last guy kill himself.”

“Oh, I did.”

“Does that not count as murder? I mean, you aren’t dead.”

“Sometimes, a few errant words can push people to their deaths, Rogue. Who knows what might become a trigger?”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he growled.

“If they counted suicides against us, we could never operate at all,” she said, shrugging it off. “There are so many people out there who would happily throw away their own lives if it meant they could take us with them.”

“And that’s the only reason?”

“Is it not good enough of one for you?”

“Why would it be? Who’d want to work with a witch?”

“You’re making me sad. You hate me already! And here I am, just trying to make friends.”

“Don’t lie to my face, witch.”

“I mean it,” she said, winking at him. “I adore men like you.”

He swore under his breath.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Really? I think I’m not bad-looking.”

She pointed at her own face.

“That ain’t the problem.”

“Brutal!”

“‘Brutal,’ my—”

At this point, Rico interrupted.

“Time is of the essence. Chief Velladonna gave strict orders to solve this case as soon as possible.”

He flinched, turning toward her. Those were hardly fair terms.

“……I’d never have come here if I knew witches were involved,” he said.

Rico merely crooked her head. “Oh? You seemed to be getting along famously.”

“……”

“Chief Velladonna said to remind you that the paperwork for your transfer to Nabaco Island is all drawn up. She can have you there before the day is out.”

He choked on that one. Was he stuck? Shirking this duty would result in his exile to an island. The worst fate for a detective. At the very least, he could investigate things at the Sixth Precinct.

He turned his back on them. Whether he was with a witch or not, the job didn’t change. He just needed to do what he usually did. His footsteps echoed on the floor, then he took a breath and raised his voice.

“Right, briefing time!” Not a single witch responded. They just kept doing what they were doing. Like they hadn’t even heard him. “Hey! Didn’t you hear me? Don’t you have collars on?”

He got louder, but they didn’t budge. A few even snickered.

He was appalled. The white-clad girl stepped up next to him.

“Rogue, we’re merely assisting the bureau. You can’t force anyone to help if they’re disinclined. Whether we have collars or not, that will never change,” she declared.

“Well, shit.”

He decided that the place was the pits.

“Don’t let it get you down, Rogue. I’m willing to help! I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun together.”

She put a hand on his shoulder like they were old friends, and he brushed her off.

……Goddamn it.

He swore again.

*

The capital was always cacophonous. Horns blared everywhere he went. At last, the traffic started moving, but Rogue’s spirits were only sinking. Working a case with a witch? It was his first day on the new job, and he already wanted out.

“It’s not that bad,” the witch in the passenger seat said.

“You be quiet,” Rogue said, not even glancing at her. “Remember where you stand.”

“Don’t be like that, Rogue. Let’s work together!”

“Like hell.”

“So hostile! Isn’t your promotion riding on this?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Isn’t it? I think I’m already involved.”

“Hey! Don’t!”

The witch—Miseria—had jabbed him in the ribs. He’d almost swerved into a tree.

Straightening out the car, he muttered, “No more funny business, witch. You know how much money it costs to keep a car running?”

“Now that’s none of my business.”

“You’ve got a screw loose.”

Miseria just laughed out loud. She had been laughing a lot the whole drive. Like she was off to a picnic.

This is one cheerful witch.

But that didn’t make her any less of a witch. He couldn’t let his guard down, so he clammed up. Miseria tried to engage him a few times, but he just kept his eyes on the road. When they reached the Fifth Ward—Dillo, the commercial district—he pulled off the main road onto a side street. He found the barrier tape and parked nearby.

It had just stopped raining, and there were still puddles around. No sun reached the back alley they were in, and there was a chill in the air. There was brightly colored graffiti on the wall—dogshit art.

“We’re here,” Rogue said, getting out of the car.

“Thanks,” Miseria said, not budging. She’d opened her door and was holding her hand just outside it.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re not helping me out, Rogue?”

“……”

Was this witch merely an actor Velladonna had hired to punk him? That didn’t seem entirely out of the question.

“……Ridiculous. You got in yourself.”

“That’s no justification for not doing it now.”

“No excuse. If you’re not coming, I’ll just leave you here.”

“You’re no fun, Rogue.”

At last, Miseria emerged from the car and began walking away.

“Let the investigation begin!” she cried.

“You keep quiet. I’ll handle this.”

There was a beat cop by the tape, and Rogue showed his current ID.

“Rogue, detective with the Elayl branch chief’s team. She’s cooperating. Expert on mana traces.”

“Yes, sir.” The cop saluted, then let them pass.

Velladonna had provided fake IDs for them. Likely because she couldn’t afford to let word get around that witches were solving crimes. Rogue was all right with that; it was one less thing to worry about.

He reached the body bag, and his brows went up.

It was all flattened out, like there was nothing in it. Hard to believe an entire person was inside.

Scowling, he unzipped it.

“Heinous,” he growled.

Inside the body bag, there was a baby. Not even a hair on its head yet. It was inside a massive coat, its eyes hollow.

Clyme Huta—a florist, eighty years old. A DNA test had proven it. Fingerprints also matched this baby to that old man.

All signs of those eighty years were gone without a trace.

“A fascinating manifest,” Miseria said. “The young turn old, and the old are infantilized. Hmm, an impressive spell. Rogue, what do you make of it?”

“……There are no signs of a struggle. Eliminating those after the fact would take some time.”

“Meaning?”

“We’re off the beaten track, but all it would take is a glance down the alley. They couldn’t clean up a body here. I’d imagine…the crime took place elsewhere, and they moved the body here afterward.”

Miseria applauded.

“Excellent deduction. I can see why you’re a rising star.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“No, I mean it. You’re mostly right. The problem is: How’d they get the body here?”

“That ain’t a problem.”

“Oh?”

Her smile held a question, and he ignored it, turning back the way they’d come. Past the sea of cops to the graffiti they’d seen on the way in.

“Our killer came through there.”

Art on the wall, done by some local with different colors of paint, sprayed around. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Miseria slowly catching up to him.

“Your reasoning?” she asked.

“A Jump sigil. That’d make it easy to carry the body here, and if you cover it up with graffiti, no one’ll notice the inscription.”

To cast a spell, one had to chant or use a sigil. Chants activated immediately, while sigils allowed people to use magic after a delay. With premeditated crimes, it was standard practice to place sigils in the vicinity.

Miseria was clapping again.

“Wow! Then you’ll just have to remove this paint!” she said, giving him an expectant look.

“……”

“Hmm? What’s the matter, Rogue?”

He took out his phone and made to contact a friend of his in Forensics. They had a pressure washer.

“Nothing, just have to wait for the machine to do that.”

“My, my. Why take the long way around? Just use a cleansing spell.”

“……I’d rather not.”

“Oh? Ah-ha!” Miseria clapped once, as if everything had just clicked into place. “You’re Voiceless?”

“……”

He started dialing his friend’s number…

“In that case, fine. I’ll cast the spell for you. You could have just said.”

She took the phone out of his hand and stuffed it back in his pocket.

“……That’s personal information. Witches don’t need to know.”

“Hmm, you think? I already know your name and occupation.”

“……”

“How long would it take for that machine to arrive?”

“……You’re twisting my arm.”

“No need to be all grim about it. We’re on the same team! You need merely say the word.”

“……I don’t need your help.”

“Are you sure? I could swear Velladonna said to solve this case quickly.”

The smirk on Miseria’s face could only be described as mean. It made his anger start to simmer, but Rogue kept a hold of his temper. Perhaps this wasn’t a hill worth dying on. It was better to crack cases swiftly. For Rogue, and for everyone.

Even he couldn’t believe how reluctant he was.

“……Fine, cast away.”

“That’s better.” Miseria chuckled. She held out her left hand, palm facing downward and the back of it angled toward Rogue.

“What are you doing?”

“Give me a kiss right there. Oh, you’ll have to kneel and express your gratitude in words. Keep the speech to less than a minute, please.”

“Huh?”