The demon prompted me to indulge her whim and give her that accursed glass of wine. The girl was instantly overcome. At first, I thought she was feigning, but no. I lifted an eyelid and looked: her pupils were dilated and reacted poorly to light. I shook her, trying to rouse her, even resorted to slapping her a couple of times in desperation. What was I to do with her senseless body? That very servant who had brought the glass materialized nearby and asked with a leering smirk:

  "Is the madame unwell?"

  "Yes, overwrought." I hesitated, then asked, "Would you help me take her somewhere quieter? Away from prying eyes?"

  "I understand." The nosy servant's grin grew even more unpleasant. "The burgomaster has set aside a few rooms on the second floor for guests who... hm... wish for privacy." He winked knowingly. "We'll arrange it in a trice."

  I shuddered at his tone and at what he was implying.

  "Cannot you see? She's had too much to drink. I need to sober her up." My protestations sounded pathetic.

  I took the girl from one side, the servant from the other, and we hauled her limp body to one of the guest rooms on the second floor. Who would have thought this scrawny girl could be so heavy?

  I dumped her onto the bed and discovered with horror that the fur stole, which had covered the girl's impropriety, had vanished somewhere. We must have lost it on the way. The servant obligingly offered to find and return it. The girl, in her drunken half-sleep, rolled onto her side, mumbled something unintelligible, and began to snore. Damnation! I clutched my head—what was I to do with her now? Leave her here? Impossible! Sooner or later she would come to, wander about the house, cause some mischief, and since I had brought her to the reception, I would be held accountable. What was I to do?

  I seized the water carafe, filled my mouth, turned the girl, and sprayed her in the face. She mumbled again, tried to wave me off, then curled into a ball and resumed snoring. The treacherous cutaway of her gown was now displayed in all its glory. The little wretch! I tried to turn her, but the fabric was so fine, the fit so snug—like a second skin—that it accentuated her firm young breasts. So I simply pulled the coverlet over her, head and all, to avoid seeing. Yet still, before my eyes, that scandalous cutaway lingered, revealing through the delicate lace the elegant curve of her back and the dimple above... Damnation! I clutched my hair, turned away from the girl, and sat on the floor, leaning against the bedframe.

  Calm! I closed my eyes, steadying my breath, sinking into the saving void of meditation and prayer. I simply had to wait until the reception ended. And given recent events, it would likely end earlier than planned. When all the guests had dispersed, I would load her into a carriage and deliver her home. Let her brother worry about his wayward sister. A knock came at the door—the servant had returned, having found the stole. He seemed somewhat disappointed not to have stumbled upon a scene of virtuous maidenhood being compromised.

  I smiled bitterly. I could only imagine what His Eminence, cardinal Vetre, would say to me tomorrow. Though the Holy Inquisition was formally autonomous, a high church dignitary like him had the authority to command an inquisitor such as myself. Rumor had it that cardinal Vetre was severe and righteous, wielded considerable influence, and could not abide women. My appointment to this city might never have happened; it had only been approved because a female inquisitor had been proposed for the post, and cardinal Vetre had been adamantly opposed. After that wretch's antics at the reception and her open disrespect for his rank, he was probably already regretting his consent to my candidacy.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  A hand dangled from the bed onto my shoulder. Disgusting! I fastidiously replaced it beneath the covers.

  Getting the girl to the carriage proved extraordinarily difficult. The servants could not assist me—captain Luntko was conducting his inquiry, questioning the staff—so I had to manage alone. I draped her arms over my shoulders and hoisted her onto my back like a sack of flour, though she weighed considerably more. Staggering under her weight, I made my way across the courtyard to the carriage, cursing everything under the sun. Her head lolled with each step; my cheek burned where it touched hers. Through the fabric of my robe and her gown, I could distinctly feel the steady beat of her heart. The driver obligingly opened the door, and I shoved her inside.

  I foolishly assumed the worst was behind me, but when she tumbled against me at the next pothole, I lost control. I shoved her away, and she slid to the floor. For a few minutes, I watched with spiteful satisfaction as her head bumped against the seat with every turn and jolt. Then shame overtook me. I lifted her, sat her upright, brushed the dust and dirt from her gown. She slumped against my shoulder once more. After a moment's thought, I laid her head upon my lap, steadying her over the rough patches. Gazing at her peaceful face, I wondered what truly went on inside that mad head of hers. Did she genuinely see the dead girl? If so, what must it be like to live with such visions?

  Acting on a fleeting impulse, I traced her full, sensuous lips with my finger. How cleverly she had deceived me! She had deliberately worn that garish, vulgar lipstick to draw my attention, ensuring I would not think to examine her attire more closely! Cunning fox! Fox! Cold sweat broke out upon me—where was her damned stole? Fortunately, it lay on the floor. I retrieved it and draped it over her face—she wouldn't suffocate, and I would have peace.

  Upon arrival, I once again had to hoist her onto my back and haul her to the door. Anton met me on the threshold, staring at me indignantly.

  "What have you done to my sister? What's wrong with her?"

  "Nothing. She's simply drunk," I grunted angrily.

  "How could you get her drunk? She can't drink!"

  My patience snapped. I released the girl, and she crumpled onto the pavement before her own doorstep.

  "I got her drunk?!? I've had enough of this crazy! Do you know what she did at the reception? How could you, her brother, allow her to attend dressed like that? She disgraced herself—and me along with her!"

  Anton rushed to his sister, trying to lift her, while I watched his struggles with malicious satisfaction.

  "Difficult, is it?" I leaned toward him with feigned solicitude. "How do you think I felt hauling your sister back from the reception, eh? Pfft... And tell her, when she wakes, that I never wish to see her again. Ever. Our agreement is dissolved."

  I straightened, turned, and climbed into the carriage, ordering the driver to depart, ignoring his outraged cries.

  The following morning, cardinal Vetre honored me with a visit. He was cold and impeccably polite in his remarks concerning the moral character of an inquisitor. I could only stand with bowed head and a guilty expression. Any attempt at self-justification would have been futile, so I did not even try. The task of hunting down the brazen thief who had dared to rob the burgomaster's estate still fell to me—jointly, of course, with the commune investigation under captain Luntko. My soul and mind were in utter disarray, so after the dressing-down, I went to Father George. I needed his support and comfort. In the darkest moments of my life, he had always been there, giving me the strength to carry on, to seek and find faith.

  Father George was not in the church, so I decided to wait and sank onto a bench to pray.

  "My boy, Kysei!" I roused from my gloomy thoughts and rose to greet Father George.

  "How wonderful that you've come! Something has happened—I was about to send for you!" Father George was deeply agitated.

  "What's happened?" I felt my stomach clench into a tight knot.

  "One of our charges has gone missing—an orphan girl. Or rather..."

  "Missing? When did this happen?" My throat went instantly dry; my voice emerged hoarse and strange.

  "She hasn't quite gone missing. A woman took her."

  "Baroness Malko?"

  "No, no." Father George shook his head in bewilderment. "That's just it—it wasn't her. The healer recognized the woman. It was madame Chrysstein's slave!"

  "How...?" I could not recover from my surprise. "Did she say anything? Offer any explanation?"

  "The acolytes told me she came by the day before. She was looking for a girl who resembled the one in her drawing. She saw Vera—that's our charge's name—and was delighted; they say she even sketched her portrait. And this morning, she returned, spoke with the girl, and led her away."

  "But how could you let her go? Knowing what's happening! Why?" I understood nothing. Why would Lidia want this girl? What was she planning? To use the girl as live bait to catch baroness Malko? Or...

  "I knew nothing of it; it happened in my absence." Father George shook his head guiltily and sighed. "Kysei, tell me—you don't think madame Chrysstein could be in league with the witch, do you? The girl is in no danger, surely?"

  "I don't know, Father George." I shook my head slowly. "But I will find out, I promise you. I will go to madame Chrysstein's house immediately and bring the girl back. Do not worry."

  I all but ran from the church and raced toward Lidia's house, my thoughts a whirlwind.