13 Mink Street

“Here we are. That’ll be forty-five rupi.”

“Mm... what?”

“Forty-five rupi.”

“All right.” Karon couldn’t carry his entire stash with him, but he did usually keep a few hundred rupi in his pocket. He handed the driver a fifty-rupi note.

Accepting it, the driver smiled. “Thank you for your generosity.”

“Mm?” Karon could only nod, resigned to the fact that five rupi had quietly turned into a tip.

He stepped out of the car and the taxi pulled away. Its taillights were soon swallowed by the haze.

That ride was expensive, he thought. Fifty rupi could feed a family of four for a day; three meals, perhaps basic, but at least filling. The trip from Crown Ballroom to Mink Street wasn’t even that far. He remembered how, back in his student days, he had stared at the meter’s red digits as they climbed up from the base fare, his nerves tightening with every jump.

There was no sign of the Immers family hearse by the curb; his uncle and the others were still at the hospital.

He let out a quiet sigh. Staring at the building that passed for “home,” Karon felt a familiar knot of emotions tighten around him.

Police station. Report. Accident. Not demonkin. The key phrases spoken by the woman in the gray dress echoed in his mind.

There had been an accident at the ballroom, and two people, as well as Karon himself, had offered advice to the police. That meant official standing, some sort of role to play. Yet in the end, everything trailed off into that last word: demonkin.

On the surface, his new world looked ordinary. The newspapers said it was, and books agreed. But reality strained against those proclamations.

People would always seek comfort, avoiding pain. While the cab had still been moving, all Karon had wanted was to leave this house behind and begin building a life of his own, simple and secure, piece by piece. Yet at the moment, beneath the world’s ordinary veneer, he could feel the pull of something deeper, surging quietly from below.

Here at home, Tiz weighed, day after day, whether Karon should live or die. So far, the old man had settled on merely confining him. Provided that Karon didn’t try to leave Roja City, his grandfather would not cross that line.

Beyond these walls, though, was something less predictable: a world of witch hunts.

Impossible! You cannot possibly not be demonkin! Hoffen’s screams from that hospital hallway still echoed in Karon’s ears. Without thinking, he clenched his left hand tight.

Karon still didn’t understand what demonkin truly were, but the truth of his own existence, a soul reborn in a borrowed body, had stripped away any sense of certainty before it could even form. He knew clearly enough that he wasn’t his body’s original soul.

So, was it worth stepping outside and going beyond those doors at all? The unknowns of the outside suddenly made Tiz’s threats seem almost gentle, or even kind.

If Karon had ever been in actual danger, it should have been during the first days after he had awoken. Yet Tiz had hesitated, weighing one choice against another. With time, most people would manage to make peace with something that had previously been considered unacceptable, either by adapting or simply growing accustomed to it.

Karon hadn’t made trouble. He didn’t stomp about the house, sulk in a corner, or demand more than he was given. He was obedient, cautious, and careful. In time, the old man’s anger and suspicion would fade. The longer Karon remained in the house, the safer he would be.

He looked up to see Tiz approaching, walking from the west, the long folds of his priest’s robe brushing through the twilight.

Karon watched the old man approach, and continued to stare until he saw a flicker of uncertainty cross Tiz’s face as their eyes met. “Grandpa, you’re back.”

Tiz nodded. Karon pushed open the door and walked inside beside his grandfather.

“Father, you’re back,” Aunt Mary called out. She glanced at Karon. “Your uncle called from the hospital, wanting to know if you’d returned. A hearse from another funeral home arrived in a hurry, and to avoid losing the case, your uncle drove straight to the hospital, without even waiting for you! When he gets back, I’ll give him an earful! Someone died on that street! It must have been chaos. How could he just leave you there alone?”

Aunt Mary’s words were typically sharp, yet she had always treated Karon with gentleness. In Tiz’s presence, even her typical sharpness softened.

“Aunt, I’m an adult now. Surely a grown man can find his way home? No matter where I am, I just need to follow the scent of home.”

Tiz went to the sofa and sat down and quietly asked, “What happened?”

Aunt Mary patted Karon’s shoulder reassuringly, and then went upstairs to the kitchen to prepare some refreshments.

Karon sat on the sofa across from Tiz and recounted everything that had happened at Crown Ballroom. When he shared the discovery of the corpse hidden beneath the stage, Aunt Mary, who had just finished setting out refreshments, had to cover her mouth to stifle a cry.

It was not that Aunt Mary wished to appear delicate to her father-in-law. She had grown into a capable mortician, but expertise did not fully deaden one’s nerves. The dead no longer frightened her. To her, they had become another kind of client. Having become familiar with them, she greeted her clients with the same steadiness that a snake handler took to his work.

However, a lurking serial killer was another matter. Who could promise that such a person would not, one day, make her a client as well?

Karon detailed every unsettling aspect of the corpse, and proceeded to share his conversation and analysis with Inspector Duke. He had intended to keep much of the details to himself, while quietly building some relationships in the background, but after encountering the man and woman from the taxi, he had changed his mind.

Grandpa. See? Your grandson can cook, offer comfort, and even help the police unravel a case.

“My goodness, Karon, you thought of all of that?” Aunt Mary exclaimed, her face touched by a quiet awe. “How did you do it?”

“In simple terms, it’s just putting myself in someone else’s shoes,” Karon replied, keeping things as basic as possible for both his aunt and grandfather.

After all, Tiz was not one to openly ask, “My goodness, Karon, how did you manage it?”

“The goal is to see from the killer’s perspective. You follow the trail of details, working backward through their mind, trying to grasp why, at a psychological level, they acted as they did.”

Tiz sipped his black tea and asked in a mild tone, “You find it easy to step into a killer’s mind?”

Karon hesitated. That choice of wording almost sounded as if he was being accused of sharing inclinations. He hurriedly clarified, “Grandpa, Aunt, the truth is, usually, the more someone sees themselves as an ‘artist’ of killing, the more predictable they become. It’s easier to imagine being in their shoes.

“Some people tell themselves that they’re different, because they prefer solitude and avoid crowds, but most people dislike socializing. Even among those who thrive in company, many would rather be left alone, given the choice.

“Others tell themselves that they are sensitive, unusually moved by things and people, and always need to pour out their feelings or keep records, as if they were born to write. Yet most people in their thirties who haven’t accomplished much are able to convince themselves that they are writers at heart.

“Often, the more that one strives to be extraordinary, the more ordinary they are inside, and that means that their thinking becomes simple to trace back. Also, the moment that someone steps beyond the limits of ordinary life and starts killing for pleasure, they stop being a person altogether. They become a beast, and how many beasts are truly cunning?” Karon said everything at once before taking a long drink of tea.

Tiz seemed to consider it, and then murmured, “A novel theory.”

“So all those amazing villains in novels and movies, I suppose they don’t exist?” Aunt Mary asked.

“There are always exceptions, Aunt, but for fiction, the villains are usually written in such a manner just to keep things tense,” Karon explained, half-rising to top off Tiz’s tea. “Anyone with true wisdom would understand how to restrain themselves.”

Aunt Mary patted her chest. “Yes. Certainly, there must be more clever people among the good than among the wicked.”

The telephone rang, and she went to answer. “Yes, yes, I see. Mhmm.”

As she hung up, a quiet smile bloomed on her face, though she tried to suppress it in her father-in-law’s presence. Her happiness could not be hidden. She was left frozen between joy and composure.

“Father,” she announced. “Mason just called from the hospital. The wounded man he took in didn’t survive, and his family has agreed to let us handle the funeral. Mason and the others will bring the body back tonight.”

“So late?”

“They’re waiting for the other family to arrive; the family of the other deceased man, the one whose skull was half cut away. The hospital called his wife after midnight, but she insisted her husband was away on business in Veyn. Mason decided to wait and see if we could win that case as well.”

When someone dies, the minds of those left behind often fall silent and numb, as if suspended on strings. Thought recedes, replaced by a mechanical urgency to complete the final rites as quickly as possible. Whichever funeral home makes the first call would almost certainly secure the family’s business.

Tiz nodded. “Alright, begin your preparations.”

“Yes, Father.”

Aunt Mary descended to the basement to make ready for their “guests.”

Karon lingered, observing Tiz, who was still seated on the sofa, uncertain if he should leave.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Tiz asked. “After seeing that.”

“Not really,” Karon answered softly. “I’ve grown used to it.”

Tiz studied him for a quiet moment. “It seems you want to say something more?”

“No, Grandpa. There’s nothing I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Oh.” Tiz rose to his feet. “I’m going back to my study.”

“Alright, Grandpa.” Karon stood and watched as Tiz climbed the stairs, vanishing to the next floor. Only after his grandfather was gone did Karon sink back into the sofa. He badly wanted to ask about the demonkin, and about the man and woman from the taxi. However, after a moment, he understood that it was not the right time.

Some veils, no matter how thin and nearly transparent, were not meant to be torn away. Their purpose lay in preserving that boundary. Karon feared that if he pushed for answers, Tiz might really take the time to explain demonkin, laying bare the hidden world and dissecting the lurking organizations and their shadowy authority. Then, once all was explained, he might sigh, stand, and say, “Now that nothing remains hidden, I will not deceive myself any longer. Demonkin, prepare to die.”

Karon had always excelled at reading people’s intentions. He had no wish to let his own curiosity prod at the fragile veil that was restraining Tiz’s urge to kill him. There was far more danger in stirring that impulse than there ever had been throughout their past dealings. There was more danger, even, than in his ill-fated visit to chat with Mr. Mossan in the basement.

There was a difference between facing danger and courting death, and Karon understood it all too well.

A soft meow broke the silence. Looking down, Karon saw Pu’er curled by the sofa in dispirited silence. For days, the cat had seemed listless, almost unwell.

Karon reached down and picked it up. The cat made no move to resist, its usual pride gone, replaced by a quiet, hopeless resignation. Pu’er’s expressions had always been vivid and alive, yet they were now dull.

A whimper sounded from the corner near the living room door. The golden retriever rested its chin on the tiles, gazing longingly at Karon. Mr. Hoffen was still in the hospital, which was why his dog remained temporarily housed with the Immers family. Unfortunately, the adults and children there took little interest in pets, being neither hostile nor affectionate. Only Karon took the dog out daily for brief walks through the neighborhood.

He nodded to the retriever, which immediately scrambled up, tail wagging and tongue lolling as it nudged its head against Karon’s palm.

Cat on his lap, dog by his side, and a pot of fragrant tea on the table, in a quiet, spacious house, Karon was struck by the sudden thought that this life, for all its strangeness, was not so bad after all. He could not shape the world’s reality, but reality at least had granted him the ability to choose his own way to rest. My ability.

Karon abruptly sat up, jolting Pu’er, who looked up at him. The retriever, bereft of his touch, quickly nudged his hand.

Jeff’s dream. Mossan’s weeping. Did Karon have the ability to provoke a response from the victim left beneath the ballroom’s stage as well? If the dead could speak, the murderer would be exposed in an instant.

It was said that forensic scientists could make the dead “talk,” but if the dead could literally speak, it would be every killer’s ultimate nightmare.

But... Karon glanced back down at the scar on his left palm. He had lost count of how many times he’d checked it throughout the day. Even setting aside that he didn’t understand his “ability,” even if he did possess it, would it be wise to use it to help the police catch the culprit?

Police station. Report. Accident, not demonkin.

Madness. A hollow laugh slipped out.

“Karon.”

“Aunt?”

Aunt Mary reappeared from the basement, a box cradled in her hands, though her gaze lingered on the stairs.

“What’s this?” Karon accepted the offered box and lifted the lid. Inside was a wristwatch, a Monroe. While not an extravagant brand, it was far from inexpensive. The model was favored by middle managers in those glass towers, and cost about two thousand rupi. “Thank you, Aunt.”

Karon assumed the watch was a gift from Aunt Mary, but she shook her head. “It isn’t from me. Mrs. Hughes sent it, especially for you.”

Mrs. Hughes? She was the owner of the crematorium.

Aunt Mary lowered her voice. “Even though I get along well with Mrs. Hughes...”

He had noticed that much already. Mrs. Hughes had teased Uncle Mason in front of everyone, putting on a show of warning her friend about her husband’s wandering habits.

“I need you to be careful. Mrs. Hughes can be amorous. Don’t get too close, alright?” She and Mason had always been worried that Karon, young and full of heat, might fall for Mrs. Hughes with little more than an invitation. For Mrs. Hughes, it might be nothing more than a distraction from loneliness, but for a boy, it could well be something completely different. At fifteen, temptation could slip through any wall, and hardly any boy could resist the allure of an older woman.

Aunt Mary was willing to speak ill of a friend for her nephew’s sake, but Karon had arrived home at the same time as Tiz, and she hadn’t dared to bring the watch out in front of the old man.

“I understand, Aunt.” Karon believed that Mrs. Hughes saw him as nothing more than another target. “Should I ask you to return the watch for me, then?”

“There’s no need for that. Keep it, so long as you understand. I’ll handle the return gift. Consider it a present between us friends. Still, you should at least call and say thank you, just to be polite.”

“All right, Aunt.”

“Her number’s in the phone book.”

“Got it.” Karon picked up the receiver and thumbed through the directory by the phone. The number for Hughes Crematorium came up quickly, as it was near the front.

He dialed. The line rang for a long time with no answer. Perhaps she’s busy.

He hung up, dialed again. This time, someone picked up right away. Karon lowered his voice, adopting a practiced, professional tone, “Hello, is this Hughes Crematorium?”

He heard movement on the other end, but no reply.

“Hello?” he tried again.

“You’re interrupting my artistic creation.”