Chapter 60

The lead officer rapped sharply on the window, voice taut with caution. "Everyone out of the vehicle! Cooperate with the investigation!"

Baron glimpsed the reflection in his side mirrors—officers crouched beside the doors—and heard the faint click of magazines sliding home from inside the taxi's boot.

A heartbeat passed.

Baron seized Rankow by the collar, hurled him into the passenger seat, vaulted behind the wheel, and floored the accelerator. The car screeched away from the crime scene. To keep Rankow from bolting, Baron steered one-handed while pressing the muzzle of a revolver to the wizard's skull. Only when the sirens had faded to nothing did he brake, drag Rankow out, and drop into the sewers.

"Feels like coming home," Baron muttered after replacing the manhole cover.

He tossed the still-dazed Rankow—dumb ever since the wand had snapped—onto the damp stone and slapped him awake. Fisting the man's collar, Baron snarled, "Stop staring! Tell me why you framed me—why you chose me!"

When Rankow stayed vacant, the Dragon-Knight simply snapped one of the wizard's fingers as cleanly as breaking a twig. Pain snapped Rankow back to his senses. Cold sweat beaded; his lip curled in a sneer. "Useless. I won't speak... even if I did, you wouldn't understand."

How can I understand if you won't talk? Stop speaking in riddles.

Crack—another finger.

Rankow hissed, but the mocking smile returned. "Mr. Constantine, don't waste your strength. Do you honestly think you're the only one who's considered this? I'm bound by contract. The moment I speak, they'll know."

He cradled his ruined hand. "When that happens, those monsters will hunt us down. Our fate will be no kinder than what the Inquisition has in store."

Baron glanced past Rankow's shoulder. "True or false?"

Rankow blinked. From the shadows behind the Dragon-Knight emerged a golden-furred baboon in a tailored suit—almost human, headphones dangling from a small box clipped to one ear.

Jack nodded. "He's telling the truth. The Truth Detector didn't flash."

Rankow understood: Baron had come prepared, armed even with a relic that could sniff out lies. He gave a wheezy laugh, the sound of an old bellows.

Baron studied Rankow, thumb brushing his chin. "If those things are off-limits, surely there's something you can say."

He pressed the revolver to Rankow's palm. "Speak. Tell me what you can: the blood rituals, the people you murdered—why you did it."

Silence.

Baron didn't hesitate. The gun roared; a hole bloomed in Rankow's hand. The Bloodsucker went white, sweat pouring, teeth nearly splitting his lip.

Jack sighed. "L, that's a bit brutal. Let me."

He pulled a photograph from his coat, took Baron's revolver, and pressed the muzzle against the image.

"Eleanor Morgwin. You used other people's blood to keep this family of three tethered to the world. If L kills her... well, what's one more sin among brothers?"

He shrugged at Baron, then spun back to Rankow, voice hard. "Still not talking? My brother here's a wanted man—he won't mind adding a few Outside corpses to the tally."

He really had killed before.

Baron thought of the nun, of Baron Cambera, and decided Jack wasn't bluffing.

"Then kill me," Rankow said flatly.

He didn't believe Jack—couldn't trust any Westminster agent.

"Ah, well."

Baron watched Jack's face crease in mock disappointment. Just as Baron stepped forward to take over, Jack whirled into the shadows, grunting as he hauled out four unconscious bodies.

Baron recognized them at once: Mrs. Eleanor, her grandparents, and the girl whose face Carmen had once "borrowed."

Four people—no more, no less—all in deep sleep.

For the first time since Baron had mentioned the dragon-eaters, Rankow's composure cracked.

"Speak now," Jack ordered, casually returning the revolver to Baron's hand. "My brother's a desperado—he'll add four fresh Outside souls to his list without blinking."

Baron ...

Technically true, yet he felt like some fool about to take the fall.

Rankow, however, showed no fresh panic even as blood dripped from his mangled hand. He exhaled a long, weary sigh.

"You know Swedenborg—of Spirit Sight? In the Inside he founded the soul discipline of wizardry, dividing the human soul into the spirit of consciousness and the vessel called the soul..."

"My research—and Master Baggin's—falls within that branch. We named it Twinborn: one body, two souls; one soul, twin spirits... or one spirit, twin souls."

Baron's heart lurched. One spirit, two souls... sounded far too close to his own condition.

Before he could ask, Rankow launched into his past work on Twinborn and the inspiration drawn from high-tier vampires who could "rebirth from a drop of blood."

From the torrent of words Baron gathered that everything Rankow had done was for his family; that the dragon-eaters had merely been collaborators; that Anthony's death had been none of his doing.

When Rankow finished, Jack glanced at the unconscious girl and her grandparents. "So you murdered all those people just to steal their souls and keep your family tethered?"

Rankow said nothing; the silence itself was answer enough.

Jack sighed. "I'm sorry about the accident that took your wife and child, but slaughtering others robbed still more people of their happiness—"

"Even if every person I killed was related to criminals?" Rankow cut in. "All of them profited, knowing full well what those criminals did."

"Criminals..." Jack faltered, looking to Baron.

Baron raised the revolver and shot Rankow's other hand. The wizard's eyes bulged in disbelief.

"A criminal's death is none of my concern," Baron said flatly, pressing the muzzle under Rankow's chin. "But I'm the scapegoat you chose. Talk."

He had already decided that if the dragon-eaters came, so be it. Plenty of people wanted him dead; one more faction hardly mattered. Besides, the dragon-eaters were Lawbreakers—once Baron unleashed Dragonfire, the Inquisition would swoop in, and who died first would be anyone's guess.

The wizard met the Dragon-Knight's gaze, then turned away.

"I'll tell you everything I know about the dragon-eaters—on one condition. Let me witness my family's spirits ascend."

"Ascend?" Baron frowned.

"Soul is what anchors spirit. Without it, spirit drifts free—either to dissipate or rise into the boundless Spirit Realm."

"The Spirit Realm?" Jack scoffed. "I thought that was just some alchemist's fairy-tale dimension. You're saying it's real?"

"I don't know," Rankow replied. "As little as I know whether the spirits of those I killed rise, fall, or simply vanish."

"So basically," Jack said, "you know nothing—just that you're using stolen blood to keep your family shambling around for two extra months. All that fancy talk... Professor, I expected better from a Lancelot hire. No wonder alchemists banned 'one spirit, two souls'—it's charlatan nonsense."

Baron saw the veins throb at Rankow's temple; clearly Jack's words stung more than the pain.

Yet, battered by agony and rage, Rankow's expression smoothed. He looked Baron in the eye. "I believe Mr. Constantine understands Twinborn better than most."

Baron's brow furrowed.

"After all, the feeling of split personalities is much like one soul housing two spirits. Am I wrong, Mr. Constantine... or should I say, the other one inside you?"

Baron's heart dropped like a stone.