"Mother. Mother."

Zinobia turned over and pulled the comforter more tightly around her in a desperate attempt to sink back into the oblivion of sleep. There was nothing she hated more than being awoken in the middle of the night. After a day of wrestling demons,every second of sleep was akin to nirvana. She didn't care if the house was on fire; she'd burn.

"Mother!"

She groaned, cracked an eyelid and was nigh blinded by golden light. She burrowed under the duvet with a huff. "Vittoria, I swear, someone had better be dying right now, or I'll kill them myself."

"Not quite," Vittoria said with a yawn. "You have a call from Lord Ashbourne. Urgent. Or so I've been told. Tried as I might, he wouldn't get off the phone."

Zinobia tossed off the covers. Fine. Whoever it was, she'd grant their death wish. In public, she did her best to present a polite, refined front, but she would not tolerate being disrespected like this at whatever godless hour it was.

She pulled on a heavy robe to stave off the cold and breezed down the steps to the living room. Her phone sat on a little table in the entryway, flanked by a cushioned wooden chair. She sat, lest she fall over and put the receiver to her mouth. "Baxter."

"Lady Bloodletter, a thousand apologies for disturbing you at this hour." Roland's voice came rushed and hoarse through the receiver. Even so, a veritable flood of apologies wouldn't quell her irritation.

"I'm at the Councilor's residence," he continued, "and we—" a sharp sound, like glass breaking came through the line, followed by collective screaming and a few muted pops.

Zinobia sighed. "Is it a screamer?"

"Y-yes. And I hate to ask this of you, but... can you assist, please?"

A firm 'no' sat on the tip of her tongue, but if she let a demon run wild, Josiah would never let her hear the end of it. "Subdue them and get them to Serenity Lake. I'll be there momentarily."

"Wait, Lady Bloodletter. It's... it's the Councilor's son and the family would prefer if this remained private. Please. I've sent Crowley to get you. He should be at your residence shortly."

Zinobia didn't even try to hide her groan. They'd have words about this. He couldn't just indiscriminately volunteer her services. She was a doctor, not a maid. And she didn't make house calls. "Very well. Tell them to lock him in the room they care the least about and bar the door. I'll gather my things."

"You are as gracious as you are wise, Lady Bloodletter. I'll see you shortly." His flattery didn't take the edge off her ire, and it took everything within her not to slam the receiver on its cradle.

"Is it a screamer?" Vittoria asked from the steps. Apollo was at her feet, fluffy tail thumping against the rug.

Zinobia nodded. "You should go back to bed, Vittoria. I'll return shortly." She stood and retrieved her bag from near the door, double and triple checked to ensure all her tools were accounted for. Then she went upstairs to get dressed.

She'd gotten more than her fair share of slagging for "dressing like a man," but she'd like to see those who disapproved try to exorcise a demon in a dress and heels. Her work wear was sturdy—trousers of thick but flexible cotton and boots made of leather so sturdy she could probably wade through lava in them. A blouse went over a thermal undershirt, and her only lab coat that wasn't ripped went over it all.

"Be careful," Vittoria called from her room as Zinobia stepped out into the hall.

"Always am." When Zinobia made it back down the steps, she met Josiah lingering in the doorway of the basement. "We have a screamer."

"So I heard." He stepped into her body like an apparition, and a flash of heat surged from her core to her limbs. She'd never grow used to that. How are we going to do this discreetly?

I asked for the screamer to be isolated in a room. We go in alone. She retrieved her bag and checked it one last time. Her tools may not be necessary for the procedure, but they were vital for her facade.

The headlights of Roland's car lit up the front yard. Zinobia threw on a coat and scarf and stepped out into the chilly October night. Her breath fogged in front of her face as she huffed down the path. Residual rain clung to the leaves of the evergreens, and they glistened under the glare of the headlights.

Crowley stood beside the car, hunched against the cold. His face was mostly impassive, but the barest hint of a scowl at the corner of his lips belied his irritation. Still, he put on a smile for her as he opened the door. "Madam."

"Crowley," Zinobia greeted with a nod. She slipped into the back and in short order, they were driving down the garden walk.

Aldemore was less charming and more haunting at this hour. Gone was the welcoming greenery, replaced by oppressive shadows barely beaten back by the street lamps. The trees looked like hunched forms, their leaves gnarled hands reaching out to snatch a late-night straggler by the throat.

Palatial homes sat far back from the road, glowing windows peeking out from behind the boughs of trees and tall hedges. When Zinobia was looking for a home in Aldemore, she'd read some listing for garden walk estates, but what was she to do with so much space for her and Vittoria alone? She'd struck gold with her little Victorian homestead.

In short order, Crawley reached the wrought-iron gates of the Councillor's residence. One side stood open just enough for the car to creep through. He took them down a winding road and around the three-tiered fountain to the main entrance.

The Councilor's residence was a mansion, four stories high, sitting on enough land to build a second Aldemore. Even in the near pitch darkness, Zinobia could make out the grassy knolls, manicured bushes, and flower-lined paths. Under less irritating circumstances, she may have found it charming, if a bit excessive.

Roland was pacing outside said entrance and stopped when they pulled up. He got to her door before Crowley could. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Oh, the pleasure's all mine, Lord Ashbourne," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I don't know who told you I made house calls, but they were sorely mistaken."

"My sincerest apologies," he said, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. "The Councillor is a very good friend, and I know no one else who could help."

Zinobia gave him a withering look and shouldered her bag. "Lead the way."

Instead of going through the front entrance, Roland took her through a side door past the garden that led into a hallway. They hung a right into the north wing and muted screaming reached her ears.

It's a child, Josiah said. Are you sure they'll let you do it alone?

Roland opened a door into a drawing room, where at least ten people were gathered. A man stood near the hearth with a tumbler of amber liquid in one hand and a smoking cigar in the other. Three women sat on a settee nearby. One cried while the other two consoled her. Across from them, on yet another settee, sat a woman whose arm was studded with glass shards and dripping blood. A young boy offered her a towel to sop it up.

Seems as though they're in no shape to help, anyway. Zinobia moved to the bleeding woman first and knelt to inspect her arm. The shards didn't look like they penetrated too deep, but with the amount of blood welling around the glass, she wouldn't be surprised if there was a nicked artery.

"That's going to need stitches," Zinobia said as she straightened.

"I said no hospitals!" the man at the mantle snapped.

Roland cleared his throat. "Nathaniel. This is Doctor—"

"Your bloodletter woman." Nathaniel turned from the hearth and alcohol wafting from him made Zinobia's eyes water. "I know." He cut his oppressive grey gaze from her to Lord Ashbourne. "Roland. I asked for your help because I trusted you to deal with this discreetly. Now you bring this woman," he pointed his cigar at her, "here, prattling on about hospitals. I told you this cannot get out."

"Nathaniel stop!" the crying woman screamed. It was then Zinobia noticed the bruises on her face and arms. "Stop antagonising them. They're the only ones who can help us."

"Constance shut up! This is your fault. I told you to stop letting him wander out on his own." Nathaniel outed his cigar in his fist.

Zinobia had half a mind to walk out of there and go back home to her bed. Between the demon screamer and these human screamers, she was ready to empty a gun into the side of her head. "That's quite enough. I was not dragged out of my bed at this godless hour to be disrespected."

Roland put a hand on her arm. "Lady Bloodletter, I..."

She shook her head and stood squarely in front of the councilman. "First of all. I am not his bloodletter woman. Secondly, you either get that woman to a hospital, or risk her bleeding out and causing an even bigger problem. If you don't want this in the public eye, then take her to Serenity Lake and have Theo treat her off the record." She turned to Constance. "Where is the boy?"

Constance wiped her tears and stood. "Boris, can you take her to Leland, please? Mallory, wake Henry and have him prepare the car to take Sadie to Serenity Lake. Since my husband is clearly too drunk to be of any use." She gave the Councilman a pointed look.

"Right away ma'am." The boy beside Sadie stood and nodded to Zinobia. "This way, please."

Zinobia followed him out into the hall with Lord Ashbourne trailing behind. Stepping out of the drawing room was like stepping into the shade after hours of unbearable heat. She barely had the bandwidth to deal with a screaming patient, much less their screaming family.

"I'm sorry about this," Roland said as he fell into step with her. His hair was tied back at his nape and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. His wrists and knuckles were dappled with fresh bruises.

"Are those the worst of your injuries?" she asked, nodding at his hands.

He promptly tucked them into his pockets. "It's fine. I'm fine. Is this what it's like in the Special Ward?"

"Every day."

Zinobia smelled the demon as soon as they turned down another hall—brimstone and bloodlust. They stopped in front of a door marked storage barred off by an old dresser. The boy's thrashing filtered out into the hall. Something hit the door, and it bowed, brown paint flaking away to litter the ground.

"Will you need assistance?" Roland asked.

She shook her head. "Just get the dresser out of the way. Enough people have been hurt."

"Are you sure? I saw him pick up a coffee table and fling it across the room. I wouldn't want you getting hurt, too." Bless his heart, he sounded genuinely concerned.

"I'm sure." She met his gaze and his worry shot through her like a shock of cold. "I'll be fine, Lord Ashbourne. I do this every day, remember?"

He conceded with a nod and helped Boris push the dresser aside.

Zinobia placed a hand on the nob, felt the demon's magic seeping through the keyhole, hot and heavy as the air on a humid summer day. "Step back, you two." She opened the door and the child immediately threw a two metre tall vase at her head. She had only half a second to react, and took a step back, angling her body away.

The vase sailed by her face, close enough for her to feel the back draft on her cheek and smashed into the wall opposite the door. Roland and Boris jumped back, but she calmly stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.

The demon was hunched over in the corner, chest heaving with laboured breaths. It had run the poor boy's body so ragged that he was shaking like a leaf. Blood stained his face and hands and knicks and tears were all over his clothes. He couldn't be older than seven with his cherubic face and small frame.

Josiah's magic flooded her body. Without Alex and Victor, she'd need all the strength she could get. With how strong the scent of brimstone was in the room, this demon was formidable. It stared at her over the mess of torn up sheets, toppled tables and rolled up rugs.

"That's quite enough," Zinobia said, dropping her bag at her feet. She rubbed her fingers together, forming a tiny lancet with her magic.

Leland hissed and charged at her on all fours, eyes wild and teeth bared. Zinobia balanced her weight onto the balls of her feet and braced. He slammed into her like a freight train, but she caught him around the neck and used the excess momentum to pivot and slam him against a box.

Demons were formidable, but they were often limited by the humans they occupied. And that slam disoriented Leland enough for her to stab her tiny lancet into the palm of his elbow. Blood and magic welled to the surface.

And she pulled. The heat and scent of brimstone made her eyes water and her throat dry up. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed, and held her breath. The demon's death rattle filled her head, so shrill it set her teeth on edge.

Leland's pulse pounded against her palm, and she tightened her grip to staunch the blood flow. The demon pushed back. They always did. But Josiah's magic eclipsed theirs and drained them until they withered. The heat faded, and Leland slumped against her, a sigh puffing from his lips.

Poor child, Josiah said. Any longer and that demon would've killed him.

Indeed. Zinobia laid him out in the only free space and opened her bag. In addition to the incision site, he'd lost two fingernails and had glass in his feet. She meticulously picked out each one. There was nothing she could do about the bruises or the soreness he'd feel in the morning. He reminded her so much of Vittoria—so small and frail, a harsh word might snap him in two.

"Lady Bloodletter," Roland called from outside the room. "Is everything alright in there?"

She took a roll of gauze from her bag. "It's safe to come in."

Lord Ashbourne opened the door and grimaced at the state of the room. "Is he alright? Are you alright?"

"Yes, and yes. I do this every day, remember?" Zinobia wrapped up his feet, then wrapped her dirty tools up before putting them away. "We should get him back to his parents."

"Here, I'll help you." He scooped Leland up in his arms.

There she met Nathaniel slouched in an armchair while his wife paced the floor, wringing her hands. Sadie and the other two women were gone, with only a bloody cloth to indicate they were ever there. But the white-hot tension remained.

Constance stopped the moment Zinobia and Roland stepped into the room, and rushed over. "Oh dear god, Leland. Is he...?"

"He's fine," Zinobia said. "Just worn out. He'll probably sleep through most of tomorrow, but when he wakes up, give him a good, hearty meal and ensure his wounds are cleaned and redressed. Don't be surprised if he's a little weak and shaky for a few days. It usually takes around a week to recover fully, so be patient with him."

"Thank you." She wrapped the boy up in her arms and kissed his forehead. "Thank you so much, Doctor."

Nathaniel cleared his throat. "I don't think I need to reiterate that what happened here need not leave these walls."

Vitriol sat on the tip of Zinobia's tongue, but Roland cast her a look, and she remembered what he said about guarding the secrets of important people. Perhaps the perks of such could be useful to her in the future. Especially if she ever needed to leave this town.

"Of course," she finally said. "Not a word."