«I'll just have to ask him, directly.» River said, passing through the traffic on his bike, with Banshee sitting in front of him. River had exited the house much darker than he entered.

«Did you find something?» she asked. He frowned.

«No. Not exactly. I mean, let's be clear, I know he's into some shady stuff, even if I don't know exactly what he's doing, and by the way, I wouldn't tell you if I did: his things are his things.» he said, harsher than usual, but Banshee didn't reply and let him go on. «But his house had just a smidge of too much German in it, and even if he is rich and we know, I mean we saw his car and everything, this could be Councilor rich. Because we know this is not his only house.»

«It's not?»

«Nope. Perch Street? The place you bombed was under his city house. He had at least one another, but there we never went. A castle, I think, too.»

«This is serious money.»

«So, all right, we didn't find any proof that he could be linked to the werepeople, but if he is a Councilor using my Coven for something, I want to know. And if he's a Councilor who's plotting something with the werepeople, I want to know too.»

«And how do you plan to make him confess?» she asked, with a line of worry in her voice.

«Oh, I have my methods. I've been an Enforcer since I was twenty-one Banshee, don't worry. This is one of the things we train for.» he smiled sideways. «Mages always lie.»

«Please, if you need help just ask.» she begged of him, jumping down from the bike when they got in front of her building.

He just winked to her and disappeared again into the traffic. Banshee shook her head and climbed the stairs up to the apartment.

She entered her home to find herself in front of a very unusual picture.

On the kitchen table, and in the whole room, there was a heap of components, open books, floating pages, and parchment sheets. Chico was reading through something, while Vopros was handling some ingredients inside a very large bowl. In the middle of it all, Garaham was pacing around the room, checking symbols written on the wall and on the floor.

«Oh! You're back!» Chico raised his head from the book. «Tell me you found a written confession and a photo of Jägermann shaking hands with the werepeople's clan leader or stuff.»

«Nay. We found shit.» she denied, walking carefully into the room. She looked at the symbols, trying and recognize at least some of them. It looked way more complicated than any other ritual they had ever tried to make. «Oh, apart from the creepy half-alive corpse in the basement with the blue butterflies.»

Now that she got their attention, she launched in a precise report of the whole operation, down to every detail of the creepy cellar she had found. Chico's eyes emitted a dangerous gleam when he heard about it all and was more than eager to receive the photos of the sheets that Banshee passed him.

«I've never known Jägermann was into necromancy, not this far anyway. Raising the dead is not that difficult, but what you're describing goes way beyond. I've never heard of something like that.»

«Ah! He's into some serious old-timey shit. There was a book in Latin, there.»

«Banshee, I know that you enter a library only when you miss the door for the bathroom, but hundreds of magic books are in Latin.» Garaham scoffed.

«Aye, but this was under a glass case, so maybe it was the one from where all that shit came?» she offered.

«And what was the title? The Liber Mortis? The De Morte Arcana?»

«Nay nay...» she raked her brain. «It was from a German author, obviously like everything in that house... The Libro Merit Vite by, uh, Ildebrand Von Bergen?»

It was Chico who raised his head. Paling. He looked up slowly from the screen of his smartphone and pointed his gaze on Banshee as if she had just sworn in front of a priest.

«You mean the De Liber Vitae Meritorum by Hildegarda von Bingen?»

«That's the one!» Banshee snapped her fingers, happily. Then she realized that Chico and Garaham looked like they were circling the drain. «What?»

«You are mistaken, woman, you can't even read words now! Academy my buttocks, we're sending you back to elementary school!» Garaham snapped, dismissing her and starting to look at the symbols again.

«The Hildegarda is a priceless artifact,» Chico explained, as he always did, to a puzzled Banshee and Vopros. «There were at least four Divisions fighting for its custody years ago, and so Algernon Leshrac decided that he, being the Appointed Judge of the Order, would have kept it safe until they reached a decision. They haven't since, so the book is still somewhere at Castle Leshrac. There is no way in hell that anyone, ever good old Jägermann, could have stolen it.»

«Still... Jägermann was one of the Councillors who claimed that the Hildegarda belonged in their custody.» Garaham turned his head from the symbols, deep in thought. Then, he shook his head again. «This is nonsense. You don't steal from Castle Leshrac. Plus, if the Hildegarda was there, you couldn't have scried that room if your life depended on it. It literally emanates an anty-scry field that doesn't even Reyansh could pierce.»

«We scried room before trial. Never after.» Vopros said, with simple words as heavy as stone.

It was probably the first time in history when throwing a stone at a puzzle actually put it all back together. Little piece by little piece.

«The trial.» Banshee's eyes gleamed. «Algernon Leshrac had to leave his castle to come to the trial.»

«Justin disappeared when the trial started, and Algernon's will was sent to Oneiron. The farthest place ever from his Castle.» Garaham could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

«And the trial was something so childish and crazy, how could Algernon imagine this was a way to lure him away to steal the Hildegarda? Nobody has been talking about it for years. Since they closed the Pandora's Box Research department after...»

«... the Ebyakh incident.» Vopros's voice was as dark as the mixture he had just finished concocting.

«It all fits. It all fits so perfectly.» Banshee whispered. «Justin threw a bait to the Council to have someone, anyone, giving him the excuse to call a trial. So, Algernon Leshrac would leave his castle, and he would have all the time in the world, pun intended, to go and look for the Hildegarda. Which of course would be guarded and stuff, but since nobody expected him to go after it... nobody would have checked if it was still there, after.»

«And if someone had discovered a D'Yves intrusion in a Leshrac stronghold we'd heard about it, no doubt.» Garaham nodded. «So, it all went flawlessly. Which leaves us to Staccato and friends, though. Why the book is in his cellar, and not in Justin's hands?»

«Plausible deniability: if Algernon Leshrac discovers the theft, they raid the D'Yves and find nothing.» Banshee answered, this time without even thinking about it. «Plus, from what you say, probably it was Jägermann all along. He wanted his booky back, so he asked, or paid I don't know, Justin for the heist, knowing that since he and Algernon have it for each other, he would probably just said yes for the kicks.»

«So, the trial and all that... we've just been the wrong people in the wrong place at the wrong time?» Chico asked.

«It appears so.» Garaham sighed. «Very well. That, even more, justifies our claim to a swift revenge. Having our lives upturned just because Justin or Jägermann wanted to retrieve a book is not something I'm willing to let slide.»

«Aye, I reckon yer planning something here.» Banshee said, joining Chico on the couch.

«We were preparing the necessary things for the plan. It's not complicated but it will need full cooperation between all of us.» Garaham said.

It was just for one second. They were all there, in the Pollos' living room, completely upturned to make space for the magical things they had needed. In the center of the room, explaining his plan, Garaham felt strange. The usual frustration he felt in dealing with his underlings had subsided, albeit not completely disappeared, behind a strange screen he had never raised up before.

Probably, he thought, it was because that would have been the last time ever they would have planned something together. His transfer request was being processed, and it would have been carried out days after the concert. He was probably feeling that strange sensation that made even the worst things look good when you know you're about to lose them forever.