The corpse of the Persuadå had to be lugged off in a wheelbarrow.
The many, rotting parts.
It was the arm of a bear. Forelimb of a chimpanzee. Eyes of a cobra. Jaw of an octopus' face. A croc's tail. Jellyfish stingers running in torso like entrails.
All the horror merged into one, now forsaken as it was carted away to the pyre. There was no burial for the monster—and the school Headmistress wouldn't even let the fish have at it.
"Too vile a creature," she said. "The sharks would be better off starved." In the aftermath of the tragedy, the badminton court was sealed off for the rest of the week in yellow tape. Werewolf trackers and monster detectives were brought in to trace the path of the creature, back to its master.
—If they had any idea it was a mistress.
Israfel woke up sometime during noon the next day. Corazón was still soft and warm under him, cradled into his chest. He had only ever cuddled with two other women: his auntie—because her titties were some fine pillows, and Ravenna. He could tell she was awake, but numb. And so, as he gently pulled off the bed, he took her with him.
He kept her glued to his body the entire time, as he started warm water and ran the tub.
He magicked off their clothes and stepped into the porcelain bowl with her. Rafel settled her into his lap and let the water ease the blood from their flesh. It had dried into their skin but the steaming in the bathtub slowly softened and washed the red away. His eyes were closed. Her head on his chest. He listened to her breathe.
She had stopped crying sometime during the night. She was strong.
Superwoman strong.
Rafel started a slow hum he knew by heart. He had no idea where he heard it from—either his [Cow Succubi] wet nurses or the gypsies nomads that had camped in his estate at Emberfall one winter. Still, he sang. His voice was strong and sure; a herald's song, and Cora loved him more. He was in the third stanza when Peitho's voice rang him up.
[DING!]
[I'm deeply sorry to interrupt your bathing ritual, Lord Apollyon. But I have good news:
I conducted a postmortem—an arcane autopsy if you will on the remains of the Persuada creature before the undertakers arrived yesterday and it met the fire. It turned out well. I found a bloodmark underneath a finger nail—hidden well. The mark is the ladybird and cross banner of Avila D'aqua.]
Rafel pressed a wet towel to Cora's forehead.
"Avila? Yes. The Highfather had mentioned a certain mysterious Countess on the school board, who made his crucifix burn and whatnot. Hmm," his hand trailed to Cora's neck, "...earlier, she had also cast a watcher's spell on my dorm room, spying through a séance ball. The Countess again? It was she who sent the Persuada, was it?"
[Yes, Lord Apollyon. My calculations are 99.3 percent accurate. And I have also currently accessed that she is staying at the Grand Tourniquet Inn off the streets of Buckley—]
"What is her name?" Rafel interrupted.
[SYSTEM is currently accessing all records of royalty in the kingdom, across the isles of the Cold Sea and capital of Titans Landing...]
[DING!]
[Information verified for HOST!]
"I'm sorry, Cora." The girl's head didn't leave Rafel's chest. Rosa met his worried eyes. "Grief's a bitch. It sucks the soul like a stubborn billy goat." To Rafel's ears only, she added, "give her some time. Imagine how WE felt when you thought you lost her. There was nothing we could do.
It wasn't our fault. We knew this. But it still hurt like hell."
Rosa collected the loofah from Rafel's hand and squeezed on Cora's shoulder. She proceeded to scrub off the remnant blood from her pale skin.
Her own caramel complexion was a lovely addition.
"How long were you standing there?" Rafel asked.
Rosa replied, "long enough to hear all about this Countess cunt. And know that we need to kill her."
Rafel did a doubletake.
Rosa didn't fuck around.
He really did like his women.
After about another hour soaking in the tub and ten more minutes under the streaming rain of a hot shower, Rafel finally wrapped Cora in a fresh towel and walked her out of the bathroom. Rosa was waiting by the bed, knives out.
Cora saw their shared look when she dressed in flying leathers and strapped a dagger to her thigh. Rafel's mouth was already opening. "Don't even try," she said, "I'm coming with. You can't order me out of this one. Shit's personal."
Not wasting a smidge of time, Cora made the fingers of her left hand into a [Casting Hollow] and drew circles in the air.
A bright blue portal whooshed to life in front of them.
On the other side was the very expensive, lavish, black gold lobby of the Grand Tourniquet.
"Let's get this bitch!" Cora snarled.
___
"ROOM SERVICE TO ROOM 11!" The clerk at the hotel's front desk called over a mounted transmitter rune. "And there's complaint of a gas leak in Room—" The clerk's voice went out when he saw three furiously dashing people step out a glowing door, right in the center of the hotel lobby.
"Hello? You there?" The person on the other end called. "I AM HUNGRY HERE! I've low blood sugar and—"
"Uh. . . let me get back to you Sir," the clerk offered and smashed the receiver shut.
He stared out as the portal vanished, leaving three mysterious new patrons standing on the vast Florentine marbles. They were a bit like the Viking gods painted into the domed ceiling high above: the Drowned god and the Thunderer, the Maiden and the Warrior; in a sea of colors. Rafel, Cora and Rosa began striding directly for the front desk. Behind the burnished counter, the young man gulped. Hard.
"H-Hello, Sir and uh—ma'ams. Welcome to the Grand Tourniquet. How can I help you?"
Rafel looked amused at the frail clerk's stutter. Cora's face was blank. Rosa slammed on the counter a good chunk of coin. Gold solidi rattled in the purse. Her gray eyes sparked no humor as she said,
"We need a room number."