Theirs was a city of whispers.

From every corner of every street, from the sooty Iron rooftops to the flecks of blood that speckled the pavement, secrets filled up the empty spaces where the light didn’t reach. They were hidden in the gates that separated the three districts. They flew along the smog-choked air until they were belched out into the glittering golden sea.

Colton sat astride one of the sun-bleached walls of the Iron District—the only place in the whole damn quarter where he could see the ocean. The sun was setting, and a brilliant red glow was reflecting off the towering spires in the Ivory District like bloody, eager claws. He draped one leg lazily over the edge as he pulled out his hip flask, clicking his tongue when he found it empty.

It had just been one of those suboptimal days. The type that began at three in the afternoon and culminated at sunset with

nothing accomplished. That was the problem with Iron folk, he supposed, up to their eyeballs in “hauntings” and not a copper between them.

“Exorcist.”

The pigmonger’s voice. Colton narrowed his eyes and pulled down his hood, peering at the man with wary curiosity.

“I got a job for you.”

“And what seems to be the trouble, Mr. Paice?” Colton asked, rearranging his features to appear empathetic. The man had one of the more profitable pork processing units in the nation, and if he was being haunted, that spelled a pleasant end to an otherwise unrewarding evening.

The butcher explained that, for the last several nights, his neighbors had been awakened by screams. “Horrible stuff! Like a child being tortured! And I come in in the morning, and the place is a mess, carcasses everywhere, teeth marks in the meat—I can barely sell them like this!”

Pity.

“So will you help me or not?”

They agreed on a price, and Colton followed Paice to his malevolent presence. It was probably nothing, since it was always nothing, but a coin was a coin. The smell of iron death lingered in the air as they approached, and Colton clicked his tongue at the way the mud on his boots was getting redder and redder the closer they got. Pain in the ass to clean, but whatever. The slaughterhouse loomed, all sheet metal and barbed wire, blaring signs of warning to keep trespassers out. The unwelcoming entry had its intended effect, and gave Colton pause for one moment at the gates.

“Go on, then! Get the demon!”

Colton’s specialty. Nondescript demons up the damned wazoo. The exorcist found himself being roughly shoved through the doors, and sighed as he heard the deadbolt click behind him. Well. At least he wouldn’t be disturbed.

Colton had been doing this for as long as he could remember, initially as his mother’s apprentice, and then as a solo demon denouncer after she had passed away. The jobs in the Iron District weren’t especially profitable or interesting, but these people had very strong fears and beliefs, which kept him nice and busy. The Holy Order didn’t really keep tabs on Iron exorcists, and his “authentic exorcist heritage” would have protected him if it did. It was easy money, and he was way cheaper than hiring out the priests or the sect leaders who technically specialized in this sort of matter. Colton was more than happy to take on the normal, everyday sorts of requests one might make of an exorcist—unsettled spirit, demon in the bathroom, succubus after a husband, whatever. In fact, Colton had become something of an expert in the field of ridding Silvermoorian minds of worry. Sprinkle a little salt, mutter an incantation, maybe doodle some chalk on the floor if he was feeling flamboyant, and, voilà! Spirit vanquished, happy customer, the sun rises again in the morning.

Okay. A job in a slaughterhouse. Don’t see those every day.

Colton pulled his cloak up over his nose and started to explore. The place was clean by Iron District standards, meaning that it was possible not to step in feces, and that the vast majority of the entrails and eyes were in the respective entrails and eyes bins. There were droplets of blood on the floor, which he followed until he found a toothy hole in the wall. He kicked it and was screamed at in reply.

Now, if Mr. Paice had been watching, he would have put on more of a show—he would have pulled his hook up to cast a shadow over his eyes, he would have lowered his voice, wiggled his fingers, and shouted, “Spirit! Show yourself!” If he was feeling fancy, he might have wafted some special incense or rung some bells. But he was alone, so he crouched down and poked his head in.

“Well? Come out, then.”

The intruder merely grunted in reply, and Colton pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dammit.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a dry nutrient block. “This was supposed to be my lunch, you know.”

He crumpled it up and laid some at the entrance of the hole, perched on his ankles as he waited. It didn’t take long for the culprit to emerge, a little spotted pig who had presumably escaped a rather gruesome fate. It snuffled into the food, its round nose wiggling as it discerned the quality before inhaling it in one swift breath. Colton sighed and reached a hand out to pat its head.

“Oh, no. What a horrifying demon. C’mon, then, let’s get you back to Mr. Paice.”

The pig snorted in disapproval, and the exorcist ran a hand over his face.

Ugh. Didn’t need this today.

Colton emerged sometime later alone, his hands and face streaked with blood.

“Did you do it?” Paice whispered. “Did you get rid of the spirit?”

Colton smiled, a lock of ebony hair falling in front of his eyes. “You have nothing to worry about, sir. You may resume your business without fear of a demon causing you strife. Now, about my fee . . .”

The gold jingled pleasantly in his pocket, but Colton was still a bit sour about the loss of his ration biscuit. He waited for Paice to leave before doubling back behind the factory, extracting the oinker from the crate he’d hidden it behind.

“You’re going to have to figure out how to pay me back for that, pig,” he said, tying a loose bit of string around its neck. “Fuck. What am I supposed to do with you?”

He made his way down to The Raven and secured the thing outside, hoping that maybe someone would steal the stupid creature. The bar was packed as ever, the air warm and sweet as young people danced and drank and fought. A typical Iron establishment: a rustic, musty charm, with brown stains on every chair and table. Colton took his usual seat in the corner and ordered one beer, then another, until his pockets were empty and the world seemed like a much more beautiful place than it had an hour ago.

Everyone knew him here, and they trusted him for the most part. It was one of his best tricks, actually, to sit back in his seat, act casual, and wait for one of the drunker patrons to try and make use of his services. After all, buying bogus peace of mind was an easier sell to the inebriated. 

The foam of his beer fizzed against his upper lip as his first regular customer approached him, clasping at his shirtsleeve.

“Colt! You gotta—you gotta help me—” Abby held her mouth like she was about to empty her stomach, and Colton casually tried to inch away from her.

“C’mon, Abby, it’s been a long day.” He wrenched his shirt free from her grip.

“Coltonnnn!” She grabbed for him once again. “You’re the only one I trust for this!”

He shut his eyes and let out a long breath through his nose before giving her his undivided attention. The price of success, such as it was. “So what’s the problem?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m possessed, Colton! My husband, he—won’t touch me no more! He says I got the devil in me!”

Of course.

Her histrionics were attracting the attention of other patrons, which in theory was good for business but did increase the pressure just a smidgen. Colton forced a smile. “My, my, a demonic possession is quite a serious thing,” he cautioned. “We’d best get this sorted soon. We have no time to waste.”

Dressed all in black, with the slaughterhouse blood still caked on his face, Colton was sure he looked like one of the legendary old priests who had allegedly cleansed the earth of monsters and wicked beasties before the gates had been built. He raised a hand in front of her face, shutting his eyes as the metal bangles on his wrists clacked together in melodic urgency.

“I sense it.” Well, he could sense there were at least another two drinks’ worth of coins in her pocket. “This is serious, Abby, the demon is—it’s furious. It could kill you if we’re not careful.”

A crowd formed around them, but Colton kept his attention solely on his sweet, possessed little princess, like she was the dearest thing in the world to him. “Everyone stand aside—I must bless the ground and prepare myself.”

He went to his satchel and poked around in it, with as much reverence and dignity as any man could have while fumbling through a disorganized pouch of ramshackle exorcism equipment. With a crowd like this he was going to need a little extra help . . . Ah.

He lit some Blue Grass incense, which purportedly cleansed the air and prepared the mind, but also serendipitously caused hallucinations and lowered inhibitions. Next, he took a vial of Snow and poured a generous pile into his hand. He lifted his palm up toward Abby’s face and blew it at her, causing her to sneeze and sputter. A bit of a waste, maybe, but he wanted Abby to be more excitable, otherwise the whole thing wouldn’t work.

It wasn’t often he got to perform such a public exorcism—these were normally “behind closed doors” sorts of jobs. Might as well make the best of the attention.

Lastly, he sprinkled some salt and garlic and various other condiments in a circle on the ground and positioned Abby in the center.

“Okay. Shut your eyes, Abigail. Let me in.” He touched their foreheads together, squeezed her hands as tight as he could. “I feel it,” he confirmed, trying to keep her calm. “The demon inside you, it is a vicious thing—don’t worry, it can’t hurt you while I am in battle with it.” Or something. “Repeat after me: Begone, wicked demon! Begone from my mind, my heart, and my body! Begone, and let me and my family be in peace!”

Abby did as she was told, frightened tears pouring down her cheeks. “Colton—Colton, I feel it! I FEEL IT. IT’S A SNAKE, A SNAKE INSIDE ME, I—HELP ME!”

Hoo boy. Then again, it was always a slightly easier sell when his clients had an idea of the precise nature of the monster.

“Shh . . . shhh, Abigail, I’ve got you, I promise.” He kicked his heel on the ground with a satisfying, resounding clunk. “Begone, foul beast! My powers compel you, BEGONE!” He cracked his forehead against Abby’s, and he caught her as she went to her knees. There was a small red mark on her skin, and Colton quirked a smile.

She’ll be fine.

She blinked and looked at him, tears pooling in her red-rimmed eyes. “Is it over?”

“Can’t you feel it, Abigail? You’re free. It’s the lightest thing in the world, right?”

She considered for a moment, then clutched him, sobbing against his shoulder. “Colton—thank you, thank you!”

He patted her back and hid his horror as her tears and snot started soaking through the thick fabric of his cloak. “Of course. Now, about my fee . . .”

The onlookers tossed coins at him, falling about his feet like glimmering leaves in a storm. Beautiful. Colton couldn’t look too happy about the money—after all, the principle tenet of exorcism was empathy, or the semblance of it. Oh, screw it, he’d freed a young woman from a snake demon, right? He grinned as the gold sank into his pockets. This’d be enough to keep him going for a week!

Colton ordered another beer or three and ambled his way out of the pub once his head had begun to spin. He blinked under the lamplight, cursing as he spotted that bloody pig still waiting for him, plopped down in a puddle in the road. “Seriously?” He knelt down to untie the leash. What kind of world was this, where no one wanted a free pig in the middle of the night?

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Colton’s face shot up, alarmed at the sudden intrusion. Before him was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his entire life. Dressed impeccably in a tailored white suit, with glimmering golden hair and dazzling blue eyes, he had the face of an angel and carried himself with confidence and grace and nobility.

“Good evening. I saw the . . . exorcism you did in there,” the man said pleasantly, keeping his hand on Colton’s shoulder. “Quite clever, isn’t it? The Grass, the Snow . . . did I detect a hint of Night Mare as well? A perfect concoction for suggestibility and fear, mmm?”

Colton’s eyes widened. Was this guy a cop?

The man smiled a pretty, somehow predatory smile. “Ah, how rude of me, I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Lucian Beaumont, of the Silvermoorian Beaumonts.”

He—Lord Beaumont didn’t need to explain further. The Beaumonts were one of the richest families in all of Silvermoor. Damn, he’d been exposed as a fraud by a fucking Beaumont. He was going to prison, five years minimum, there was no two ways about it. Maybe he could kick him in the balls and run for it? But the Lord had seen his face, knew his name, probably—fuck, this was bad.

Lord Beaumont gripped him tighter. “Now, now, I don’t want any trouble. I have something of a business proposition for you, actually. I was wondering if you might accompany me to The Partridge so we might discuss it further? My treat, of course. You can bring your friend along if you wish.” The Lord winked at the pig and helped Colton to his feet.

Like he had a damn choice. Go with Beaumont or get turned in to the guard. Colton followed the young Lord up toward the Ivory District, his heels clacking neatly against the cobblestones as he walked. He wondered if he should run, yet there was just something about the Lord’s smile, his manner, the invitation itself . . .

Colton was intrigued. It wasn’t every day that some cloak-and-dagger Iron exorcist was invited up to the Ivory District with one of the richest men in the world. A chance, maybe, to get out of this miserable pit.

Fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen?