Paris and London, The Wages of Sin, Part 1
Normally, I’d be entirely more cross that they’d awakened me unbidden. Given the circumstances, it presented… interesting opportunities.
It seems that Death is mortal now, and Adhara‘s penchant for making a nuisance of herself is catching up with her. Naturally, it wasn’t the sort of call that could’ve ended with me taking possession of a former Death’s now delightfully frail body. Another time. What they brought to me was nearly as valuable. It seems that one of them – the younger girl, Victoria DuLac – has a deep and abiding connection to a place of the blackest witchery, one that her obnoxiously evangelical parents desperately want for themselves.
And they used her brother – their own son! How’s that for fucked? – as bait to bring her back into the fold. The Bo Shrewsbury they brought me wasn’t much of a person anymore, strictly speaking. Had the spirit ripped clean from his body and sent to (I strongly suspect) the cold storage facility overseen by the Pleiades. He never stopped staring towards it, after all, and that’s telltale all on its own. Who knew the Shrewsbury’s had that kind of a connection?
Anyway, Adhara’s gaggle of children were less interested in the whys, the howfors, and the wheres, and rather more interested in what caused their empty Bo to lose his shit and attack them while they were making a daring escape. I obliged, for a reasonable fee, and traced a lingering connection back to an old associate of mine – an absolute pusbag that calls himself ‘Babylon’. Given spectacular magical power, all he does is blackmail British MPs. Such a waste.
I sent them on their way, but not before the boy – Alloy – found the old locket I gave my sister, once upon a time. Back when things were different. I had no particular use for it, and the orichalcum seemed to make him happy, so… seemed a little enough thing. I let him keep it.
With an obvious task at hand, the adorable runaways hit up London, and cornered Babylon in his workplace.
It didn’t turn out as easy as they might’ve expected, but I could’ve told them as much. I did tell them as much, in fact. Children never listen to their fucking elders. They did, eventually, talk him into submission, trading a bit of youth for the surrender of his hold over the empty Bo body. Clinic has an unsavory reputation with the Metahuman Response types, but all I’ve seen suggests she’s working very hard to do what she can with her… unfortunate condition. And what she can do is, certainly, very impressive.
…Babylon. No fucking imagination at all.
Doubt he even realized who it was he was talking to.
Exceprt from Sorceress Sensationale: the Rambling Memoirs of Iseult du Mourne