A Glint of Light

"They haven't given the abduction case to us," Sycamore told Pierrot, who was across from him, deliciously slurping a bowl of noodles.

The restaurant was bustling with customers shouting orders, with workers coming for beer after work and some for dinner. The aroma of beef, frying oil, and alcohol mixed in the air, a homey and familiar scent to its regulars.

"Ma'am!" Pierrot shouted, "Another bowl of the beef broth, please!"

"Are you listening to me?" Sycamore took a big gulp of his beer.

Pierrot paused and looked up at him. "I know."

"You know?"

Another loud slurp from the Malach, and Sycamore was starting to get annoyed.

"I know," Pierrot swallowed, drank some of the broth, and sighed. "Look, abduction cases, with… how many was it?"

"Six abductions. One murdered..."

"Right. And there is footage evidence, and black blood was clear on the scene. Why do you think so? And your Lieutenant knows I know that demon."

Sycamore looked at him, then his eyes searched around, lost in thought, until he came to a conclusion.

"No... They wouldn't have other motives. This is a demon we're talking about."

"Exactly my words."

It would have been silent if not for the last big slurp of noodles from Pierrot. Sycamore stood up.

The detective shook his head. "You're thinking too much into it. Just contact me when you have clues about that demon again."

Pierrot looked at him, eyes relaxed. "Sure." He also stood up. "You know you're paying, right?"

"I didn't eat a damn thing."

"Your beer. And you invited me here," he said, hands on his waist. "And I'm broke."

"You just came from a job."

Pierrot gasped dramatically, "It's to feed my five other kids, you monster."

Sycamore groaned, pulling out his wallet. "Alright, alright."

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A wad of cash slapped one of the tables in Wicked Wings, and Quill, Crescent, and Arc gathered around.

Crescent gasped, "Where did you get this?"

His smug face prompted Quill to frown. "You didn't do something illegal, did you?"

Pierrot flinched. "Define... illegal..."

"Pierrot?!" Crescent was in disbelief.

"No, I'm kidding..." he turned, his voice turning into a mumble, "It was just some cleansing rites..." He sat on one of the long benches and took a small throw pillow.

Quill groaned from his chair, "Ugh, it's that Baksu gig again."

"Baksu gig?" Arc asked.

Quill leaned on the table and reached for the money, and started to count it. "He does some cleansing rites for homes."

"But, isn't that already done with his presence? Our… presence?" Crescent looked back to Pierrot, who just yawned and was ready to sleep.

"Some homeowners want to see some flashy stuff," Quill wet his thumb and continued to count the cash. "So technically… it is a cleansing rite." Quill added, smirking at the money. "Nice, this is good for two months."

"Semi-illegal." Crescent shrugged. "He's not a Baksu."

Pierrot, who was closing his eyes, abruptly sat up. "FYI, I can be. My grandpa was one." He raised a finger to prove his point.

"Sure, sure." Quill stood up and took the money, putting it in his wallet.

After a moment of silence, Pierrot turned to Arc and Crescent. "How was your first case?"

Arc looked down, "I think it went better than I expected."

"Same here, though it was chaotic since a fire started too, and we had to evacuate a lot of people," said Crescent.

"They did great." Quill added, as he sat back in his seat. "But it was a bit unexpected since the demon became active when we arrived."

"Hmm," Pierrot only stared at the three. "That's good, I guess…"

"That it became active? Heck no." Quill frowned. "It was a pain trying to run after it. A chase was the last thing I wanted to participate in."

"And there were civilians too…" Crescent added.

Yet Pierrot only stared at Arc, dazed.

"Pierrot?" Arc called.

"Hey…" Quill searched to meet his gaze.

Then a sudden snore set off and made the three flinch.

Crescent walked closer and studied the man, who was sitting, eyes distant, and snoring.

"What in the wicked wings… Is he sleeping with his eyes open?"

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Roy and Bryan were driving to Blans district, located at the edge of the city, in an almost provincial landscape.

Multiple reports of possession had been made yet none were shown to the media nor reached the Malachim in their active times.

"Don't you think it's strange, Sir?" Bryan, who was driving, asked Roy.

"The what?" Roy continued to look outside the window.

Bryan glanced at him, "That there are possessions but no reports of active ones… or even death reports."

"Who knows."

"Do you think there's something else fishy going on?"

"We'll see."

"Ah… True. That is true." Bryan stopped the attempt at making conversation, as he noticed Roy deep in thought.

After the four-hour drive, the two arrived at the village chief's home. Rows of houses were on both sides of the street, largely spaced out. Nobody was out in the streets, and no children played. The neighborhood was strangely quiet.

They both stretched and walked over to the blue-painted gates, which had already begun peeling off, with rust taking hold.

They knocked on the gate.

"Anybody home?" Bryan's voice was loud and clear despite it being young in tone.

Not a minute later, an old man walked over to them, opening the gates promptly.

"Good day, sir. We're from PCU from the central division." Bryan showed his badge, and Roy did the same with his ID. "We're here because of the possession reports."

The old man's eyebrows raised, his eyes finally visible. "Have you talked to our police patrols?"

"We are…" Roy stepped forward. "Not coordinating with them in this matter."

"I see." The old man studied them up and down, and opened the gate wide, inviting them in.

They sat on the porch, and a kid, seemingly 12 or 13 according to Roy, delivered them tea. The old man, struggling with his knees, took his time to sit down. The kid assisted the old man until he settled.

"Thank you," the village chief said, and the kid immediately scurried away, giving one last look to Roy and Bryan before hiding.

Roy was surprised. In the short moment they met eyes, a glint of light almost made him blink.

"That kid…"

"Oh, that was my grandson. Poor child, his parents were victims of possession." The old man took a sip from his cup. "He is a troublemaker," he chuckled, "but shy with strangers, as you can see."

A head peeped from the corner, hiding again and again as he got spotted.

Yet the spark of light Roy could see every time he peeked bothered him. He shook his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the light still directed at him, making his suspicions grow.

It was then made clear to him.

The kid was a Malach.