Adia was a lovely port city, made even better by how they didn’t force their cuisine to revolve around seasonal catch. A variety of restaurants—even foreign ones—were what populated the littoral, a makeshift market district that spammed blocks, and people from all walks of light haunted it each night.


    The edge of that was a double on, for it meant some places were serving customers even at this hour, and no street was quiet enough to be traversed unnoticed. Whether the Adianoetas’ celebration was behind this, or if they always remained open this far into the night, Nikola lacked the familiarity to know.


    Soaked as he had been from that involuntary dip in the well, he’d previously had bigger concerns than the state of his attire. Crouching between a set of empty boxes near one of the liveliest streets, he found he doubted he could cross it without someone noticing his condition.


    A faint brinelike scent clung to him, something he had not detected when he’d tasted the well’s water. For the bare bones of the plan taking form in his head, however, this was convenient.


    The night air was as chilly as always for a place like this, yet it lacked the bite Nikola would have expected. Being drenched in water only bothered him at the moment because it made things difficult for him—he found he didn’t truly feel bothered by the typical adverse effects of it all.


    Something else he would question the ghost on, once given the chance.


    Edmund Adianoeta’s ghost had given him directions to an empty house that could serve him as a hideout for the time being, but unlike the decedent, Nikola could not simply pass through walls to get there.


    He took that as the go-ahead to calm his grumbling stomach in the meantime. The ghost might lack the need for sustenance, but Nikola very much needed a meal. Those early stages of nausea and a headache told him as much.


    Though he doubted any of their pursuers—be it Adianoetas or those in their employ—would be back on their trail anytime soon, given how uneventful things had been since they reached this area.


    Despite its nature as a touristic sector, none of the establishments here were particularly high-end. From what Nikola had researched in advance, they sought to be affordable to attract as many patrons as possible, and thus, this would have been his first choice of place to visit in the event that his boss and coworker once again kept the whole of their meals from ever reaching him.


    A part of him wished his concerns were that simple still.


    The rest prepared. He tried his best to psych himself up, straightening his clothes. The temperature had kept them from drying, but blessedly, they were just damp by now.


    At last, Nikola moved closer to the nearest stall—an artisan’s—and left a small tip before speaking, glad that he carried coin in his satchel at all times.


    Even when tasked to assist ultimately inhuman novelists.


    “Pardon, good sir,” he addressed the stall owner, doctoring his expression into one of resignation. “Might you point me in the direction of any tailor or consigner that is open at this hour? My friends thought it the peak of hilarity to send me for a dip past the pier.”


    The old man let out a hearty chuckle. “Oh, to be young and stupid. I’ve gone for a swim or ten myself. I’m afraid none are open at this hour, but see that red awning in the corner,” he pointed at a closed shop. “The washerwoman there, Martha’s her name. She lives and breathes for the salvation waterlogged clothes, let me tell you.”


    “I see. Thank you for your kindness. I dread going for a meal looking like this. Can you recommend me any locations that might prove understanding?”This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    “Oh, boy,” the artisan again. “Kid, this is Adia. Nobody cares what you’re wearing so long as you’re wearing something.”


    Nikola nodded along. He’d rarely ever had a chance to conduct interviews during his tenure at The Adianoeta Gazette, but one of the key facts taught to him during training had been that old people knew everything about a place. And thus, if you needed to know where to go or how to conduct yourself in an unfamiliar location, your best chances would be to head for an elderly person and get on their good graces.


    He only bumped into anyone once as he sifted through the streets. Once he’d identified the empty house Edmund Adianoeta’s ghost had referred to, he returned to the market district, settling for a small restaurant that had an in-and-out situation going with their seating arrangements. It was in one such outdoor table that he sat—just because people were unlikely to mind the state of his clothes didn’t mean he’d right to risk ruining anybody’s furniture. This chair was, at least, almost entirely wooden, made of slats held in place by metal nails.


    Having ordered a vegetable soup and quail meat wrapped in thin bread, Nikola got to eating. It was a warm meal, and affordable, too. It did not fall prey to the lack of seasoning eateries catering to tourists could often be faulted for. All in all, had Nikola been back home, he would have given them a good review on his column.


    “Thank you for the meal,” he curtsied and tipped the waiter after paying for it.


    There was a comfort to having eaten, something that warmed him momentarily, but it had passed by the time he headed to the empty house. It was as though the air chilled the moment he came into contact with it, a predicament affecting him and only him. Unconsciously, he’d clenched his jaw.


    Nikola exhaled, staring up. It was hard to believe so little time had passed. The sun was still far from rising for the next day, yet things had fallen apart so quickly.


    John set us up. That was no theory, but fact, for what he had overheard lined up perfectly. Had John not left Benjamin alone, retreating soon before the killing started?


    What could they have wanted of the photographer? Sifting through those jumbled memories as he walked, he recalled the matriarch’s words as he drowned. She’d expressed curiosity as to what use they could have gotten out of his blood.


    There were countless beings that required blood either as sustenance or for ritualistic purposes, and he wasn’t sure as to what he believed the Adianoetas to be. Such creatures were often killed on sight for their destructive potential, with the exception of some types of demons that could only feast in quite specific ways—those could be bargained with, their needs arranged for.


    But humans, who either turned themselves into something else or chose to partake in forbidden rituals? That was much worse.


    Nikola shook his head as he examined the house. All windows had been nailed shut, its frame decrepit. The wooden planks of its walls, as well as the remnants of a stone balcony, all bore signs of having once been delicately painted. Despite the dark, he could even make out a few chips of washed-out paint, perhaps once bright in color.


    He turned the corner, finding no one on that street. This would be the safest side to enter through, or so he suspected, but he had agreed to inform the ghost of his arrival before trying anything else.


    “I am outside.”


    The ghost of Edmund Adianoeta slipped from the house without fanfare. “Come. The patio’s gate is unlocked. Leap the fence—it is not particularly tall.”


    Having said that, it disappeared back into the house, and Nikola found himself exhaling slowly. The fence in question rivaled the height of his chest, and Nikola was not exactly athletically.


    In an unceremonious manner he promised to never address in word or memory, he managed to let himself lie belly-down on the top of the gate. The way in went even more poorly, as he practically rolled and fell into the grass.


    He didn’t care how, but he would be getting this ghost to procure a new wardrobe for him as recompense for all this. Work-appropriate suits such as this were expensive, and Nikola was not made of money.


    With a huff, he brushed leaves off his clothes and stood back up, making for the short staircase that led to the only door in sight, framed by a delicate gate that had been left ajar. He would not have been surprised in the slightest had he found it locked despite the ghost’s accuracy as far as the gate being open went, but the knob turned with easy.


    Before entering, he squeezed his eyes shut and steadied himself. What was he to do now? Questioning the ghost seemed as good a place as any to start, even if he’d yet to settle on what to address first.


    Nikola glanced over his shoulder. Again, the street was empty. Not a soul or shadow in sight.


    He still could not shake off the feeling that something had its eyes upon him.