When Clark got into the car with Lin that morning, he immediately turned to the priest with a pleading look.

The other blinked at him.

They did not turn on the ignition.

Outside, sunlight fell glowingly upon the nose of the Camaro. Through the windshield, the lives and livelihoods of city folk passed them across the nearby intersection. The lights flashed.

Red.

Yellow. Green.

The day was especially bright, and the sportscar looked resplendent in it. Lin, behind the wheel, waited until Clark came out with it.

“I need your help.”

The old man immediately understood the seriousness of the situation. He said: “Shoot.”

And meant it.

Lin was frail looking and tiny in stature, but he was firm in his convictions. Every time he was tested—in courage and loyalty and all the good qualities of man—he passed with flying colors. He was also quite formidable. In fact, with all the vast powers at his disposal, Clark would still not get on Lin’s bad side if he could help it. Pound-for-pound, to the wizard, there was no deadlier warrior—or more reliable friend—to be found.

Clark looked like he had some difficulty getting the words out. Meanwhile, Lin didn’t rush him. He only waited until, finally, the wizard said: “Do you remember when we found that succubus?”

That brought an involuntary shudder from the driver’s seat. Lin closed his eyes and mumbled a prayer. The incident Clark mentioned had happened in the earlier years of their association, and even now, it was not a memory the old priest was fond of recalling. Slowly, he nodded.

“Well,” Clark said, inventing rapidly, “she’s back now—”

Lin practically jumped in his seat.

“—only, in male form.”

Lin’s eyes widened until they threatened to push his glasses off his nose.

“An incubus?”

Clark coughed uncomfortably into his hands.

Now, how did he know a word like that?

He didn’t ask it out loud, and just trusted that they’ve been partnering for a long enough time for Lin to do his own homework. (Actually, Lin also had a fondness for high fantasy and science-fiction, and was a life-long lover of Dungeons and Dragons. Maybe that’s why they got along so well.)

“Clark?”

The wizard nodded. He mumbled: “Something like that.”

They mulled on that together for a minute, before Lin said: “That’s pretty bad. Is she—he—back for revenge?”

Again, mumbled acknowledgements from the wizard.

“This raises issues,” Lin said solemnly. The priest’s brows were pressed tightly together. He looked to be in serious thought. “With what you’re working on before, with Alejandro, I don’t think we need the distraction—”

He was about to continue, but Clark cut him off speedily. He said: “No, no!” Then, after a pause, “It’s just something we should be looking into for the time being.” Another pause. “If you can keep your eye out at church—”

Now, Lin’s shock was palpable. Seated beside him, Clark could almost see the blood rushing to his head. If there was one thing Lin took seriously, it was his sacred duty and his flock. He would do anything to protect his church and the people he served; and privately, Clark could have slapped himself.

Out loud, he only continued: “—for a girl.”

“A girl?”

Clark nodded. Now he was feeling really bad, but he bit out the name nonetheless.

Mary.

It was, of course, his wife, and he pretended to check his reflection in the mirror, before continuing: “I have it on good authority that she’s the target.”

Of course, Lin knew who she was. He knew everyone from his service by name, and involuntarily, he threw a look at the street corner they had just come from. The Yams were good people. He knew them and, by association, Clark’s true form. He didn’t, however, know Clark was affiliated with them in any way. In fact, from being a literal angel living next door to them, it was only right that if the Yams were in danger, he would want the Holy Warrior to step in on their behalf.

In other words: it was the perfect crime.

“Do you have a name?” Lin asked.

Clark shook his head.

“So, I just—”

“—look for anybody taking an interest in her,” Clark said. He took a deep breath. “Might be a newcomer to your church. Might not be. Could be someone you know, or don’t know well.” Another deep breath. “The incubus might change forms. Into someone you know or at least, wouldn’t suspect. You know the creature has an almost insatiable lust, and a talent for seduction.”

Lies, lies and more lies.

What incubus?

That was a closed case and the open one here might as well just be a normal person.

A human being now put into the crosshairs of the supernatural, because he was getting too close to—

Mary.

Lin nodded. He shuddered again, recalling their past experiences with the creature.

“So, if you see someone meeting such a description,” Clark said, “you call me, okay? This is very important. We have to make sure she—we have to make sure he doesn’t get his hands on the married women of your parish.”

Lin promised him he would look into it.

Clark knew he would.

The matter settled, the wizard’s eyes glittered almost imperceptibly as he sat back. He let out a long breath, having achieved his dastardly purpose. Strangely, the wizard didn’t feel like heading to the nearest shower to give himself a full scrubbing down. Maybe because it was not his own body, but he felt very little guilt all the same.

There was simply no time.

He closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself.

When he opened them again, he told Lin: “Take me to the library.”

The priest nodded. He turned on his car, put it into gear. The Camaro pulled out of its parking spot and joined the morning traffic.

~

When in doubt, research.

That was what Clark had been taught at every step of his life; and always, he had abided by the advice. He was an overachiever in school (in fact, his later military career had everything to do with wanting a life outside of study halls after graduation). He had been accepted into every university he applied to, but was taken in by the recruiter who came by to peddle enlistment into the Canadian armed forces.

Even now, Clark did not regret his decision.

Army training was not all about how loud you can cry Ooh-rah, and how easily you can kill your fellow man. It was also about applying yourself to difficult problems while under pressure.

Logic.

Discipline.

Modern military doctrine works on the proven theory that well-trained infantry is much more valuable and productive on the battlefield than any number of tanks or jets; and at the end of the day, boots on the ground are needed to complete the objectives in an engagement. The smarter those boots are, with the capability to make decisions for themselves, the better (usually) the outcome.

Clark had applied much of what he has learned to his new life. Working out a case was not so different than clearing out a bombed-out house. You analyzed the situation, researched every possible angle, then applied your results to the problem.

Then you compared how everything worked out, and strove to do better next time.

In urban combat, that meant checking angles and always bringing a buddy (2 minimum to clear a room, as the rule-of-thumb goes). As a wizard detective, Clark already had a buddy—Lin—and the rest translated to pouring over research in a public library, in order to find out more about the Prophet’s Curse.

Libraries were plentiful in Toronto. Any community center came with one. He selected one along Yonge Street, which he had frequented before, and Lin dropped him off there. He proceeded into the building amongst the rest of the population going to and fro along the street.

The library was actually built on top of the local subway station. The complex housed a small merchant’s plaza, with drug-store, food-court and a modest number of shops. The showpiece, however, was definitely the library itself, which was built in layers overlooking the main plaza concourse below. The unique architecture made the place very popular, and its open-concept floor plan was filled practically from the moment the place opened every day. When Clark came in, most of the best tables were already taken. He headed into the elevator, made nodding acquaintances with the others already inside. A young woman shifted her backpack to help him when he tried reaching for the buttons, and he thanked her and ended up on the fourth floor, where he hurried to the information desk.

The librarian there looked up. He was an older gentleman. Round glasses sat atop a wide, bulbous nose, and he peered through them at the wizard. Bushy brows pushed together into an inquisitive frown as Clark smiled brightly at him, and he blew through his beard.

“Yes?” his voice was not unfriendly, but definitely disinterested. “Can I help you?”

Clark nodded.

Briefly, he held a mental image of Gandalf and Santa Claus performing the fusion technique popularized by Japanese animation, and ended with this particular specimen seated before him.

Breathing out loudly, the rotund gentleman got unsteadily to his feet the librarian. “Okay, so what do you need?”

Clark told him.

Sometimes, you find clues to solve your problems in the most mundane of places. The internet might be an infinite source of information, but actually sifting through everything to get what you want is a hassle. Sometimes, you need someone to point you in the right direction. Librarians, therefore, made for wonderful resources. They had an intimate knowledge of their own collections, and could be trusted to make the proper recommendations. At the very least, they are more reliable than the internet ‘experts’ who pop up without fail to offer solutions, regardless of whether or not they understood the problem to begin with.

Clark nodded along with the librarian’s advice. The old man took him over to one of the aisles, and pointed out where he should start looking. The wizard picked out the correct volumes, then found a private desk to scrutinize everything in detail. He sat down and began flipping through the pages.

Every now and then, he whipped out his phone to check what he found against similar looking information modern search engines spat out. The minutes whittled by, and Clark got up from his seat. He put some books back that have not been very useful, and found others that he thought were worth a look. He came back, sat down, continued working.

Clark was looking into ancient history. Having confirmed beyond any doubt that the spell worked as advertised, he now struggled to find out more about its creator. It was not easy. Alejandro had been telling the truth. The Broken Angel’s story was not readily available in any religious texts. Clark had to read between the lines in order to find small, tangential clues to make the connections.

For the Prophet, there was even less.

Clark worked.

Outside the huge windows, the sun slowly traced its way over the sky. At times it was bright. At times the clouds moved in. Clark didn’t notice. He busied himself until a shadow fell over him at the desk.

He looked up.

The wizard was all confusion as he blinked at the librarian. The old man stared down at him; at the mess of books his table had become. Briefly, his eyes wandered over Clark’s phone, which was opened to a page describing an old wives’ tale about a hermit in the mountains of Tibet. The librarian was carrying an armload of books, and he selected one from the very top, before setting it down before Clark.

“Might help,” he said quietly.

Clark had asked him for help in researching ancient history, and the librarian had given him a modern travelogue. One of the pages had been marked with a bit of colorful tape, and the wizard flipped over to it. The text was tiny, barely seemingly to relate to the huge picture that took up most of the glossy paper. It spoke of visits to one of Eastern Europe’s smaller settlements, where the author got permission to take a few pictures inside a third-rate museum located in the town-center.

The picture depicted display cases holding clay cups, with a broken war-horn sitting on a wall behind them. Scattered around the tables were bits of metal that might have bene arrowheads. None looked valuable, and the descriptions barely made any mention of them. In fact, the writing was far more concerned with later expeditions to the restaurant next door for borscht when Clark took a careful look—

—and very nearly fell out of his seat!

He steadied himself quickly, slapping his hands over the page. He flattened them and stared at the picture. It was a little out of focus, but all the important parts were there. A piece of old paper stuck behind glass, and on it was the charcoal rubbing of twisted lettering, writing in the same approximation of Old Latin that Clark had seen before.

Excitement galore!

Clark mouthed the words silently.

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