“Gloria Robinson, aged 27, and Helena Jones, aged 38.”

Quinn studied the pictures of the two women that Drika had up on the screen in their temporary conference room. The pair of death mages had been successfully transferred to their custody today, secured in rooms that Xavier promised were properly magic-suppressed. Quinn certainly found it uncomfortable in the spaces and he wasn’t even one of the set targets of the enchantments.

Gloria was blonde, blue-eyed, and fair-skinned with one of those smiles that took someone from pretty to beautiful. As the logistics manager of their non-profit organization, one which specialized in female empowerment and in helping past and present victims of domestic abuse, she had the sharp wits to go with the sweet looks. Of the three mages, she did the most to run the cult’s day-to-day activities and the least amount of death magic.

Helena, meanwhile, had her former military roots stamped all over her. Tall, swarthy, and strong, she was the physical combatant of the three cult death mages and had preferred to use blood magic mixed with knife fighting. Her black hair was short and practical. Her brown eyes were tired and sad. The loss of Penny Warren, aka Phenalope, hit her hard.

Penny had been somewhere in between these two, in both age and appearance. She had dark brown hair and soft curves. Looking at pictures of Penny from her youth, she’d been someone who laughed easily and who smiled like the sun. She loved life. The Phenalope that Quinn met was intense, but broken, her smiles and drive reserved for revenge.

It hadn’t taken too much digging into a combination of news articles, police files, and social media to figure out why. Penny and Helena had both grown up in this area and were friends despite a three-year age gap. They’d met in school. Helena left for the military.

Penny got married.

It hadn’t been a happy marriage.

Those two women had stayed friends via emails and visits during the time of Penny’s slow slide from marrying her childhood sweetheart to being unhappy in the marriage to being abused. The police reports indicate that when Helena finally finished her third tour of duty and came home, nearly a decade after Penny was married, she’d figured out what was going on and helped Penny get out of the situation.

Then there were a few quiet years without much information before Helena and Penny, now going by Phenalope, showed up as part of an activist organization against domestic violence. They got picked up in a protest that got heated related to the cultural acceptance of violence within a home, but never charged for anything. Gloria joined the same activists, coming from feminist roots, and the three started working together on local volunteer programs.

That was the heart of their cause. Three women, one directly hurt by domestic violence, one whose friend was hurt and not helped for years, and one who wanted to see women treated more equally overall. Their volunteer work built into the non-profit for abuse victims. Which built into the cult, Daughters of the Divine Feminine.

No matter how often Quinn saw it, he hated how easy it was for good intentions to get twisted up. Phenalope channeled her experience with abuse into a righteous fury, needing to protect herself and others from that pain and helplessness. He wasn’t sure when they had tipped over from helping victims escape to rescuing them with murder, but Quinn suspected it was linked to the moment that death magic entered the equation.

How that happened was still unclear, leading to today’s planned interviews with the women.

“Procedurally, I recommend beginning with Ms. Jones,” Vergil stated, studying some papers. “She is the stronger mage, but she is also currently in a state of emotional vulnerability after the loss of her friend. She might be willing to confess more now that she’s already lost her most important link to the organization.”

That felt underhanded to Quinn, but it wasn’t his place to comment. He was being asked to sit in due to his knowledge of death magic, but Drika was taking point on these interviews, with Vergil to back her up.

Quinn hated how much he empathized with their prisoners. He wasn’t much better trusted than they were. It could easily be him in restraints one day. Except it was far more likely that it wouldn’t be restraints he earned as much as a bullet to the brain.

Well, he was in a morbid mood today.

“Are we ready to begin with Ms. Jones?” asked Drika, sweeping her eyes over her small team.

“She’s magically secure and Ahlgren has recording equipment set up,” Xavier reported.

Adam was excellent at surveillance, Quinn thought tiredly. In some ways, the agent was wasted as a handler, if not for the fact that there would come a moment in time where someone of his caliber would be required. Anything less carried too much risk. Thoughts of his impending death haunted Quinn more frequently as he approached his end, especially with the idea of a cure, so formerly impossible, now dangling in front of him.

Quinn shoved those thoughts away as he went with Adam and Xavier to escort Helena into their interrogation room. Compared to the fierce and dangerous warrior mage Quinn had seen on the battlefield, this woman existed as a hollowed out shell. She put up no resistance as Xavier fitted her with the additional enchanted bindings, though Quinn saw the twitch at the corner of her eyes as they clamped down on her magic tightly. No death mage could lose their magic with no reaction at all. Indeed, he suspected she’d go a bit berserk if they suppressed her passive sense of her own magic.

She had nothing left to lose, after all.

Quinn took up position in the back of their spare room they had set up for this purpose, several chairs clustered around a table. Vergil had a file folder and a notepad, but there were also cameras and recorders in the room.

Drika started them off. “I am Special Agent Hendrika Heeren and these are Agents Creighton and Morrish. Helena Jones, do you know why you are here?”

She smiled slightly as her only reaction.

“You are a suspect in an investigation into serial kidnapping and murder, as well as conspiracy, fraudulent business practices, and other charges still pending. Do you understand this?”

Nothing.

Drika leaned back, looking at Helena carefully before she changed tactics. “This investigation is going to drag Penny Warren’s name through the mud, you know? All her dirty secrets are going to become history and gossip, right up there with the great serial killers and cult leaders. People love to gawk at such stories.”

That got a reaction alright. Helena hissed and glared at Drika before speaking in a rusty voice, “And I can’t do a damned thing about it.”

Drika leaned forward, smiling. “You can. This is the time we get to decide the narrative, you see. Some things are going to come out no matter what-- there’s no hiding what you all did now-- but how those events are framed is still fluid.”

“What will that… generosity cost me?” Helena laughed bitterly. She’d looked miserable, but glimpses of that fire inside her flickered in her eyes.

“Information,” Drika answered shortly, “Specifically, the information we need to clean up this mess in a way that magic is unconfirmed and so there are no lingering magical hazards.”

Helena visibly startled at Drika’s blunt references to magic. She took a moment to really look at the three agents in the room.

Vergil looked rumbled and stern, pinched face pulled into his perpetual frown, and Drika was collected and imperious, the model of a competent professional woman. Both of them wore the dark suits of the federal agents like they were the most natural choice of clothing.

Quinn wore part of his suit uniform as well, but mixed it with his usual magical equipment, which were in goth style. The end result was a button-up white shirt and black slacks paired with a studded collar, thick leather bracelets, and a good mix of jewelry, chains, and charms. Add in his deathly pallor and deep exhaustion and Quinn was sure he looked entirely out of place. Helena studied him the longest before recognition washed over her.

“You were there, at the ritual. You attacked Penny and Gloria. I saw that before I got caught up in that fight with the old lady and the weird bird monster.” Helena’s eyes narrowed as she swept her gaze over the room again. “Who are you people? You aren’t real police. And that attack against us was definitely not legally done.”

“We are closer to the FBI in jurisdiction and methods,” Drika said primly, “Indeed, we are legally considered a sub-branch of that organization since we can hardly declare ourselves as being members of the federal Department of Magic when speaking to most people.” She paused and then added with a hint of curiosity, “What bird monster?”

“It was a spirit,” Quinn put in before Helena could attempt to explain what she’d seen, “The head shaman manifested it.”

Vergil frowned deeper at this, but Drika was the one with an inkling as to just how difficult that was to accomplish. She kept her startled reaction minimal and acknowledged Quinn’s explanation with a simple, “Hmm. Interesting.”

Quinn expected he’d get more questions about Frankie and what she had done later. The old woman was shifter old, which meant she was the single most talented spirit mage Quinn had ever met for sure. Drika had more exposure to mages and shifters, so maybe she’d seen more, but it was still impressive.

“A federal department of magic?” Helena smiled wryly. “To keep the Muggles from finding out, perhaps?”

“Very like that, yes,” Drika smiled back, “Magic is rare. Most people don’t encounter it noticeably in their lives. The mages that exist aren’t enough to fill the hunger for magic and wonder in this world. Knowing about magic but being unable to use it would be cruel to most of them. Dangerous for others. After all, look what you were willing to do to obtain magic.”

Helena sat back, looking, Quinn thought, enlightened. More and more of the shrewd practical woman emerged from under the shroud of her grief and loss at this new engagement. “You are worried about people sacrificing each other for power.”

“Yes, and the side effects of doing so.”

“Side effects?”

Drika leaned back, mimicking Helena’s pose. She seemed rather smug to Quinn. “Didn’t whoever taught you about death magic explain the side effects?”

“No, it wasn’t--” Helena cut off, but it was too late.

Drika asked sweetly, “How did you learn about death magic, Ms. Jones?”