Chapter 11: The Umbra King: Chapter 9

and sidled up next to Keith, who was staring glumly at the man tending the bar. Just because they learned their best friend was a mass murderer didn’t mean they would stop meeting after work as usual, especially when they needed each other the most. When he left The Capital, he called Kordie to confirm they were still meeting.

He didn’t remember what happened, but he read the transcripts. When there was a trial, one copy of the transcripts was kept at the palace and another in the sector where the offender was captured.

The three friends could have picked a different meeting place, but Whiplash was centrally located to their jobs, and deep down, Dume knew they were holding on to a small piece of Rory, despite what she did.

The eyes moved to Dume. “You’re back earlier than I thought you would be.”

Dume grunted and signaled the bartender to order a beer. He didn’t drink, but today he would make an exception. “The trials are never long.”

A heavy cloud settled over the conversation.

Dume still couldn’t believe it. How she had fooled them all was beyond him.

“Was she scared?” Keith asked quietly.

Dume grabbed his beer from the bartender and chugged it. “I don’t remember, but you know as well as I do nothing scares Rory.”

Keith swallowed hard. “I figured going to hell might be an exception.”

Dume held up his mug for another. “She wasn’t sentenced to hell.”

Keith’s head swiveled toward Dume so fast, he thought it might twist off. “What do you mean? She murdered thirteen people.” His forehead wrinkled, the confusion Dume felt blanketing Keith’s face.

“The Scales of Justice sentenced her to five-hundred years in Vincula.” Dume chugged his new beer. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Are you talking about The Butcher?” a high-pitched voice asked from behind them. “She worked here, didn’t she?”

They both spun to look at her, and Keith nodded. News of The Butcher’s identity spread through Erdikoa within hours of her arrest.

A small woman who looked to be a few years younger than Dume stood at their backs. She had strawberry blonde hair, and light freckles covered every inch of exposed skin. Her green eyes widened with excitement. “The Scales of Justice spared her?”

The hope in her voice had Dume and Keith looking at each other stupidly.

Dume thought he knew all Rory’s friends.

“You knew Rory?” Keith asked cautiously.

The woman shook her head. “Her name is Rory? The news said Aurora.”

“It’s a nickname. Who are you, and why do you care?” Dume said curtly.

The woman set her jaw and pulled herself to her full five-foot nothing height. “My name is Sera, and I care because she saved my life.”

“Who saved your life?” Kordie’s voice said from behind Sera, causing the woman to spin around.

“Rory,” Keith and Dume said at the same time.

Kordie’s face was thoughtful as she regarded Sera. “Rory is dead.”

“They said she’s in Vincula,” Sera informed her, pointing at Dume and Keith.

Kordie rounded on Dume. “What is she talking about?”

“Adila sentenced Rory to five-hundred years in Vincula.” The lump in his throat grew.

Keith pushed past Dume to stand in front of Sera. “What do you mean, ‘she saved your life?’”

Sera looked between the three. “I didn’t know her name, but I’ll never forget her face.” She pointed at the ES above the bar where Rory’s picture covered half the screen with scrolling text. “One of the men she killed attacked me. She ripped him off me and told me to run. I later saw him on the news as a ,“ she sneered. The woman’s chin lifted defiantly. “Say what you want about her, but I think she’s a hero.”

The group stared at Sera, at a loss for words. Dume’s mind raced as Adila’s words from the transcript ran through his mind.

“In the van on the way to The Capital, Rory said, ‘my soul is as black as theirs were.’” Dume recalled.

“Her soul isn’t black,” Sera snapped.

Keith recited. “Remember? That day in the bar when we were talking about the murders, Rory said, ‘

.’”

“And you said life wasn’t a supermystic movie,” Kordie added, looking at Dume.

“Well, you were wrong,” Sera said, glaring at the . “If she were murdering for fun, why didn’t she kill me too?”

Dume scrubbed a hand down his face. “She was obsessed with being on the force.”

Keith blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“After Cora was murdered,” Dume explained. “She became obsessed with enforcers. She even wrote a letter to the Scales of Justice asking to make an exception and let her on the force.” He snorted at the memory. “Lenora never sent it. The older we got, the less she talked about it, and I thought her fixation had petered out.”

“She became her own version of the Scales of Justice,” Kordie concluded as she plunked onto a stool. “Why didn’t she report the crime after she saved her,” she asked, jerking a thumb at Sera. “Why kill them in such a terrifying manner?”

“And if her other victims were the same, why not report them, too?” Keith mused.

Dume pinched the bridge of his nose. “Cora.” He looked at his friends. “She harbored a lot of guilt and anger after Cora died. She watched as her sister was murdered, and it really fucked her up.”

“She wasn’t fucked up,” Sera growled. “Stop speaking about her as if she were a cold-blooded killer. Her ways were… horrible at best, but she is still a hero.”

“She was a crazy bitch,” a man to their right slurred.

Sera spun around, cocked her arm back, and slapped him across the face. He stumbled to his feet, pissed. Dume stepped between them and looked over his shoulder at the pint-sized fireball. “You should go.”

She harrumphed and stomped away with her head held high, but before she stepped through the door, she held her middle finger in the air. Dume’s lips twisted to hide a smile.

“Go home,” Dume told the drunkard and looked at the bartender. “Don’t serve him again.” The drunk man grumbled under his breath as he left.

“What if she a supermystic,“ Keith blurted, and Kordie popped him in the back of the head.

“Supermystics aren’t real, idiot, but she was something else, and I don’t mean the villain the news is making her out to be.”

Dume nodded. “I have to go.” He threw moedas on the bar. “If one of her victims was a suspected murderer, and another was a rapist, there may be more people she saved willing to come forward.”

If there was more evidence Rory wasn’t the heartless killer the news made her out to be, he would find it. He to find it.

For his own sanity.