Aiden couldn’t provide as much help as they would have liked. While he did initially try to look into this Puppenspieler when they first started operating. Unfortunately, this Puppenspieler was good at covering their tracks. While the Dead Rabbits couldn’t nail down an exact location, they did know the Puppenspieler operated out of the German part of the Five Points. Specifically, the fringes near what used to be collect pond. The area was a poorly filled in pond leading to many buildings in the area to have sunken basements. Perfect for a budding necromancer or grave robber network to set up shop.

  Damian and Catherine spent the entire day scoping out the area and trying to find a lead. The place must have been too obvious for this budding necromancer as their searching turned up nothing. It was Bronze who managed to find them what they needed. A man in clothing torn from wear, and covered in dirt stains. He was dragging a large sack into the back of a four-story manufacturing business located a ways down center street. The duo joined Bronze on the rooftop across from the building and began a stake out. Over the course of the day five men, looking similar to the first they saw, entered and exited the building with large heavy sacks on their backs. Most curious though, was a familiar wagon and driver pulling out of the building when the sun was setting.

  Hans Kistenmacher, the undertaker. The same man who had retrieved nearly every body that had been found. Damian wanted to say he was shocked but that would be lying. The man was obsessed with necromancy, always asking about it whenever they had talked at the inn. A lot suddenly made sense about the man’s weird little moments earlier in the day. The sudden pause when loading the innkeeper’s body, was him expecting to be found out. The stiff posture, him preparing to act at a moments notice. The shifty eyes were likely looking for escape routes.

  “Someone has been naughty.” Catherine said dryly.

  Damian grunted in agreement. “At least we know where he operates, we can prepare a little ambush for when he returns.”

  “Don’t want to take him at his house?”

  “Likely protected by bound spirits or animated corpses. Too risky, best to wait where he prepares the bodies and has them delivered. Less likely to have supernatural defenses, would draw too much attention.”

  “I’ve spotted the silhouettes of at least six separate people so far. Too far to make out any weapons but likely firearms and a club of some kind. Three on the third floor, two on the first, one on the fourth.”

  Damian hummed in thought, “How do you want to do this? Loud or quiet?”

  Catherine gave a malicious grin as she pulled out a smoky purple and black mace with a dark stained leather handle. It had wicked spikes coming out of each side of the head. The smoky purple haze shifted as he watched it, briefly forming wailing faces.

  “That’s spooky as hell. Gloom-iron?”

  “You know it!” Catherine’s upbeat attitude was endearing as it was currently worrying him. “Take these and put them on the bottom of your boots.”

  She handed him four strips of gloom-iron and proceeded to attach four of her own to her own boots. The strips attached themselves to the boots like magnets. Attempting to pull them off took significant effort, ensuring they wouldn’t come off mid operation. They decided to wait till it was fully dark before starting their infiltration. Catherine reasoned that they would likely use lamps to help them see in the dark, making them easier to spot and ruining their night vision. Bronze would be on look out and perimeter control. She would warn Damian if she saw anyone approach the building. She would also take down anyone who slipped past the duo to make an escape.

  Afternoon gave way to an oppressive night; the moonlight shone like beams of judgement on all it surveyed. Making their way down from the building, Damian followed Catherine’s lead during the infiltration of the building. Their boots made no sound as they swept across the ground to the side entrance of the manufacturing building. The entrance was guarded by one man who was nearly falling asleep. The duo stopped behind a low wall and peered over to assess the situation. They were facing the man dead on and there was no cover to the sides or to mask their approach. The man would have to be taken down quickly and caught before he hit the ground. Damian drew one of his tojo blades and took aim, while signaling Catherine to be ready.

  Catherine moved to the edge of the retaining wall and tensed, ready to move. Damian depressed the first trigger allowing the blade to start spinning. In the silent night he may as well have started whistling as it would be just as noticeable as the tojo blade. The guard perked up with a muffled “Huh?” Damian pulled the remaining trigger and Catherine rocketed out of cover. The guard’s attention immediately snapped to the rushing black figure making a dash for him, and made his first and final mistake. The guard raised his hand to his lips prepared to shout, when the flying tojo blade impacted his neck.

  The shout died on the man’s lips as he began to gurgle and slump towards the ground. Catherine arrived a second after the blade hit and caught the slumping man, and more importantly, his lantern. She lowered him to the ground slowly and motioned Damian over. Damian covered the ground quickly and arrived next to Catherine. He stared down at the dead body, the dead human he was responsible for. He knew it was necessary and he didn’t hesitate, but the lack of revulsion and predatory satisfaction he felt over the perfect shot bothered him. He should feel something negative at the taking of a human life but he felt nothing. That bothered him more than if he had enjoyed the kill.

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  As Damian retrieved and reloaded the blade, Catherine studied his face. She asked him in a low volume, “First time?”

  Damian nodded and responded with grim certainty, “Yes, but it can wait. We have a job to do and a necromancer to stop.”

  “If, you’re sure. Just know I’m here if you need a sympathetic ear.” Catherine said a gentle understanding expression on her face.

  Damian grunted in acknowledgment and followed her inside. The first two floors were merged together into a large factory floor covered in textile machines and catwalks. There were three people walking around the floor. One on the catwalk and two walking between the machines on opposite ends. Catherine indicated that she was going to deal with the woman on the catwalk while he would take the two on floor. He waved her on and started to creep towards the closest figure. Damian kept to just beyond the edge of the firelight. He tracked Catherine as she made for the woman overlooking the machines. There was a short section she was heading toward that was covered by a loadbearing collum. As she approached the collum Damian returned his attention to the man in front of him. He drew his knife and tensed his legs ready to spring when the light from the catwalk disappeared. The moment came when the man was just about to turn and follow the machines down the long side of the building. When the light from above dimmed he surged forward, carried on silent feet, thanks to the gloom-iron.

  His knife plunged into the man’s throat, his free hand grabbing the lantern as the dying man fell against him. Damian gently lowered the man to the ground and continued on a similar route. He noted that Catherine had a similar idea as she walked out from behind the collum, lantern low enough to cast her face in shadow and not alert the last guard. When Damian reached the point where he was directly opposite the last figure, and obscured by a large textile machine, he placed down the lantern and quickly made his way to the other side of the factory floor. He caught up to the man in ten seconds and by the twelfth the last hostile on the floor no longer drew breath.

  The next floor didn’t require much planning; all guards were sitting at a table playing cards. There were five in total, and every ten minutes two would get up and walk the room. They didn’t bother with taking their lanterns, leaving them by the table, clearly relaxed and unconcerned that someone would attack the building. The next time a pair walked the room, Catherine gestured at the one she intended to take down leaving the other for Damian. They got into position at the edge of the stairwell, and the second the guards entered their line of sight the duo struck.

  Cahterine’s mace was as silent as it was lethal. The spike sunk into the face of the far guard without so much as a thud. Damian surged forward and grabbed the other guard’s neck and squeezed as hard as he could. With a quiet, wet crunch he went down. With three guards left in the room Damian drew his crossbow and took aim. He placed three bolts into each remaining guard’s head putting an end to the threat on this floor.

  The fourth and final floor, proved to be the most problematic. Standing guard was a large bloated corpse. It had a patchwork appearance, covered in large threads sown into its limbs and mismatching skin colors and proportions. Its torso was bloated like victims of drowning whose bodies aren’t found until days later. Its legs were spindly and shouldn’t have possibly been able to hold the undead up. The arms were of two different sizes and ended in sharp elongated finger nails.

  Damian signaled Catherine to head back down a floor. When they reached the relative safety near the card table Catherine asked, “Do you think Hans will know if we kill the zombie?”

  Damian thought back on the conversations he had with the man, “I don’t believe so. He kept asking me about binding rituals that tie physical creatures to an individual instead of a building. It’s more likely that the creature is bound to the fourth floor and can’t leave.”

  “So, decapitation protocol?” Catherine asked with hope as she pulled Spite from her inventory.

  Damian chuckled, “Go wild.”

  Catherine fist pumped and charged back up the stairs. Damian shook his head with amusement and followed after her at a sedate pace. Upon reaching the top, he was just in time to watch Catherine bisect the undead from head to groin. As the undead began to topple, arms flailing for the slightest chance to keep its unholy life, Catherine preformed a quick spin and brought the axe about horizontally. The zombie’s head followed a lazy arc, and plopped on the ground at Catherine’s feet. Damian gave a polite applause, to which Catherine gave an overly dramatic bow.

  They both laughed now that the building was clear and started to investigate the floor. The floor was originally where the offices of upper management were held, but a vast majority of the walls were knocked down to enlarge the space. Dedicated ritual alters and circles were on either side of the room. Along the back wall was a bookcase, a work bench, covered in necromantic fetishes to its side, and in front of both, a large desk. They both tacitly ignored the grotesque items on the workbench and moved to the bookshelf and desk. They found mostly copies of various bestiaries and mythological texts. The most interesting was a genuine copy of the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Damian pocketed that for later in-depth perusal.

  Finding nothing else of value the two investigated the desk. It was covered in documents and drawings of various rituals. Damian couldn’t contain his revulsion as he read over them, “These rituals are twisted funerary rites. The bastard turned a prayer for a swift passage into the afterlife, into a torment that would make Satan blush.”

  “Bloody sick fuck!” Catherine spat.

  Putting down the rituals, Damian turned to the documents, and steeled himself to see another atrocity. The documents annotated the various aspects of Hans’ business. It detailed which politicians he paid off and which he blackmailed. There was a detailed list of his clients, a map showing the various gangs that ruled New York’s underworld with detailed plans on how to either subjugate, subvert, or remove them. The sound of braking wood pulled his attention away from the documents. Catherine had one of the drawers held in one hand while the other removed a false bottom, revealing a journal.

  She gave a triumphant grin, “I knew that creepy bastard would keep a diary. Time to learn what prompted this spree of murders.”