The small chamber they entered held a table with platters of foods they’d seen at the celebration. Two doors led from the room. One opened into a well-appointed hall, the other into a small water closet. The opposite wall of the closet outlined another opening, a faint light shining through the cracks.

Lyryk crept to the portal.

“Wait,” Eliam held up a hand. “Trap.”

She found the slight magical glow, concentrated, then gave the image in her mind a slight twist right… there. The glow dissipated, tiny wisps of shimmering energy scattered.

The potent scent of flowers assaulted her nose as Lyryk crouched low and crawled forward, sticking her head around the corner of the frame. Movement caught her eye as she saw Lady Pamila across the room. She had a small can with a long spout on one end in her hands, going from plant to plant, murmuring to each while she added contents of the container to each. The liquid she poured into the soil was red.

Blood scent, she heard Biscuit in her mind.

He was right. A coppery tang permeated the air as Pamila fed each plant. Lyryk hesitated to enter the room. The dissonance in her mind made her eyes ache. She signaled Eliam to return the way they came. They would check the hall.

Paintings lined the walls. Most of the portraits resembled Lord Redthorne. Though Lyryk couldn’t sense magic, her neck prickled as if being watched. When she looked up, she thought the eyes of the man in one picture followed her. Her skin itched as she eased along the hall toward the nearest open door.

A bedroom decorated in varying shades of red assaulted her vision. Dim candlelight illuminated the room, lending an eerie quality to the crimson and burgundy hangings. Footsteps from the wood floors of the hall alerted them that someone approached. Eliam led them around into a small library with a closed door in the opposite wall.

He stopped Lyryk with a hand signal.

Door. Trap.

Lyryk nodded, stepping forward to examine the lock. The trap was simple. She reached into her belt pouch for her lock picks, and set to work teasing the mechanism free. The lock clicked open as a needle dropped to the floor. Eliam used the toe of his boot to flip the stained dart across to the bookcase. It rolled under the shelf.

The pair eased into a dark chamber, acrid with the smell of alchemical processes. The tang of copper hung in the air. As her eyes adjusted to the near-dark, Lyryk noted more portraits lining the walls.

“Wait,” said Eliam. “That looks like old man Pistor, the baker. He disappeared last summer, so rumors say.”

“I heard he cheated his customers something awful,” answered Lyryk.

“Yeah.”

“And that,” said Lyryk, pointing at another frame, “looks fresh.”

She looked at the portrait, still glistening in the dim candlelight. This frame looked to be a portrait of a young man she’d seen earlier in the evening.

Leave now, someone comes.

“Let’s go,” Eliam led the way to another door.

Lyryk followed him out into the hallway, and back around to the servants’ stair. They let themselves out the way they came in.

At noon, they reported what they’d seen to Master Tordak.

“They somehow frame their victims using blood magic,” Eliam said.

“Vigilantes?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. My Eyes will watch until we know more. We will take action if necessary.”