Bayonetta snapped her fingers. A crystal orb glowing with soft red light appeared in her palm.
Intricate markings of a crescent moon and stars were etched across its surface.
She flicked it with a fingertip and tossed the orb to Soren.
"What's this?"
Soren caught it. The moment it touched his skin, he felt the demonic power inside him surge like rain after a long drought. Warm, soothing energy flowed up his arm and spread through his body, washing away a good chunk of his exhaustion.
"Moon Pearl."
Bayonetta peeled the wrapper off a lollipop. "With a foundation this thin, you won't last long. A man who runs dry too fast is really disappointing."
"Cough—cough—"
This witch's conversational speed was always way too fast.
Soren could only pretend he hadn't heard her and quietly tucked the pearl away.
The Moon Pearl was good stuff. It would raise his demonic power capacity. Once he absorbed it, he should be able to fly back and forth across Los Santos three or four times without crashing.
Before he could even say thanks, Bayonetta's gaze dropped to his hand.
"You still haven't found a weapon that actually suits you? Hand the Shura Blade back to me for safekeeping."
As she spoke, she slipped two fingers into the deep neckline of her black leather top and pulled out a black business card from between her breasts. It was still warm and carried a faint rose scent.
"You don't look like the type to use that broken puzzle box as a brick to smash people with anyway."
Bayonetta casually swept her long hair back over one shoulder. "If you ever decide you want to forge a weapon that's truly yours, go to this bar and ask for the bartender."
Soren glanced at the card. Elegant script spelled out "Hell's Gate."
"Rodin?"
Soren's expression shifted.
Rodin was the fallen angel who had escaped from Heaven. Not only was he ridiculously strong, he was also one of the greatest weaponsmiths in existence.
He flipped the card over and checked the address on the back.
Washington D.C., all the way on the East Coast. No wonder he'd never heard of the guy before.
The political power center was supposedly even more chaotic than Los Santos—cults, weird incidents, and shady rumors popping up constantly.
Soren pocketed the card and looked up, only to find Bayonetta had already turned around.
The leather jacket had a deep V-cut all the way down her back, exposing smooth, pale skin. The fabric hugged her narrow waist before flaring over the full curve of her hips pressed against the seat.
Bayonetta noticed his stare, glanced over her shoulder with a seductive smile. "Like what you see, little boy? Consider it one of the perks of working for me."
Soren pulled his gaze back without any embarrassment.
Nothing wrong with appreciating beauty.
"Alright, the weather up ahead is terrible for my skin. I'm heading out."
Before the last word faded, her body dissolved into a swirling flock of crows that beat their wings and flew out through the car window.
Soren pushed open the office door.
It wasn't the weekend, so only Carrie was there.
She was crouched beside the couch, waving a cat toy at the small demon pet they'd bought earlier—Gizmo.
When she heard the door, she quickly dropped the toy and stood up, coming over to take Soren's coat with a small smile.
"Soren, you're back?"
Her voice was soft. "Gizmo kept staring at the door earlier. It's like he knew you were coming home."
Soren nodded.
The little creature was currently hiding behind the couch, baring its teeth at him the second it saw him. It didn't exactly look welcoming.
He handed her the boxes of local specialties he'd brought back.
On the TV, a reporter stood in front of a collapsed, blackened building.
"A serious fire broke out at a bar in the suburbs last night. The blaze spread extremely fast. Preliminary reports indicate seven to eight students were killed—"
"—The indie rock band Low Shoulder showed incredible courage during the fire, rescuing numerous people from the flames—"
Soren watched the young band members being interviewed on screen and shook his head with a blank expression.
Carrie came over with a cup of hot water and noticed him watching the news. She explained quietly, "This happened a few days ago."
"Everyone's been talking about Low Shoulder. They're calling them heroes for pulling so many people out of the fire."
"These past few days they even released a memorial album for the victims. The radio's been playing it nonstop."
Soren took a sip of water and nodded.
Disasters—natural or man-made—were unavoidable.
Still, hearing this kind of report the second he got back felt a little ominous.
After a hot shower and a change into clean clothes, he returned to the main room.
"Carrie, when are you planning to go back to school?"
Carrie froze mid-motion while cleaning up. She turned around, a flicker of panic crossing her face.
"I—um—"
She clearly hadn't expected the question.
Years of sensitivity and low self-esteem made her immediately assume she'd done something clumsy and made him want to get rid of her.
She stammered for several seconds but couldn't get a full sentence out.
Soren saw right through her and clarified, "It's not what you're thinking. Even if you go back to classes, you can still come back here with Patty after school and stay."
"But you should at least finish your studies, right?"
Carrie's tense shoulders relaxed a little. She answered in a small voice, "I—I was thinking of going back in the next few days. Finals are coming up soon. Plus, the bar fire news has covered everything else. People have pretty much forgotten about the movie theater incident by now."
Soren nodded. He was just asking casually. If she had her own plans, there was no need to push.
He glanced at the magic books spread open on the coffee table.
"How's your control over your powers been going lately?"
Carrie's cheeks flushed red and she lowered her head even more. "I feel like my talent is really bad."
"Hm?"
Soren raised an eyebrow. With the sheer amount of telekinetic power inside her, "bad talent" didn't even make sense.
"The book says the basic spell—Mage Hand—requires you to wrap an object steadily with your mind and lift it—"
Carrie bit her lip and stretched out her right hand toward an empty glass on the table.
"But I can't keep it steady no matter what I do. The second I use my power, it always ends up like this—"
With a sharp crack, the glass on the table exploded into shards that scattered across the floor.
Carrie scrambled to her feet, apologizing nonstop as she rushed to grab a broom from the corner.
"I can never control the strength. I can't even pick up a cup. The moment I use telekinesis, whatever I touch just blows apart."
She held the broom tightly, voice full of frustration. "The book says this happens when your mental focus is scattered and you can't concentrate—"
"Compared to me, Patty's already way better. She can make a feather float now."