He stood in front of the wash basin and splashed water on his face. Looking at his reflection in the cracked mirror he took off his shirt. His body was covered in runic tattoos. The names of the fugitives. Penned in infernal script. A moment later he caught a faint smell of brimstone. Logan saw the intruder’s reflection in the mirror. A saturnine humanoid flashing a charming smile, exposing gleaming, pointed canine teeth. His slick, tightly cropped hair dropped down over its forehead in a widow’s peak. He wore luxurious, impeccably fashionable garments.

“It’s unprecedented, you know. Over the millennia, there have been a few who slipped through the cracks. Isolated incidences. But never anything like this.”

“The Great Escape huh?”

“They planned this for centuries and now they think they’ve beaten me. They’re wrong Logan, no one beats me.”

The devil paused for a moment before continuing.

“On that note I want to congratulate you on your handling of Father Salinas.” He said in a velvety smooth voice. “A psychotic priest who was hanged for murdering sixteen boys in Damara, and another eight in Impiltur. How odd that a priest of Ilmater would think that he was serving his god by causing others to suffer, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t care less. What is it you want anyways?”

“Your every waking moment, consumed with holding up your end of our bargain.”

“I’ll do my job. Just be sure you do yours.”

The devil glared at Logan “Get that chip off your shoulder Logan. You’re in no position to make threats.”

Logan turned away from the mirror and locked eyes with the devil “Just remember… you need me as much as I need you. If you can’t police your own realm… no one will ever fear you again.”

The devil smiled broadly and clasped Logan by the shoulders. The runic tattoos on Logan’s body began to glow. Logan gritted his teeth and felt his knees buckle and his body was wracked with pain.

“Skaras Jax.” The devil said. The named rune began to glow brighter than the others.

The inn was close to violating the description of an inn. Inn implied rooms for rent with some standards of cleanliness. Flop house would be a kind description. Fleapit might be closer to the truth. Logan felt itchy just standing at the front desk. The obese, balding innkeeper sat behind the reception desk munching on a turkey leg.

“I’m looking for a man called Skaras Jax.”

“Never heard of him.” the Innkeeper said dismissively with a mouth full of turkey.

The green-flecked steel blade of Logan’s scimitar lacerated the back of the hand that was holding the turkey leg, exposing the bone. The Innkeeper dropped the turkey leg and cried in pain as his blood ran freely. His sudden recollection wasn’t much help. Vague dates. An argument over cheaper rates because the window was stuck and wouldn’t open all the way. As far as he remembered there were no acquaintances who visited nor any other strange goings on. Aside from the window business, Skaras Jax was pretty quiet. He’d come back one day packed up in 2 minutes and was gone. Logan took the key to the room where he had once stayed in and went upstairs. Gingerly, because he really did think the stairs were dangerous. The musty smell that came from the lack of fresh air, mixed with stale alcohol, and the stench of unwashed bodies got stronger as he reached the second floor. Logan grimaced as he fumbled with the lock. The door handle almost came away as he entered. The room was sparse with few comforts provided. The bed had seen better days, the wardrobe was at least intact.  Beside the bed was a small cabinet with a lamp but with no oil in it. Logan checked the wardrobe and under the bed. Nothing. He tried the cabinet but the top drawer was fake and the bottom was empty. He tugged at the drawer until it came out completely and looked into the empty space but nothing had fallen out of the drawer either.

“Lovely room” Someone drawled.

Logan whirled around in an instant.

The devil lounging on the bed laughed.

Logan grimaced and returned to his work.

“I have a story for you.”

“Can’t wait.” Logan said not looking up from his hunt.

“Once upon a time there was a very jealous man named Skaras Jax. Skaras was very possessive of his very beautiful wife Bella. Skaras loved his wife so much that he would regularly accuse his wife of being overly friendly and flirtatious and beat her for it. He was hell-bent on controlling her completely. He tried destroying her self esteem by ridiculing her in public and in private. But she wouldn’t leave him. She was very religious and blamed herself for not being a good wife. Then one day Bella made a new friend. And this new friend promised to protect her and keep Skaras away from her.”

“Only Skaras went from wife-beater to murderer and killed her boyfriend.” Logan was hoping that his brusque summary would shut him up.

“I don’t believe I said he was dead. Assumptions, Logan, from such a dedicated professional, I’m shocked.” The devil stood and frowned at the crumpled bed sheets and smoothed out his clothes. “Well you seem too busy. I’ll leave you to your task. Meanwhile I’m going to start a heated argument at city hall about how evil King’s Feast is and blame the rising crime wave on the local clergy. Maybe I can drum up a mob.”

“Maybe.” Logan agreed, not paying much attention.

The devil sighed “It’s been ages since I started a good riot. The trick is not to goad just any idiot to pick up a burning stick and an ax, but to convince people to turn on innocents in their own communities. It’s all the sweeter if they do so on the basis that it is a good and decent and moral thing to do.”

Logan continued to be dismissive as he ran his fingers around the window frame.

“I was going to remind you that his wife is dead albeit by his own hands. Oh…and you seemed to have missed a clue.” And with that the devil was nowhere to be seen.

Logan cursed.  He was playing games with him again. He stripped the sheets from the mattress and flipped the bed. Nothing. In frustration he kicked the bedside cabinet square in the middle of the false drawer. The lamp rolled off and crashed to the floor. The top of the cabinet, now bereft of the lamp, had come loose. Logan grabbed at it and with a little resistance the board came away. Underneath was a small shallow basin. It seemed as if the cabinet had originally been some sort of wash-stand, which accounted for the false drawer. And in the basin was a large envelope folded in and half jammed into the receptacle. Logan opened the envelope quickly and found a map and some other papers. He smoothed out the leaflets. The rantings of a madman bent on vengeance and a map of the cemetery. Logan had been looking for a dead man roaming about the city. Looking for a dead wife was somewhat easier.

It didn’t take long to find the cemetery. Moonlight shone on the hundreds of headstones. Logan stalked through the maze of graves until he finally stopped and ducked behind a mausoleum. Just a few feet away Skaras was crouched in front of his wife’s grave. Logan drew his swords and advanced slowly checking out the location of trees and gravestones he could use for cover if necessary. Skaras looked in Logan’s direction. His eyes red-rimmed. He had been crying. 

“Are you here to kill me?”

Logan cursed to himself at being found out before answering “You’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet.”

The man returned his attention to the grave and continued to weep.

“You’re the one who killed her. No point in crying now.” Logan continued.

“I didn’t mean to!” he protested. “Shoulda killed the bastard who was screwing her! It wasn’t her fault. She loved me. She would never cheat on me. He made her cheat on me. I shoulda killed him not her.”

“Yeah.” Logan said neutrally. “Time for you to go back to the hells.”

“But she’s not there!” Skaras wailed in anguish.

That’s when Skaras made his move and threw himself at Logan. Logan easily sidestepped Skaras’ desperate charge. The green-flecked steel blade slid between the man’s ribs. The man’s sobbing ceased in an instant. His eyes widened as his face locked in a silent scream. The veins of hellfire steel that ran the length of the blade pulsed with a dim infernal light as the man’s soul was ripped from his being.

Logan sank to the ground in agonizing pain and clutched his arm as another tattoo burned away.