“So, what, there’s a massive pile of death-adjacent crap in the bottom of that hole, and Korrihor and his buddies dig through it to find stuff whenever a demon says they need a new ink cartridge?” I asked.
“In a nutshell,” Korrihor said. “There’s a little more to it than that, but that’s the basic idea behind the department.”
I took a moment to let the information sink in. “Hell is fuckin’ weird, man,” I concluded.
“Well, you know, it’s all about perspective,” Korrihor replied with a half-grin. “I’ve lived here for almost a thousand years and it all seems positively normal to me.”
“Less philosophizing, more record combing,” Jaelin reminded him.
Sylnie had been quiet lately, but she took this moment to speak up. “I think we need to talk about why the demons were wearing cloaks and masks,” she said.
I turned to give her a sideways look. “That came out of nowhere.”
“The more I’ve been thinking about it,” she explained, “the more I think it’s a big problem.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Demons hardly ever bother with clothing. It’s not in our nature,” she said.
I sighed. “I know you’re not happy about the outfit, but—”
“That’s not what she meant,” Jaelin said sharply.
I lowered my eyebrows. “Then what did she mean?”
I had a growing suspicion that everyone in the room except me had drawn a significant conclusion. Korrihor confirmed it by clearing his throat and stating, “She means that there is an organized group of demons to whom it is extremely important that you do not know their identities. It’s not a single demon challenging your rule or an invading army threatening to overrun you. This time it’s a coordinated conspiracy from inside.”
I blew out a heavy breath. “Okay.”
Korrihor grinned broadly. “But anyway, I found the order for the hoods and masks. It was pretty buried, but I found it.”