By the time Evan dropped his Demon-Hunting Form and walked back to Gooding Street beside Richard, it was past nine at night.
The streetlamps cast a yellow glow over the cobblestones, and the vendors were packing up to go home.
The heat that had seemed to steam from inside Richard had finally faded.
His skin lost its blood-flushed redness and returned to the bronze of a sailor's tan.
Evan stopped at a corner grocery stall and, wincing at the expense, slapped thirty cents onto the counter.
"A bottle of cola and a glass of beer."
The burly young proprietor took a glass bottle from an insulated container and poured Richard a large, foaming beer.
They sat on an empty roadside bench, planning to finish their drinks before heading on.
On the way back, Evan had told Richard everything in detail: how he had been dragged off, bitten through a tentacle to inject poison, forced a kiss to administer the drug, and finished the fight with a huge rock.
Richard grew more amused as he listened. At last, he slapped his thigh.
"No wonder Hill spotted your potential. You're a born hunter."
He raised his beer to Evan in a toast.
"And with your powerful drug resistance, you've got a bright future ahead of you."
Evan gave a dry chuckle and brought the soda bottle to his lips.
"Richard, which government department do people like us work for?"
Richard paused before taking a drink and turned to look at him.
"Government department? I never said we worked for the government."
Evan blinked.
"Didn't Master Hill say she was sort of a government employee?"
Understanding dawned on Richard's face.
"Oh, right! Hill does work for the government."
"The library where she works is a government institution."
Pfft.
The soda Evan had just swallowed shot out of both nostrils. Yellow liquid dripped down his chin and onto his shirt collar.
That's her fucking government status?
Was that the kind of government status I was asking about?
"Richard."
Evan wiped soda from his face and gripped Richard's sturdy shoulder, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Don't tell me we're just unaffiliated Beyonders."
Richard cleared his throat.
"What do you mean, 'unaffiliated'?"
He took a long drink of beer, leaving foam at the corner of his mouth.
"I belong to the Community Watch Team. We can share criminal intelligence with the authorities."
"They also give our people regular training. There's no fixed salary, but we get paid for results."
He set down his beer and held up three thick fingers.
"Catch a murderer, and the bounty starts at fifty dollars."
"An important target can bring in two hundred. Over a year, that's no less than a harbor foreman makes."
He makes it sound respectable.
Evan curled his lip.
"No matter how you dress it up, we're still Barbers without official appointments."
Barbers were security groups formed by local communities in this era.
On this fertile soil, in this age that could produce the Great Sage, Most Holy Teacher Ram, urban law and order was a mess.
The government had no money. Poor pay left the police understaffed and unwilling to make an effort.
Robberies, murders, bank heists—there were incidents every day.
Barber Groups had sprung up in response.
Their members often carried barbers' razors while standing watch or patrolling, which was why people called them Barber Groups or Barber Auxiliary Police.
Their formal names were usually things like the Community Watch Committee, Night Patrol, or Citizens' Protection League.
Ironically, seventy percent of the credit for Gooding Street's relative peace belonged to the Gus Gang.
To keep the cost of exploiting the neighborhood as low as possible, those people kept many sources of trouble out.
Richard coughed and looked at him seriously.
"Kid, don't get too hung up on having an official appointment."
"It's not a position you'd want."
His tone carried a deeper warning.
"Those so-called government Beyonders aren't a bulwark protecting the public. They're servants of the ruling class and capital."
"A lot of the incidents you know about weren't caused by accidents or monsters. Understand?"
"Take a position like that, and your freedom and conscience won't belong to you anymore!"
Evan fell silent for a few seconds.
What he had seen and heard over the past two weeks had already given him a basic understanding of this world.
Richard's words brought a few more scattered pieces of the puzzle together.
"Got it."
He took another sip from the soda bottle.
"They're better at emptying their magazines than protecting people."
Richard grunted in agreement and kept drinking his beer.
"I know what you're worried about. Relax."
He set his glass on the bench between them.
"We may not have government positions, but our branch has a longstanding alliance with Miskatonic University."
"Officially, we're Miskatonik Investigators. We have the same standing as detectives at the Police Station."
"When I have time, I'll take you to get your identification. Then you can legally carry a gun and conduct investigations."
Evan's eye twitched.
"Miskatonik Investigators... Now there's a promising career."
His tone was exceedingly complicated.
Back on Earth, he had read only a few Lovecraft stories, but he knew the name Miskatonic University all too well.
It was an institution of higher learning devoted to dealing with deep-sea monsters, Outer Gods, forbidden books, and the living dead.
Richard missed the implication. He threw an arm around Evan's shoulders and grinned.
"Right?"
"By the way, Richard." Evan changed the subject.
"Hong Si told me that female assistant was Apprentice Level. How did she have two beyonder characteristics? Doesn't an ordinary Apprentice have just one?"
Richard waved a hand casually.
"An Apprentice having two characteristics isn't unusual. Mastering three is enough to advance to Expert Level, after all."
"Besides, she actually had only one beyonder characteristic: flesh mutation."
Evan froze.
"Her healing ability didn't count?"
Richard shook his head.
"That's an innate ability of the Bloodthirsty Species. Anyone who successfully takes on that profession gains it automatically."
"Oh," Evan said.
"Then what's the innate ability of us Demon Hunters?"
Richard coughed.
"Strictly speaking, poison resistance."
"???"
Evan's mouth fell open. He had no idea what to say.
At that moment, he finally understood why mainstream Beyonder circles looked down on Demon Hunters as a bottom-tier profession.
His enemies' innate gifts were incredible healing, tremendous physical strength, and the ability to survive conventional attacks.
And his profession's innate gift... was that he could swallow a little poison.
He wasn't even immune! Too much would still kill him!
His branch of the tradition had three basic abilities, but two came from absorbing the power of monsters at the expense of his own bodily functions.
His memory and his fertility.
Those two sacrifices had bought him brain tissue that grew back on its own and a boost from his bodily fluids that made Rituals more stable.
The more broadly useful Demon Hunter Sight seemed more like a change in his own body: improved vision in exchange for his sense of taste.
Even bundled together, the three abilities hardly seemed as useful as incredible healing!!
After all, when a Demon Hunter was killed, he really did die!
Evan gripped his soda bottle, drained the last mouthful, and let out a long sigh.
"Richard."
He leaned back against the bench and gazed ruefully at the pharmacy across the street as it prepared to close.
"Is it too late to change my mind? Being one of the Bloodthirsty Species sounds pretty good."
Richard burst out laughing and clapped a heavy arm around Evan's shoulders.
"Too late! Once you've chosen a profession, you're stuck with it for life!"
After laughing for a while, his tone turned serious again.
"And don't envy them. Everything has a price."
"In exchange for their gifts, the Bloodthirsty Species can't go out in sunlight, thirst for blood, and have other fatal weaknesses."
"Ritual Silverware can grievously wound them. Solar Holy Water can kill them outright."
He raised a finger and tapped Evan lightly on the chest.
"Remember, kid. In the Beyonder world, there's no such thing as a flawless beyonder characteristic."
Evan nodded thoughtfully.
After finishing their drinks, they walked and talked until they reached Evan's old apartment building.
When Evan opened the door, the familiar smell of damp wood and coal ash rushed out to meet them.
"It's a bit shabby. Sorry about that, Richard."
Evan gathered the clothes on the chair to one side and gave an apologetic smile.
Richard grinned and dropped onto the battered canvas sofa in the living room without a care.
"Having somewhere to sleep is good enough. I spend plenty of nights under bridges."
As soon as he sat down, his gaze fell on something on the table.
"Is this muddy bag yours?"
Evan turned to look, and his expression changed.
It was his Canvas Satchel.
Could it have been Pulis...?
Evan's thoughts raced.
"That's my bag. It was thrown into the alley during the fight."