《Warlock's Last Exam》


 Chapter 1

    I tried not to look at the coffin, because every time I did, a lump would rise in my throat. That¡¯s why I brought a book with me, but the letters in ¡°Projections of Figures and Signs in Combat Artefactory¡± by Stenn kept blurring, and it wasn¡¯t the lighting to blame. There were enough candles in the chapel.


    The last watch, the final honor... And I was paying it while sitting on a chair. What would Grandpa say to that?


    A grumpy voice echoed in my head: "Read, don¡¯t get distracted! I¡¯m not going anywhere, am I?"


    Right, that¡¯s exactly what he would¡¯ve said...


    God, why did I even insist on being here?


    Because no one would take a talentless young man on a hunt for the werewolf that had torn apart the strongest warlock of the clan. Instead, only the most experienced and gifted ones went ¨C warlocks and shifters. Even promising talents like my cousin Logan stayed home.


    The mist in my eyes thickened so much I had to blink. Tears spilled out, carving trails down to the tip of my nose, where they gathered into a single, heavy drop that fell onto the yellowed pages of the old book and splattered. There was no point in reading. I closed the book and set it aside. Studying wasn¡¯t helping me cope with my emotions, and if I was going to cry, better now than tomorrow at the funeral. My tears wouldn¡¯t have pleased Grandpa Gregor. The old head of the clan had a reputation as a tough and uncompromising man.


    Forgive me, Grandpa. I¡¯m trying, but I¡¯m still far from being like you...


    Tears began streaming down my cheeks in full force.


    I wouldn¡¯t be alone: there was Logan, Aunt Mary, the other Kinkades. But it would be so hard without you, you old grumbler! Who else would share their wisdom, who would point me to the right book or evaluate a fresh idea? You always supported me... especially after I let down the clan, the family, and you.


    ¡°Forgive me, Grandpa,¡± I whispered hoarsely through my tears. ¡°One day you¡¯ll be proud of me.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± rasped a wheezing voice.


    I jumped to my feet. The chair toppled over, and the book fell to the floor. My right hand darted under my jacket, gripping the handle of my FN 910, Grandpa¡¯s gift. My left hand clenched into a fist, ready to activate the cheap corundum ring. Although no one lurked in the shadows, I prepared to channel the spell through the ring. Damn seals wouldn¡¯t let me do it instantly, nor could I charge the artifact with my own power. But a few years ago, I wouldn¡¯t have even hoped to feel the spell in the ring at all.


    ¡°Sir, this is a very bad joke!¡± I said, scanning the reflections of candlelight and the play of shadows on the walls.


    If the prankster was using a standard veil spell, it might still be possible to pinpoint them.


    Grandpa¡¯s body in the coffin stirred sluggishly. His hand rose and scratched at his tightly bandaged neck. The wound across his throat had caused his death, and leaving it on display hadn¡¯t been the best idea. I hadn¡¯t even noticed when I¡¯d aimed the pistol at the coffin.


    Possession, vampirism, necromancy... but definitely not lycanthropy. Vampires rise within a day ¨C It had been nearly two. If someone had performed a raising ritual, our gifted would¡¯ve sensed it. But spirits... spirits could be mischievous. Given that the ground was consecrated, the likelihood of encountering a bloodthirsty demonic entity was low. But even a less sinister otherworldly guest could cause plenty of trouble.


    That¡¯s exactly why the last watch required you to bring a weapon. Too bad that, considering Grandpa¡¯s death, my pistol was loaded with silver bullets. A shotgun with blessed salt would¡¯ve been much better in this situation. Still, eight grams of sacred metal, nine millimeters in caliber, had miraculous stopping power ¨C especially if you hit the head, the third eye through which spirits enter the body.


    Damage to the physical body near an energy node created a strong resonance with the subtle body and distorted the flow of aether. A weak spirit would be expelled instantly, while a powerful one would find control much harder. But the shot had to be precise. Negotiating afterward wouldn¡¯t be an option.


    And it wasn¡¯t exactly honorable. No respect for the deceased. Damn it, and I couldn¡¯t even warn the others ¨C any noise might provoke it. Father Martin would¡¯ve handled this much better than me. Still, I wasn¡¯t useless, and you, Grandpa, taught me well.


    Taking advantage of the fact that the possessed wasn¡¯t looking at me, I slid the pistol back into the holster under my jacket. Let¡¯s try to negotiate. Maybe we can settle this with a modest offering.


    ¡°Sir, I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ve gotten the wrong body.¡±


    Grandpa turned his gray head, but the edge of the coffin blocked his view of me. So the old man grabbed the side and sat up.


    ¡°What in the hell are you babbling about?¡± Grandpa looked at me, swept his gaze over the many candles, then glanced down and froze.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so,¡± I continued, seizing the pause. But Grandpa frowned and raised his index finger, the way he always did when demanding silence.


    His strong, wrinkled hand curled into a fist and knocked on the side of the coffin.


    ¡°Well, shit!¡± Grandpa concluded. ¡°No, the coffin¡¯s fine, pine burns well. The situation, though ¨C just a real pile of crap. Forget possession right away. Why didn¡¯t you draw your weapon? Or is that not a thing for the last watch anymore?¡­ And why are you here, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Grandpa?!¡± I asked. How the hell was this even possible? He¡¯d been lying dead for two days, we¡¯d already washed and dressed him.


    ¡°As you can see!¡± Grandpa snapped back and pressed two fingers to his neck, trying to find a pulse. ¡°Don¡¯t waste your time. How long¡¯s it been?¡±


    ¡°This is the second day.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯m not a vampire. Although¡­¡± Grandpa flicked his wrist, and a long, double-edged dagger appeared in his hand. Instinctively, I drew my pistol.


    ¡°You did bring it,¡± he said. ¡°So why are we still talking? You should¡¯ve put a bullet in my head immediately!¡±


    ¡°I thought it might be a spirit playing tricks. I wanted to negotiate.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve already negotiated with Ferrish,¡± Grandpa snorted, shoving his fingers into his mouth, followed by the dagger. A moment later, something crunched. The old man pulled a long fang from his mouth, wiped it on his jacket, and tossed it to me. ¡°Here, take a look.¡±


    I leaned back, letting the tooth sail past and clatter onto the marble floor. Grandpa gave an approving grunt and added the dagger to the mix, tossing it toward the wall to put me at ease. I suddenly felt like I was back taking one of his damn tests. Keeping the old man in my line of sight, I stepped back and to the right so the tooth was near my feet. I crouched on one knee, ready to spring up at a moment¡¯s notice, and glanced downward with just my eyes, without lowering my head.


    The thin, curved strip of enamel wasn¡¯t a fully developed fang yet, but it was sharp enough to break skin.


    ¡°The werewolf tore you apart!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just it,¡± Grandpa said. ¡°Don¡¯t hesitate. Bullet to the head, and I¡¯ll join the ancestors.¡±


    ¡°Wait. This is clearly a setup. Judging by how fast the transformation is happening, they must¡¯ve injected you with vampire blood after you died. It doesn¡¯t turn the dead on its own.¡±


    ¡°They must¡¯ve used a powerful healing potion, or something like it,¡± Grandpa confirmed. ¡°Duncan, I get that this is an attack on the family ¨C or maybe the entire clan ¨C but that¡¯s for the next head of the clan to sort out. I just hope Bryce doesn¡¯t botch the job. Son, time¡¯s running out.¡±


    ¡°You mean the Call?¡±


    Grandpa nodded.


    In the past, I would¡¯ve said no vampire could slip past our shifters, that no one could awaken his thirst, and that we had a solid day before he¡¯d start losing his mind to bloodlust. But given recent events¡­ This was going to take a lot of explaining to the family.


    The grip of my pistol felt slick, my hand heavy as lead, but I nodded.


    ¡°Good lad,¡± Grandpa smiled. ¡°You know, maybe we can turn this situation to our advantage. Pick up the dagger. Ferrish won¡¯t pass up a trophy like this.¡±


    ¡°A sacrifice on consecrated ground? Father Martin will lose his mind.¡±


    ¡°After he sings the rites, Martin can kiss my ass. You tell him that. Now, pick up the dagger.¡±


    I approached the wall, picking up the blade consecrated to an ancient spirit of the hunt. The moment I touched it, I felt the powerful otherworldly entity that had granted Grandpa his magic turn its attention to me. We¡¯d met once before, five years ago. That conversation had gone poorly, and I¡¯d been punished for my insolence.


    ¡°Go on, son, aim for the base of the skull. It won¡¯t be hard.¡±


    Grandpa lay back down in the coffin and rolled onto his stomach. The blade would indeed easily slide into the spot he¡¯d chosen, if we were just talking physics. But the dagger in my hand felt like it had turned to lead, and its tip trembled like the hands of a drunk in the morning after a binge. Damn tears started flooding my eyes again. It was a good thing Grandpa couldn¡¯t see me, because I couldn¡¯t! I just couldn¡¯t do this to him.


    ¡°Duncan!¡± Grandpa growled, his voice a warning.


    ¡°It won¡¯t work,¡± I said, stowing the dagger. ¡°You¡¯re no prey, not without a hunt. I¡¯d just anger him even more.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Oh, son¡­¡± Grandpa rolled over in the coffin again and sat up. ¡°Caution is good, but only in moderation. Fine, then. Fire a few shots into the air and let¡¯s see who comes running.¡±


    I met Grandpa¡¯s gaze and then quickly looked away, embarrassed. He realized it wasn¡¯t just caution holding me back.


    Wasting silver bullets shooting into the air felt like sacrilege, but I was eager to take up the offer. I threw open the chapel doors, raised the barrel¡­


    ¡°No need¡­¡± drawled an unfamiliar voice from the darkest corner of the chapel.


    The shadows there ignored the light of nearby candles, clinging unnaturally thick, obscuring the figure within.


    I whipped the pistol toward the voice, steadying the grip with my left hand, where the dagger still rested. I wasn¡¯t about to drop the blade for a better hold ¨C It might still come in handy. Grandpa leapt out of the coffin, spreading his hands with clawed fingers aimed upward. Normally, that gesture would ignite warlock sparks in his hands, but this time his magic fizzled out. A newly turned vampire was no longer a powerful warlock, even if he¡¯d managed to summon Ferrish¡¯s blade earlier.


    Grandpa cursed and tried a few other spells, but none of them worked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother,¡± said the shadow, shifting into the shape of a man in a black cloak with a hood. ¡°You¡¯ve already used up your quota for today.¡±


    The dagger in my hand pulsed with feral hatred. Enemy! Enemy with a capital E. The kind Ferrish would not only forgive an old insult for but even reward me for. The surge of emotion carried a promise. I realized with certainty that the spirit would lift the seals from my energy nodes if I took this man¡¯s life. And that was strange. Ferrish was a spirit of the hunt, stubborn but not bloodthirsty. The chase intrigued him far more than the prize.


    ¡°Name yourself!¡± Grandpa demanded.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you recognize me, Kinkades?¡± The intruder threw back his hood, revealing a sharp-featured face framed by a slicked-back hairstyle with a flawless left part. He looked young, barely older than me ¨C nineteen, maybe twenty ¨C but the clean-shaven chin with a dimple gave him an air of maturity, adding a few years. His thin lips twisted into a mocking grin. ¡°Tsk, tsk. You ruin a man¡¯s life and toss him out of your memories.¡±


    ¡°Simon?¡± I said, recognizing him. ¡°What the hell are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Pfft, I organized this!¡± Simon said indignantly. ¡°And lower that popgun ¨C It won¡¯t help you.¡±


    The uninvited guest lazily pointed a gloved hand at me, but for some reason didn¡¯t lower it afterward. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and he wiggled his fingers. There was something menacing in that small gesture, as if he were trying to cast magic.


    But he was sealed, just like I was! Though that didn¡¯t stop him from using veil spell ¨C there were always artifacts and amulets to consider. Just in case, I stepped to the side, while Grandpa, on the contrary, stepped forward, clearly with aggressive intent.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Simon barked. ¡°By the right of the matriarch and the founder!¡±


    Grandpa stumbled and fell, unable to resist the power imbued in those simple words.


    Simon ¨C a bloodsucker? Their elders could subjugate younger ones, but something about this compulsion was off. Damn it, I¡¯d studied vampires! What was wrong here?


    Ferrish¡¯s dagger hummed with a restless hunger, clouding my thoughts, while this bastard dared to give orders to Grandpa.


    ¡°Hands on your head! Face to the ground!¡± I barked.


    ¡°Shut up, you spineless wretch,¡± Simon sneered. ¡°You couldn¡¯t even put down this piece of crap, and he didn¡¯t even resist.¡±


    He kicked Grandpa, who twitched and tried to grab his assailant¡¯s leg, but the villain snapped, ¡°Stay down!¡±


    For you, bastard, he might be piece of crap, but to me¡­


    I squeezed the trigger. The sound of the gunshot roared through the relatively small space, so loud it left my ears ringing. The heavy silver bullet whizzed past the enemy¡¯s face, slammed into the wall, and chipped out a chunk of brick. Simon flinched, stung by the flying shards, and pressed a hand to his cheek. His eyes narrowed in anger.


    He pulled his hand away and stared at the bloodstains on his glove.


    The cuts on his face were bleeding freely. Not a vampire.


    ¡°Kill him!¡± he ordered Grandpa. ¡°Tear him apart!¡±


    On the second word, I pulled the trigger again. The bullet struck Simon in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Should¡¯ve shot right away.


    ¡°Bastard!¡± Simon screamed.


    Grandpa rose to his feet, baring the one remaining fang. His eyes glistened with madness and a thirst for blood, but the iron will of a man who, until recently, was the powerful warlock and head of the Bremor clan still restrained the body that no longer belonged to him. The struggle was clearly one-sided, though, as instinct slowly overtook him, forcing the vampire to creep forward in tiny, hesitant steps.


    ¡°Stop him!¡± I commanded.


    ¡°Kill him!¡± Simon barked in response, earning another bullet to the leg. He howled in pain.


    Grandpa lunged forward, and I shot him in the shoulder. The vampire staggered. I aimed lower, hitting his shin. He collapsed to one knee but refused to stop.


    ¡°Grandpa, damn it!¡± I tried to reason with him. The vampire had only one step left, and I had two bullets and two enemies. Simon, you bastard, this was supposed to be between us! Why the hell did you drag him into it?!


    I had no choice. This fight had to end.


    Dropping to one knee in front of Grandpa, I took aim and pulled the trigger. The bandages around his neck tore as the bullet pierced through, leaving a hole that trailed faint wisps of smoke. The shot tore through his already slashed throat and shattered the vertebra behind it. Even vampires couldn¡¯t survive that kind of damage. A headshot would¡¯ve been safer, but I couldn¡¯t bear the thought of Grandpa being buried with a hole in his forehead. Just the thought made me sick.


    The vampire froze, swayed, his head slumping to one side, neck twisted at an unnatural angle. His body sagged to the floor.


    Even in that grotesque pose, Grandpa smiled and parted his lips, but whatever last words he¡¯d meant to say died with him. Life left his body before the words could.


    Grandpa!


    For the second time in just a few days, my heart clenched in an invisible vice. My chest tightened, refusing to let me draw a breath. I wanted to scream, to shout, but it was as if all the air had been sucked from the room. Every ounce of my strength went into shaking off the haze, forcing myself to take one breath and finish what needed to be done.


    One last bullet. I wasn¡¯t done yet.


    ¡°Simon,¡± I hissed. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re gonna pay for this.¡±


    I was in full agreement with Ferrish now ¨C this bastard needed to die. But the scumbag had used veil again. He wasn¡¯t on the floor, and the shadows in the room lay flat and undisturbed.


    The door!


    I quickly slammed shut the most obvious escape route and scanned the floor for any signs of blood. With the amount pouring from his cheek, there should¡¯ve been a pool from the bullet wounds too. But there was nothing.


    Damn it! Stone skin, or something like it.


    I focused my will into the enchanted ring. If the enemy got away with just bruises, this wouldn¡¯t be over.


    The last bullet had to count ¨C preferably through his eye ¨C and then I¡¯d drive the dagger into his body to finish the kill while it was still warm. Speaking of the blade, its burning hatred had faded the moment the enemy left my sight. Hopefully, that didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d slipped away.


    I scanned the shadows carefully, but found nothing. Either the camouflage was flawless, or I¡¯d rushed my assumptions.


    I listened intently. Not a single out-of-place sound. Logan would¡¯ve heard something. Speaking of hearing ¨C no one had come running at the noise. Strange. I¡¯d have to make note of that, but I couldn¡¯t count on reinforcements.


    This was a standoff, and I couldn¡¯t tell whose side time was on.


    I had one bullet left, and my pistol was the only thing keeping the balance in my favor¡­ My pistol¡­


    Why had Simon come without a weapon? Was he relying on magic? He¡¯d trained in the clan until he was fifteen; he had to know better. He¡¯d know the value of a backup plan. Grandpa had always taught me to assume my enemy¡¯s capabilities extended beyond what they¡¯d shown.


    Let¡¯s assume he has a gun. If I remember correctly, veil spells often have flaws ¨C like reacting to movement. He can¡¯t move!


    And I can¡¯t lower my pistol to provoke him without risking taking a bullet myself.


    I carefully examined the nearest candelabra. Thinking logically, Simon would¡¯ve kept his distance from the source of light. What was I risking? Just my life¡­ No, that wasn¡¯t quite right ¨C only if the bastard still had vampire blood. Wrong again. Grandpa¡¯s death had been meticulously staged, and my corpse ¨C especially once someone noticed Grandpa¡¯s fangs ¨C would be examined far more thoroughly. Other risks? The attacker¡¯s identity might remain unknown. But that risk would linger no matter what.


    I shoved the dagger into the pocket of my jacket, grabbed a handful of thin candles from the candelabra, and flung them in a wide arc toward the walls. The shadow beneath the window arch twitched, and I activated the ring, bracing for a retaliatory shot. I couldn¡¯t afford to shoot blindly ¨C there wouldn¡¯t be a second chance.


    A blurred figure raised a hand holding a gun. Just not the head! If it hits my mouth, I might survive, but an eye¡­


    Simon¡¯s final movement was too abrupt, and his concealment failed completely. I saw the whites of his eyes. The muzzle of my gun was already pointed in the right direction ¨C just needed to adjust a millimeter¡­


    Simon¡¯s revolver spat out a bullet first. A chunk of lead tore through my jacket and, judging by the unforgettable sensation, a rib. But I stayed on my feet. The second bullet followed the first ¨C It slammed me against the door. Then a third¡­


    Simon fired quickly, cocking the hammer with one hand and pulling the trigger with the other. All six bullets left the barrel in less than three seconds ¨C the exact time it took for my stone-skin ring to fully drain. If he¡¯d been even a fraction slower, I¡¯d already be chatting with the ancestors.


    My chest burned. The spell only reinforced the skin, not the ribs. A hazy film clouded my vision. My arm, the one holding the pistol, went limp and dropped. I think I growled in pain, struggling to raise it again. It moved, but sluggishly.


    Simon wasn¡¯t polite enough to wait for me to take aim. He spun sharply and smashed the butt of his gun against the windowpane. The bastard scrambled onto the windowsill, and I fired.


    Since he¡¯d turned his rear to me, aiming for the eyes was out of the question, but there was another very natural weak spot in that region, and that¡¯s where I aimed. Too bad I didn¡¯t see if I hit ¨C my shot shoved him out the window.


    I had to finish him!


    An empty pistol was useless. I dropped it to the floor and pulled out the dagger, miraculously still in my pocket. I wasn¡¯t in any condition to climb through the window, so I opened the door and set off the long way around.


    My pace was slow ¨C each step sent stabbing pain through my ribs, painting my vision with bursts of color. Every breath jabbed my lungs like needles, forcing me to gulp air in shallow sips. The dagger¡¯s hilt was slick with sweat and threatened to slip free, but Ferrish¡¯s anger gripped my hand, fueled by the spirit¡¯s renewed awareness of the enemy.


    Simon was limping away, clutching his injured backside and dragging his left leg.


    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going, sweetheart?¡± I hissed.


    He didn¡¯t look back, but his limp turned into a more determined hobble toward the garden. On the move, he pulled a small vial from his pocket. He bit off the cork, spat it out, and downed the contents in one gulp.


    I quickened my pace. The colorful circles in my vision turned into an unbroken haze. Simon¡¯s figure blurred, but I was closing the gap.


    Not for long.


    After a few seconds of what felt like a race between cripples, Simon released his grip on his injured buttock and began walking straighter ¨C the potion was kicking in. Only a few meters separated him from the trees.


    I gritted my teeth and made one final, desperate lunge to reach him with the blade. My vision went completely dark.


    The stars traded places with the grass, and the ground kicked me harder than a wild stallion¡¯s hind legs. For a moment, the sky lit up, the stars tumbled down to earth, and sparks flickered among the grass. Up and down lost all meaning, and even the pain vanished.


    But as soon as I took a breath, everything snapped back into place. The pain returned, as did the crushing weight of reality.


    I managed to lift my head.


    There was no sign of Simon around.

 Chapter 2

    Bloody hell! I let him slip away!


    Beyond the garden lay the forest, the one that first gave its name to the clan and later to the entire county of Bremshire. Simon, like me, had been taught to walk its trails. The forest never forgave the weak, and its population of gifted beasts even less so, which was why the knowledge was hammered into the heads of neophytes with absolute finality. For the ¡°alternatively gifted,¡± the instructions were delivered via a belt on the backside ¨C hard enough to make sitting impossible.


    At twelve, every boy in the clan took his first exam: a solo trip into the forest to spend the night. Before he fled the clan, Simon had passed four of them. On the last one, he had already been sealed and carried the mark of prey ¨C a mark that made predators react to him like a cat to a mouse.


    So, let¡¯s assume the forest isn¡¯t a danger to him.


    I don¡¯t know how long the potion he took will last. If it¡¯s based on sun stag horn extract, it could keep him going for a solid three hours. In that time, he¡¯d be halfway to the Elfish County mountains, hiding out in Glembatric or Inverlass, where he could catch a train heading anywhere.


    Although¡­ why bother? He could do the same here in Avoc without even venturing far into the woods. Just a quick detour under the trees to avoid the clan enclave and make it to the city. Damn it! What if he has a car? Even without one, stealing one wouldn¡¯t be hard.


    I had to catch Simon ¨C and fast ¨C before the trail went cold. Unfortunately, I wasn¡¯t particularly skilled at tracking even during the day, and in my current state, I needed help.


    My first attempt to get up failed miserably. My battered ribs all reminded me, in unison, that I should have been more careful. The second attempt was more successful. Slowly and carefully, I picked up speed until I was moving at a pace that wouldn¡¯t send me toppling over. Grinding my teeth at the precious seconds slipping away, I kept having to remind myself that if I fell again, I might not be able to get back up ¨C and crawling would take even longer.


    The clan chapel faded into the background. I tried not to think about how Grandpa¡¯s body was now lying on the floor there. Instead, I focused on the houses that began a few hundred meters ahead. No one had heard the gunshots, which meant Simon must have used some kind of sound-dampening spell. That being the case, disturbing the chapel¡¯s nearest neighbors wouldn¡¯t help.


    There were three Bailey houses nearby, and they were friendly with the Ferons ¨C Simon¡¯s family. The chapel itself had originally been built on the outskirts of the settlement, but that had been ages ago. Avoc, the county capital, had grown so much that the clan settlement was now just another district of the city. Right, this area belonged mostly to the Ferons. Thomas McLilly lived here too ¨C part of a friendly family, though his wife was a Bailey. Two more houses, and I¡¯d be there...


    A small white picket fence almost turned into an insurmountable obstacle. My hands shook and slipped on the tiny latch, but I managed to open it. Stumbling forward, I made it to the heavy oak door and pounded on it with my fist ¨C avoiding the knocker to keep from drawing the neighbors¡¯ attention. The stabbing pain in my ribs protested the motion, but I still had to knock twice more.


    The door opened without a word. Logan, as usual, had sensed my presence in advance. He could¡¯ve been quicker about it! Back then, Ferrish hadn¡¯t been content to merely seal my energy nodes; he¡¯d also branded me with the mark of a hunter. Prey animals scattered in terror at my approach, and predators preferred to keep their distance. Logan felt it too, but he easily ignored its mental influence ¨C being a rather dangerous shifter himself.


    I still remembered the shaggy wolfhound whose spirit Logan had took. Surprisingly, it had been a remarkably good-natured dog.


    ¡°Brother...¡± Logan said, surprised.


    I didn¡¯t let him finish, shoving him back inside and closing the door behind me. Logan had to step aside to let me squeeze past his massive frame. His three younger sisters gasped in shock when they saw the bullet holes in my jacket and shirt. Their reaction drew the attention of Aunt Mary, who peeked into the living room.


    ¡°Good Lord, Duncan!¡±


    ¡°Simon is back,¡± I rasped.


    ¡°Simon¡­ Feron?¡± Logan guessed. The dangerous orange glow in his blue eyes betrayed his half-feral nature.


    ¡°He¡¯s the one who set up Grandpa¡¯s death. Poisoned him with vampire blood. Grandpa rose, and I had to...¡±


    ¡°Elly, Zoe,¡± Aunt Mary commanded sharply, ¡°go to your rooms!¡±


    ¡°But Mom!¡± protested the youngest, who was immediately silenced by a hearty smack upside the head.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me get the belt,¡± Mary warned.


    The younger girls vanished as if swept away by the wind. The eldest hesitated but returned to her seat when her mother motioned for her to stay.


    ¡°We need to catch Simon,¡± I said. ¡°He went toward the park from the chapel.¡±


    Logan¡¯s features grew more animalistic. His jaw pushed forward, and his lips curled back under the pressure of his lengthening fangs. He grabbed the door handle, but his mother¡¯s commanding voice stopped him in his tracks.


    ¡°Stay put!¡± she ordered.


    Ignoring his confused look, she turned to me. ¡°Are you injured?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I used stone skin.¡±


    ¡°Get him to the couch,¡± she ordered Logan. ¡°Ivy, draw the curtains and call your father at the pub.¡±


    My cousin scooped me up like I weighed nothing, but the motion jostled my ribs, and I nearly growled in pain again. Ivy pulled the curtains closed and picked up the receiver of the large rotary phone on the side table. Aunt Mary continued barking orders with the confidence of a battle-hardened general, peppering her commands with a few colorful insults and commentary on the current state of the clan.


    She wasn¡¯t exactly delicate as she tore open my shirt. Buttons popped off and clattered across the floor, joined by a couple of spent bullets that had been lodged inside.


    ¡°Flying off on a chase, you boneheads. Wasn¡¯t Grandpa enough for you? You rushing to join him in the afterlife? Bryce brought back the werewolf¡¯s head, and now they¡¯re all drunk celebrating it. Do you have any idea what¡¯ll happen if you start shouting about Simon? That it was him who killed Gregor, not some rogue werewolf who overindulged on the hearts of the strong?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I came to you...¡±


    ¡°And what if one of you dies? You don¡¯t care about me, but at least think about the family¡¯s reputation.¡±


    She didn¡¯t seem interested in hearing my answer, because she immediately pressed down on my chest, sending fractures of pain shooting through my world. Even so, I managed to rasp, ¡°He¡¯s wounded¡­ fleeing¡­ and dosed on something.¡±


    ¡°Mom, I¡¯ll catch him!¡± Logan barked.


    ¡°Sit down and stop twitching, or I¡¯ll thrash you too!¡±


    Logan obeyed. He always did, but he never hid how he felt about it. This time, however, his sister cut off his complaints. While we¡¯d been arguing, she¡¯d gotten through to their father.


    ¡°Mom,¡± Ivy said, pointing at the receiver.


    ¡°Did you put Grandpa to rest properly?¡± Mary asked me before taking the phone.


    ¡°I guarantee it.¡±


    ¡°Logan, get to the chapel. Make sure no one sees you. Check everything there and wait! You¡¯ll follow the trail when help arrives.¡±


    Logan sprang to his feet and rushed toward the door, but he abruptly changed course, darted into the closet, and emerged with a rifle and bandolier.


    ¡°Gordon, darling,¡± Aunt Mary said into the phone. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you have to do, but Bryce and Evan need to be here in a minute, or your brother can kiss his chances of becoming clan head goodbye.¡± She paused, then added sharply, ¡°No, you don¡¯t have to come yourself.¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    She hung up the phone. ¡°Ivy, fetch Sally.¡±


    ¡°But she¡¯s just¡­¡±


    I knew what Ivy was about to say. Sally had given birth just a week and a half ago.


    ¡°Aunt¡­¡± I tried to intercede for my cousin, who, despite being three years older than me, was still considered a junior in the family.


    ¡°Now!¡± Mary snapped.


    Sally was a warlock, too. Ferrish had gifted her with extraordinary sensitivity, allowing her to literally see the weak points in living beings. She often used this ability for medical purposes.


    The clan had more professional doctors and healers, but Aunt Mary clearly didn¡¯t trust them with this.


    The first to arrive was Evan ¨C another cousin, a talented warlock in his early forties and, incidentally, Sally¡¯s father. His absence from the revenge celebration was easier to explain than most.


    ¡°Who?¡± he asked as soon as he entered.


    ¡°Simon Feron,¡± Aunt Mary replied. ¡°He pumped Grandpa full of vampire blood.¡±


    Evan didn¡¯t believe. He probably thought I was delirious.


    Carefully, I rolled onto my side and pulled the dagger out of my jacket pocket. Strange that Aunt Mary hadn¡¯t confiscated it right away.


    Evan¡¯s skepticism shifted to surprise. The family knew Grandpa had kept the dagger in a dimensional pocket. I extended it to him hilt-first, but the moment Evan¡¯s fingers brushed against it, he jerked his hand back.


    ¡°It¡¯s alive! Why? Do we have a vampire in the settlement?¡±


    ¡°No, I put Grandpa to rest,¡± I replied. ¡°Ferrish set his price for the seals.¡±


    ¡°The spirit is ready to remove them?¡±


    Before I could answer, Evan¡¯s father ¨C Uncle Bryce ¨C burst into the house. Great, now I¡¯d have to start the explanation from the beginning.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter!¡± I said through gritted teeth, the pain in my ribs flaring up again. ¡°The important thing is catching Simon. He¡¯s somehow regained the use of magic.¡±


    ¡°Simon who?¡± Bryce asked, but Evan silenced his father with a gesture and let me continue.


    ¡°Logan¡¯s at the chapel, tracking him.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± Evan grabbed Bryce by the elbow and dragged him toward the door. ¡°We¡¯ve got a lead ¨C through the runes.¡±


    ¡°What runes?¡± I asked, but no one bothered to answer. At the door, Evan bumped into Sally, pecked her on the cheek, and hurried off with Bryce in tow.


    It seemed the older generation was in on some other shady dealings and had managed to connect them to Simon, leaving me completely in the dark.


    For the next half hour, Sally scrutinized my ribs ¨C and deeper. Turned out there was only one fracture, but plenty of cracks and other internal injuries to go around. Besides the muscles and bones, my lungs and liver had taken damage. With the full list of injuries at hand, the women quickly selected the necessary elixirs and began pouring them into me.


    When I could no longer swallow their vile concoctions, they switched to ointments, rubbing them into my skin. I nearly suffocated from the stench. Someone else might have resisted these tortures, but by my modest calculations, the family had already spent around a thousand pounds on me in salves and potions.


    ¡°Try to sleep,¡± Aunt Mary said. ¡°You¡¯ll need to be up early.¡±


    Not even the smell could stop me from fulfilling that request, but sleep didn¡¯t last long. I¡¯d barely closed my eyes when someone shook me by the shoulder.


    ¡°Duncan...¡±


    For a moment, I thought it was Grandpa Gregor, but no ¨C It was just Uncle Gordon. The smell of his booze-soaked breath easily overpowered the stench of the ointments, snapping me back to full awareness.


    ¡°Uncle,¡± I groaned, ¡°please don¡¯t breathe.¡±


    ¡°Ha? Don¡¯t turn your face away! You think I wanted to drink myself into this state?¡±


    ¡°Oh, like you didn¡¯t want to!¡± Aunt Mary snapped from behind him.


    ¡°At least now no one will remember Bryce and Evan weren¡¯t there!¡±


    ¡°Oh, I can¡¯t wait for the neighbors to tell me all about what you¡¯ve been up to,¡± Aunt Mary said dryly.


    ¡°Here¡¯s a bit of advice for you, boy: don¡¯t get married. Women are ungrateful creatures. They ask you for something and then complain about how you did it.¡±


    Mary rolled up a towel and smacked Gordon across the back of the head with it. The conflict fizzled out after that, neither side interested in prolonging it.


    ¡°Did you catch Simon?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No, the bastard covered his tracks well,¡± Gordon admitted. ¡°Logan spent half the night running through the forest, nearly burning out his nose. The bastard used something corrosive.¡±


    ¡°And now what?¡±


    ¡°Now you take a bath. Get yourself cleaned up. Bryce will be here soon, and the conversation will be serious.¡±


    In the bathroom, I finally got a good look at myself in the mirror. Dark circles hung under my eyes, but those could be blamed on the sleepless night. What couldn¡¯t be dismissed so easily was the mess beneath my shirt. My chest and stomach were a patchwork of bruises in shades of blue, yellow, and green.


    My ribs still ached, but not as badly as they had earlier. A few hours ago, I probably wouldn¡¯t have been able to scrub my back with a sponge, but now I managed it. It took a lot of effort, and even so, I couldn¡¯t completely rid myself of the stench of the ointments.


    As I dried off, I realized the smell had soaked into my skin. My only hope was the balm Aunt Mary applied to me after the bath.


    Bryce arrived just as they were finishing rubbing the balm into my skin. I wasn¡¯t allowed to put on a shirt over the fresh ointment, so I had to have this ¡°serious conversation¡± looking anything but serious. Aunt Mary sat us down in the kitchen, placed two plates of eggs and bacon in front of us along with cups of tea, and closed the door behind her as she left. Bryce ignored the eggs but took a sip of the tea.


    ¡°Start from the beginning, with all the details,¡± he said.


    I laid everything out the way Grandpa had taught me: just the facts, no speculation, no assumptions, no emotions. Thank God Bryce didn¡¯t ask for clarifications.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said gravely.


    ¡°No problem.¡±


    ¡°No, really!¡± Bryce said, his tone weighty. ¡°If you hadn¡¯t put Father to rest, it would have dealt a heavy blow to the family. I know you loved him as much as I did, and...¡± The words didn¡¯t come easily to him, and he clearly would have preferred a glass of strong whiskey over the tea. ¡°I¡¯m sixty now ¨C a respectable age ¨C and even now I doubt I could¡¯ve done it. That was an honorable deed. Worthy of a vote in the council.¡±


    Wait, what?! Was he offering me a place on the clan council? Logan¡¯s twenty, and despite all his talent, he was only invited this year. Uncle Gordon was thirty when he got in. And here Bryce was talking about a seventeen-year-old sealed brat.


    ¡°All the more reason,¡± Bryce continued, ¡°that it¡¯s unpleasant to ask you for a favor.¡±


    I nodded. I already had a general idea of what he was going to ask.


    ¡°The council was never my goal. I¡¯ll keep quiet,¡± I said.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Bryce said sincerely. ¡°We lost Simon. The dagger was burning with hatred, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    I nodded again, this time with more interest.


    ¡°I¡¯ve encountered that twice before,¡± Bryce explained. ¡°Both times with bloodsuckers, and both times on the frontlines. In 1916, one of our allies in the ranks turned out to be one ¨C I had to let him go. The second, a year later, Ferrish rewarded me handsomely for. Are you sure Simon isn¡¯t a vampire?¡±


    ¡°He bled,¡± I reminded him. ¡°But he could command... a vampire. By the word of the matriarch.¡±


    ¡°We found blood, but it¡¯s tainted. Useless for a tracking ritual. He was well-prepared.¡±


    ¡°You think Simon didn¡¯t plan this alone?¡±


    Now it was Bryce¡¯s turn to shake his head.


    ¡°Granting someone authority over young blood by the right of the word can only be done by an elder or an ancient.¡±


    Bloodsuckers again. Our clan had a long history of dealings with nightborn freaks practically since its founding. Ferrish paid well for dangerous prey. The last illegal nest in Bremshire was wiped out by my father in 1927. The bloodsuckers retaliated by leaving me an orphan. Grandpa went on a rampage across the country after that. Nests burned in several counties, and they say even a few ancient princes were sent to hell.


    ¡°So that werewolf who killed Grandpa...¡±


    ¡°He was just a tool. They carved submission runes into his skin, drugged him, fed him rare hearts, and sent him off to die.¡±


    ¡°But how did a rabid beast manage to take down Grandpa?¡±


    Bryce shrugged uncertainly.


    ¡°They helped.¡±


    ¡°Someone from our side?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know! Before you told me about Simon, I suspected Sean. But even he wouldn¡¯t use his own son.¡±


    Sean Feron ¨C Simon¡¯s father ¨C had been Bryce¡¯s main rival in the race for clan leadership. He hated Grandpa, had no sense of honor, but genuinely loved his son. When Simon fled, Sean had nearly killed me, accusing me of every sin under the sun.


    ¡°So we keep quiet and suspect everyone?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much,¡± Bryce agreed. ¡°Eat your eggs before they get cold.¡±


    I quickly finished my breakfast, put on the fresh suit Aunt Mary had prepared for me, slid my freshly cleaned and oiled pistol into its holster, and tucked the dagger ¨C now housed in a brand-new leather sheath ¨C into the inner pocket of my jacket.


    Uncle Bryce escorted me back to the chapel, shielding me from prying eyes with one of Ferrish¡¯s little tricks.


    The window Simon had broken was whole again. The candles were no longer scattered across the floor. The chapel had been scrubbed clean, and the bullet holes in the wall had been patched, leaving only the faint smell of fresh plaster. Grandpa had been rewrapped, redressed, and the bullet wounds hidden. He now lay peacefully in the coffin, his lips curled into a faint smile. No one could do anything about that smile ¨C It had appeared after his second death.


    I stepped into the last watch for the second time. This time, without a book and without tears.


    ¡°God is merciful,¡± Bryce said unexpectedly. ¡°We are not.¡±


    It seemed he¡¯d made some sort of vow to Grandpa. Then he spun around, clapped me on the shoulder, and left.


    Maybe it was too emotional a moment, and I got caught up in it. I had no business going after the puppeteers who stood behind Simon, but that bastard himself ¨C I¡¯d get him! Whatever it took ¨C I¡¯d get him!

 Chapter 3

    The memorial service was held in the central cathedral of Avoc. The bishop himself had wanted to officiate, but he was, to put it mildly, reined in. The only priest Grandpa could tolerate in life was Father Martin, who was practically part of the family, though he bore a completely different surname. Martin was the same age as Bryce, and he never gave Grandpa an inch, regularly unloading such constructions of sacred texts on him that it was hard to tell whether he was blessing or cursing him.


    This time, Father Martin kept things simple, and his speech was clear to everyone. In life, he and Grandpa had often argued about where his soul would go after death. Martin left the final word for himself, sending his old friend straight to heaven.


    Bryce spoke next. ¡°Spoke¡± was the right word ¨C his speech was far less sincere but far more relevant given the upcoming elections. While the crowd in the church wasn¡¯t directly tied to the clan council, public support for candidates still mattered. And Bryce had it.


    Several times, I discreetly touched the hilt of the dagger under my jacket and scanned the hall, hoping Ferrish would sense Simon somewhere among the crowd. Logic told me the bastard was already far away, but I couldn¡¯t help myself. Logan quickly grew annoyed with my fidgeting and elbowed me in the ribs. His bloodshot eyes and sniffling nose, likely the result of his wild night, made him look like the perfect grief-stricken relative. In contrast, I, with the bruises under my eyes, looked like an angry goblin in a suit.


    After the church service, Grandpa¡¯s body was loaded into a shiny new hearse and taken back to the clan enclave. That ceremony had been for the people of the county ¨C it would make the papers and be mentioned on the radio. But the real event was just beginning.


    Everyone who belonged came together: the Kinkades, the McLillies, the Ferons, the Baileys, the Boyles, and other less common names. Men, women, and children who could endure a three-hour trek through the forest on the old paths ¨C about four hundred people in total. The sea of clan colors was overwhelming. Large blue and green tartan patterns dominated nearly every skirt, ceremonial kilt worn by the older generation, and most of the berets sported by the younger ones.


    We didn¡¯t stay at the house long. The coffin was quickly transferred from the hearse to the hands of the younger generation. Logan and I were excused from the duty, as close family in mourning, and given places in the procession immediately behind the coffin and Grandpa¡¯s children. The elders led the procession in front of the coffin, setting the pace for the rest of us.


    We were headed to the Ancient Stones ¨C one of five places of power scattered throughout the forest. This particular one was tied to the element of earth and had long served as the clan¡¯s burial ground.


    The procession stretched out like a snake, and the noise of the crowd scared away all the animals, even those that usually didn¡¯t fear humans. The ash and maple trees gradually gave way to beech and birch, and the ground grew rockier. The path wound upward along a slope hidden beneath the trees. Soon, the first pines appeared. As the deciduous trees disappeared entirely, the slope leveled out, and the pines began to thin as well.


    Here, the earth gave birth to stone instead of trees. Occasionally, some of these stones would come to life, taking on beastly or humanoid forms, and wander the forest, leaving chaos in their wake. We hunted such elementals down and broke them apart into a dozen valuable ingredients. There were no elementals now, though. The place of power had been checked yesterday, and the mineral ¡°seedlings¡± had been removed to preserve the solemnity of the moment. My ring of stone skin had been recharged here.


    At the center of the clearing, no stones grew. In the very heart of the place of power, the earth had already turned to stone. That¡¯s where Grandpa¡¯s coffin was placed.


    The elders took seats on the surrounding stones and waited for the tail of the procession to file into the clearing. It took a good half hour.


    Grandma Lough was the first to rise, followed by the patriarchs of the Baileys and the Ferons, then the McLilly and Kinkade grandmothers ¨C all of them gifted and over eighty, yet still able to move without assistance. At the last funeral, Grandpa Gregor had stood among them. Now his place was below.


    The elders formed a circle around the coffin and bowed their heads in respect. The youth who had carried the coffin laid it on the stone ground and stepped back from the circle. The polished wooden box was no longer needed, so it was moved aside onto one of the large, charred boulders.


    ¡°Bremor,¡± the elders intoned in unison, adding a drop of power to the word. I knew the rest of the clan quietly repeated the ancient words to themselves, and the magic eagerly responded. This incantation wasn¡¯t the refined, structured spellwork of modern times. It had been spoken here thousands of times since the distant ages when magic was raw, unpolished, and as honest as these boulders.


    ¡°...our blood, our flesh, our spirit! Accept the one who will no longer walk your paths.¡±


    The stone shimmered faintly, and Grandpa¡¯s body began to sink into it. The descent happened in complete, solemn silence. It felt almost reverent. I forgot how to breathe, only taking a deep breath once Grandpa¡¯s long nose disappeared beneath the stone.


    That was it. Really, that was it. Now I¡¯d never see him again. Grandpa, damn it all!


    I felt panic creeping in, but a sharp smack to the back of my head snapped me out of it.


    ¡°What the hell!?¡± I protested, turning to Logan. Only he could reach me.


    ¡°What?¡± my cousin asked, genuinely confused. His hands were clasped so tightly his knuckles were white.


    I looked around, trying to figure out who else it could¡¯ve been, but everyone¡¯s serious expressions revealed nothing. No one else had seen it? The blow had been strong, like the last one I got from Grandpa after breaking the fang of a thunder bear.


    The elders gave their final respects, bowing to the now-empty spot, and turned to the coffin. The crowd stepped back from the wooden box. It was no longer needed ¨C not exactly something you¡¯d reuse.


    Uncle Bryce ignited a small orange flame in his palm. Every warlock in the clan who could perform similar tricks followed suit. Some flames were red, others blue. For some, they were massive fireballs; for others, tiny sparks. If it had been night, it probably would¡¯ve looked beautiful.


    Bryce moved his hand, and his flame pierced the lacquered planks, leaving scorched holes behind. Other flames, sparks, whips, and jets of fire joined in. A magical explosion of colors descended on the pine box, tearing it apart like cardboard, roaring into a column of flame, and reducing it to ashes in seconds. The wind would carry those ashes across Bremor.


    Usually, the official part of the funeral ended there: everyone would head back to drink their fill of ale and whiskey. But not today. Today, one more question was to be settled here: who would take Gregor Oliver Kinkade¡¯s place as the next head of the clan and inherit the title of Earl of Bremor.


    Once again, Grandma Lough was the first to act.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to make any fancy speeches ¨C we¡¯re not in Parliament,¡± she quipped, referencing the prime minister¡¯s recent speech that had been replayed on the radio all week. ¡°Everyone knows why we¡¯re here. Though for many, this is a new experience. The last time I attended such a vote, I was still a young girl.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t exaggerate,¡± Grandma McLilly interrupted. ¡°You were pregnant with your fifth back then. It¡¯s not exactly an immaculate conception.¡±


    ¡°Well, I had my experience, but I still had plenty of fire left in me!¡± Lough shot back with a grumble, eliciting chuckles and lightening the mood. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the sharp-tongued grandmothers had planned this.


    ¡°Don¡¯t interrupt, Clara,¡± Lough continued. ¡°Now then, I¡¯m asking those with the right to vote to step forward.¡±


    The crowd began to shift. I clapped Logan on the shoulder, stepped back into the second row, and quickly moved to claim a stone I¡¯d spotted earlier before someone else could climb onto it.


    ¡°Bryce,¡± Lough said, pointing to the center of the clearing where Grandpa¡¯s body had just been swallowed by the stone. ¡°Step forward.¡±


    Next, she called Sean Feron ¨C Simon¡¯s father ¨C and then William McLilly. The first stepped forward with his head held high, while the second immediately declined.


    ¡°I¡¯m out,¡± William said. ¡°I can handle two grandkids, but the clan¡¯s too much for me.¡±


    ¡°Just wait until the great-grandkids come along,¡± Grandma Lough teased. ¡°Then you¡¯ll regret not ducking out sooner.¡±


    Laughter rippled through the crowd again. William smiled but shook his head firmly.


    ¡°Your call,¡± Lough nodded. ¡°Any other volunteers? These three were chosen by the elders, but if anyone feels unjustly overlooked, speak up... No? Excellent. Shall we vote immediately, or waste time jabbering? We could shout and throw papers at each other like they do in Parliament these days.¡± She addressed the candidates standing in the center.


    ¡°Let our actions speak for us,¡± Bryce replied. He was well aware of how strong his reputation had become after killing the werewolf that had torn Grandpa apart.


    ¡°Pfft,¡± Sean scoffed.


    For him, this was the last chance to seize the initiative and win over the voters. Yes, his reputation was weaker, but he was a full fifteen years younger than Bryce, and that was a significant margin ¨C time enough for everything to change. Sean was still eager to grow as a warlock, while Uncle Bryce hadn¡¯t hunted for Ferrish since he turned sixty.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I tensed. What if Feron said something that gave him away? But Sean began with the usual accusations.


    ¡°Your actions show that the Kinkade family has gained too much power.¡±


    ¡°That power serves the clan,¡± Bryce said firmly.


    ¡°Power serves the powerful. Fourteen gifted warlocks in the Kinkade family.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I only made one of them!¡± Bryce joked.


    The crowd chuckled. Someone clapped Evan on the shoulder, and he raised his hand.


    ¡°I made two!¡± my cousin declared proudly.


    ¡°Amateurs, I¡¯ve got three!¡± Magnus McLilly shouted.


    Grandma Lough didn¡¯t let the discussion devolve into chaos, though she had her own way of shutting it down.


    ¡°Quit yelling like you were the ones giving birth to them! Thank the women!¡± she said, and the crowd erupted in laughter. ¡°Sean, if you¡¯ve got something to say, say it plainly. Old fools like me don¡¯t get subtle hints. And you ¨C don¡¯t turn this into a circus,¡± she added, pointing a gnarled finger at Bryce. He raised his hands in mock surrender.


    ¡°Right, if we¡¯re not wasting time babbling, someone get Grandma a seat. Youth, make some stools for the elders.¡±


    A few young men who regularly worked at the place of power drew symbols on the ground, chanted a spell, and conjured a few stone stumps. Within a day or two, the magical flows would wear them back down to the earth, but they¡¯d last long enough for this meeting.


    Grandma Lough sat down on her ¡°chair¡± and nodded to Sean.


    ¡°You want plain talk? The Kinkades don¡¯t let other families grow.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense!¡± Bryce shot back, and many voices in the crowd supported him, though there were some murmurs of agreement with Sean.


    ¡°Name one example.¡±


    ¡°My son,¡± Sean said. ¡°Everyone knows what promise he showed!¡±


    The weight of those words made me uncomfortable. Not everyone, but enough people were looking at me to make it clear who he meant. I hated bringing up that story.


    ¡°He could¡¯ve become a great warlock, a pillar of the clan...¡± Sean continued, but Logan cut him off.


    ¡°A great arsehole, maybe!¡±


    My cousin was even more infuriated by that history than I was. People had expected a lot from Simon and forgiven him even more. Then Grandpa started training me. At ten years old, I matched Simon¡¯s achievement ¨C I opened my central energy node and began developing my Spiritual Core. Simon was no longer the only unique one, and he didn¡¯t like it. That¡¯s when he started coming after me.


    The two-year age gap and his extra time practicing energy techniques made it easy for him to dominate me. Logan trained with us back then, but he didn¡¯t show any particular talent. The problem was, he had a constant ¡°big brother protector¡± complex. So, we both regularly got beaten up together.


    By the time I was twelve, I was fed up with enduring that bastard and his goons. After they broke Logan¡¯s arm in yet another fight, I decided to get even. Scare the jerk so badly he¡¯d remember it for life.


    I spent a whole week preparing: planning tactics, designing traps, figuring out which potions and amulets I could ¡°borrow¡± from Grandpa without getting caught and which I¡¯d have to acquire through friends. I chose the old herb shed as the battlefield. Simon had gone quiet after getting chewed out for Logan, but once he lost his temper, he went back to his old ways.


    In the first conflict, I lured his entire gang into the shed and let them beat me up. The next time, I put all my effort into escaping ¨C and I succeeded. Then it was back to the shed and another beating. The idiots didn¡¯t even realize I was using the same hunting techniques our teachers had taught us, trying to drill a specific reflex into them.


    The last trip to the herb shed I planned for late evening, catching them completely off guard. First came the hunting nets, then darts with sedatives before they could make too much noise. I gave Simon a dart with a stronger dose, considering he was the most advanced energy practitioner. Once his lackeys passed out, I tied them up, loaded Simon onto a wheelbarrow, and dragged him into the forest.


    For a twelve-year-old boy, even with a developed Spiritual Core, it wasn¡¯t easy. I had to drink a stamina potion to manage it. Speed was crucial. I left more than enough tracks, especially for an experienced hunter to follow. Parents usually checked on their children¡¯s safety closer to nightfall, so the threat of being caught hung over me like the Sword of Damocles.


    Too bad it didn¡¯t fall ¨C things turned out much worse instead.


    I stripped Simon, tied him to a tree, and started a fire using kerosene to quickly build up big flames. I stuck a poker into the fire to heat it up and then brought Simon back to consciousness with one of the stolen elixirs.


    I didn¡¯t scare him for long, mostly just with the poker once it was glowing red. Then I pulled out the dagger.


    There are many ways to become a warlock. The only prerequisite is a developed Spiritual Core, which a sympathetic spirit marks with an ethereal seal. But how you earn that spirit¡¯s favor ¨C that¡¯s another matter entirely. Ferrish required you to stalk, catch, and kill a dangerous and powerful beast. When I informed Simon that he would be my beast, the boy wet himself. I got my revenge in full.


    I should¡¯ve stopped there. But his fear was so intoxicating, the vengeance so sweet, that I decided to finish the performance. I actually appealed to the ancient spirit, asking it to accept my "prey." Ferrish didn¡¯t appreciate the humor. He considered Simon a legitimate offering. That¡¯s when both Simon and I realized that a single, precise strike would make me the youngest warlock in the clan¡¯s history.


    What¡¯s more, Ferrish didn¡¯t just reward me ¨C he let me choose one of three spells based on techniques I¡¯d used during the hunt: Binding, Sleep, or Stamina. It was an extraordinarily generous gift, and I rejected it outright. The thought of accepting didn¡¯t even cross my mind.


    Ferrish isn¡¯t inherently evil. I don¡¯t think he even comprehends the concepts of good and evil. So he took my refusal as a deception. Spirits are unpredictable beings, and their wrath is terrifying. I hadn¡¯t prepared any defenses, so I was completely at Ferrish¡¯s mercy. My heart seized, fire consumed my chest, and I screamed. Simon laughed. Ferrish didn¡¯t like that, and soon Simon was screaming alongside me. Then we both passed out.


    We woke up in the hospital, our spiritual cores sealed along with our elemental sources and third eyes. Ferrish hadn¡¯t just blocked our main energy nodes ¨C he also marked our subtle bodies. From that point on, animals feared me, and Simon was perceived as prey.


    That incident led to a lot of trouble. I was even put on trial. It was a tough year. But there were silver linings.


    Grandpa continued pushing me through energy practices, figuring I could break the seals by the time I was forty. Logan decided to support me and, unexpectedly, made a breakthrough in his own development. A year later, Simon ran away from home, and Logan accepted the spirit of an old wolfhound into his core, becoming a shifter. A lamb at home, a lion in battle. He¡¯d never been timid before, but afterward, he became completely fearless.


    I had plenty more to say about Simon, but there was no way I could voice it here, in front of the entire clan.


    ¡°How symbolic, coming from a Kinkade,¡± Sean sneered angrily. ¡°Do you think you¡¯re better than everyone else, Logan?¡±


    ¡°At least I didn¡¯t get star fever like Simon did!¡± Logan shot back. ¡°The elders may not know, but my generation remembers what a bastard he was. He broke Peter MacLilly¡¯s window and forced Liam to take the blame. Remember the shed fire? That wasn¡¯t Ronald and Malcolm ¨C it was Simon, Ben, and Rupert. Not to mention he constantly bullied, shoved, and hit people. He wouldn¡¯t leave Duncan alone. You should be grateful Duncan didn¡¯t cut his throat.¡±


    Sean turned green with rage, but Grandma Lough clapped her hands together sharply.


    ¡°Logan Gregor Kinkade! Show some respect for your elders!¡±


    ¡°I always respect the elders ¨C as long as they don¡¯t spread lies!¡± Logan snapped back.


    ¡°The council already ruled on the incident five years ago,¡± Bryce said calmly.


    ¡°When Kinkade was head!¡± Sean snarled.


    Uncle tried to focus attention on the negativity in his opponent¡¯s words.


    ¡°So, you want the position of clan head just to settle old scores?¡±


    But Sean wasn¡¯t a pushover.


    ¡°Not denying your guilt, are you?¡±


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± Uncle asked, turning to the crowd, ¡°who here was present at the council meeting back then? Is there anyone Father pressured to bury the matter? Did he strong-arm anyone?¡±


    ¡°The case was thoroughly investigated!¡± declared David Boyle, but Martha Bailey immediately countered.


    ¡°Thoroughly? Ferrish was dismissed after just a few questions!¡±


    ¡°Oh, brilliant as ever, Martha. You make it clear how foolish you are,¡± Boyle retorted sharply. ¡°The Kinkades took on the burden of summoning Ferrish themselves and didn¡¯t flinch. I didn¡¯t see the Ferons showing that kind of initiative. They could¡¯ve summoned him too, asked their own questions.¡±


    ¡°Silence, all of you!¡± Grandma Lough barked, amplifying her voice with an amulet. ¡°You¡¯re acting like actual MPs! Should we hand out wigs and robes to you as well?¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯d make a decent Speaker,¡± Grandma MacLilly teased.


    ¡°Damn right I would! I¡¯d straighten out Parliament in no time, unlike that Thatcher. Enough empty talk! What will you do for the clan?¡± Grandma Lough asked the candidates.


    This time, Sean jumped ahead of Bryce.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ensure that everything is fair! That every member of the clan has equal rights and opportunities! That family ties are the last thing anyone considers!¡±


    Something about his speech reminded me of the prime minister¡¯s recent address.


    ¡°Let the council handle fairness,¡± Bryce said mockingly. ¡°Rights and responsibilities are their domain, too. As for me, I¡¯m planning to import golden koi from the Far East and establish a fish farm at Thunder Loch. Ailie experimented with their swim bladders in some potions, and the effectiveness tripled ¨C particularly for basic cold remedies. But that¡¯s with imported materials. We need to see how well the fish adapt to our magic.


    ¡°I¡¯m also looking into importing moon deer from America and planting amaryllis in the Living Thicket. Plus, it¡¯s time to set up a new brick factory in Glembatrick. The old one can¡¯t keep up. Lord Peabody¡¯s abandoned his duties, and now people are importing building materials from the neighboring county. We¡¯ve got a great opportunity to enter the market. That¡¯s all for now ¨C we¡¯ll see where things go from there.¡±


    Well said. Grandma Lough clearly approved, and Bryce had successfully shifted the focus away from Sean¡¯s accusations.


    ¡°Shall we vote?¡± the elder who had claimed the role of Speaker asked.


    The other elders nodded and got up from their stone seats. Lough passed the honor of overseeing the vote to Grandpa Kink, a shifter who had bonded with the spirit of an eagle in his youth and still retained excellent vision despite his age.


    ¡°Raise your hands for Bryce,¡± Grandpa Kink announced. ¡°Eugene, don¡¯t bother ¨C you lost your voting rights last week.¡±


    The old eagle shifter slowly turned in a circle, scanning the crowd, then delivered the result in a solemn tone.


    ¡°Hmm... Forty-six.¡±


    ¡°Now for Sean¡­¡± He turned again.


    ¡°Hmm... Forty-one.¡±


    Grandma Lough spoke again.


    ¡°Any objections?¡±


    Sean shook his head and extended a hand to Bryce with a forced smile.


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± he said.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Uncle replied.


    Sean stepped out of the circle, pushed through the crowd, and headed home without staying for the oath ceremony. Not even his wife followed him.


    Uncle Bryce once again claimed the crowd¡¯s attention, and I used the opportunity to slip away after Feron. His retreat struck me as suspicious.

 Chapter 4

    Hunting was never an easy task for me. Animals could sense the predator in me long before they ever saw me. That meant I had to approach from afar, and shoot from even farther away. Grandpa made sure I didn¡¯t miss: there were always enough bullets and practice sessions.


    From the age of twelve to fifteen, in addition to the standard fortifying alchemical adaptogens that all clan children took, I drank a modified version of the "Eagle¡¯s Vision" elixir. It altered the lenses of my eyes and affected my retina. My vision didn¡¯t quite become eagle-like, but it was no longer ordinary either.


    I let Sean pull ahead to a distance where his magic shouldn¡¯t have been able to sense me, and where his figure almost blended in among the trees. Then I followed, keeping track of the flicker of his blue kilt through the woods. The warlock wasn¡¯t trying to hide; he walked directly along a winding path toward home.


    When we reached the garden of the clan enclave, I had to make a detour to avoid walking straight into the younger folks setting up the "celebratory" tables under the open sky.


    For a moment, I lost track of Sean, but I assumed he¡¯d head straight home. Picking up my pace, I ran past several houses, skirted those with the most notorious barking dogs, and reached the yard of Ferguson McLilly. I slipped into his gazebo, hidden by a thicket of jasmine. Ferguson would probably have been surprised to see me there if he weren¡¯t at the Ancient Stones with his family.


    I¡¯d chosen my ambush spot just in time. Sean Feron entered his house and drew the curtains on the first-floor windows. Moments later, something flared behind the curtains, and the decorative bell on his porch swayed but made no sound.


    My right arm was suddenly yanked back, twisted painfully. A knee pressed into my right shoulder blade, and strong fingers wrapped tightly around my neck. A familiar move.


    ¡°Logan!¡± I hissed.


    ¡°What are you doing here?!¡± my cousin growled softly, his voice carrying the undertone of his half-beast form.


    ¡°Look!¡± I said.


    Another flash lit up behind the curtains, and the bell swayed again.


    ¡°He¡¯s just blowing off steam after losing,¡± Logan said dismissively. ¡°Threw up a silence dome so no one would hear him embarrass himself. I¡¯m asking, what are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Waiting for him to cool off and head to the tables.¡±


    ¡°And then?¡± Logan pressed.


    ¡°Then I planned to sneak into his house and search it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re counting on his wards being down and the mess covering your tracks?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much.¡±


    ¡°Idiot,¡± Logan said, releasing my arm and neck. ¡°Usually, I¡¯m the one acting impulsively.¡±


    ¡°I thought it through. Uncle¡¯s already the head of the clan. You all need to be with him. I¡¯m only risking myself.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s basically what he said when he asked me to keep an eye on you.¡±


    ¡°Bryce?¡±


    Logan nodded.


    ¡°And I¡¯ll tell you something else ¨C Evan found Simon¡¯s trail.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°You can ask him yourself. Let¡¯s go back. We need to show up there before Feron does.¡±


    Logan convinced me. The family needed to honor Grandpa today, and Uncle Bryce deserved our support. He had taken the oath, and the crowd had poured back from the forest. The smells of grilled meat filled the entire enclave, driving every dog mad, while barrels of cold beer stoked the men¡¯s appetites.


    Logan grabbed two mugs and shoved one into my hand.


    ¡°Time you learned how to drink like a proper man, brother.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid I¡¯ll get drunk and start running my mouth?¡±


    ¡°Nope. I¡¯ll just knock you out if you do,¡± Logan promised. ¡°And remember, I¡¯m not letting you out of my sight tonight.¡±


    ¡°Not even if Jenny decides to comfort you?¡± I grinned.


    I needed to probe for possible ways to shake off this babysitter. Things with Jenny were serious for Logan ¨C our family had already approved of the girl long ago and turned a blind eye to their antics, as long as she didn¡¯t get pregnant before the wedding.


    ¡°Damn it, not today!¡± Logan muttered in frustration.


    ¡°You¡¯re practically married already,¡± I teased.


    ¡°Brother, you¡¯re...¡± Logan shook his head and took a large gulp of beer.


    I sipped my own drink, thinking about how to stay sober. This wake was supposed to be in the style of ¡°The king is dead, long live the king!¡± Everyone would be drinking. If Uncle woke up with a hangover tomorrow and I caught him before he downed a sobering elixir, I might be able to get more out of him.


    The first toast was for the old clan head, the second for the new one, the third for the clan itself, and after that, everyone drank as they pleased, paying little attention to their limits. People drank like it was their last time.


    As dusk fell, a bonfire was lit, musicians pulled out flutes, bagpipes, and drums. Lewis Lough brought his fiddle, and Dunn Feron carried in a guitar. The wake slowly turned into a celebration of life.


    I stood out like a pale, brooding shadow against the festive crowd, despite Logan¡¯s efforts to keep topping off my beer and generously spiking it with whiskey. I poured most of the foul mix under the table, and eventually, I left altogether.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± my cousin asked.


    ¡°Home, Logan. Honestly.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m coming with you,¡± he said.


    ¡°At least grab some meat and beer. I¡¯m not coming back here.¡±


    Logan grabbed a beef roast and a small ten-liter keg.


    ¡°So, what are we going to do?¡±


    ¡°You ¨C drink. Me ¨C read.¡±


    ¡°Ugh, how boring!¡± Logan spat.


    ¡°Grandpa¡¯s journals,¡± I replied.


    Every gifted member of the clan kept a journal. It was considered as personal as it was sacred. The journal was the first thing people looked for after a hunter¡¯s death, as it often shed light on the circumstances surrounding their demise.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t Uncle take them?¡±


    ¡°Just the last one.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Logan asked, skepticism in his tone.


    I understood his doubts. The successor was supposed to read the journals, and Bryce was the successor. But for the past nine years, Grandpa and I had lived alone. We shared all the housework, cooking, and laundry, and we trained together.


    ¡°Some things Grandpa left specifically for me,¡± I said.


    For a clan head, Grandpa had a modest home. He always said two people didn¡¯t need anything bigger. The stone house had two floors: a library, an office, and a combined bedroom-storage room upstairs. On the first floor, there was a living room with a fireplace and a large radio, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a spacious bedroom that belonged to me. There was also an alchemical lab and a summoning circle in the basement, but Grandpa rarely used them, preferring to work at his desk in the office. That¡¯s where we headed.


    Logan flopped onto the couch by the wall and busied himself with the keg. Meanwhile, I moved the desk aside, lifted a loose floorboard where one of its legs had rested, and used the dagger to pull out a leather bundle marked with a preservation charm. Inside were three different journals with clasps on their leather covers and a fat envelope labeled simply, ¡°For Duncan.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Once again, I used the dagger for something other than its intended purpose and sliced open the envelope. Most of it contained documents, but there was also a letter.


    ¡°In here are the house papers,¡± Grandpa wrote, ¡°and a bank account. Don¡¯t touch the account ¨C It¡¯s better left alone. To start, you¡¯ll have enough from what¡¯s in the safe. The code is thirty-two fifty-nine.


    ¡°In the gray journal, I wrote my thoughts on breaking the seals. There¡¯s not much information, and even less practical use, but at least you can immediately rule out dead-end approaches.


    ¡°The brown one covers the time you got into trouble with Simon. Be sure to read it. I don¡¯t think the boy will ever forgive you ¨C consider him your first mortal enemy.


    ¡°The black one is empty. If you ever decide to stir up trouble, record it for your descendants.¡±


    In Grandpa¡¯s style: brief and to the point.


    I picked up the gray journal, unclasped it, and flipped through the pages. It was less than a quarter full. The brown one, however, looked much more worn. Stains that couldn¡¯t be cleaned off still marred the leather cover, and they¡¯d soaked through onto the yellowed pages.


    I sat down in Grandpa¡¯s chair and pulled the desk lamp closer. The entries varied in length ¨C sometimes just a few lines, sometimes several pages. The dates followed day by day, then disappeared for months at a time.


    I found July 10th, 1931 ¨C a day I would never forget.


    Grandpa¡¯s account of the events was dry, but to my surprise, I discovered that he had known about my preparations and, to some extent, even approved of them. What he hadn¡¯t imagined was that I would summon Ferrish.


    What followed was chaos in the clan. I was shocked to learn that Sean Feron had demanded I be sacrificed to Ferrish to restore his son¡¯s power. Grandpa had prepared for internal war, keeping an eye on many members of the clan. But tensions quickly subsided. The Ferons lost their influence, and Logan¡¯s talent emerged among the Kinkades. Simon harbored a grudge.


    Grandpa didn¡¯t expect anything good to come if both of us stayed in the clan. He didn¡¯t want to send me away, fearing Simon would remain an insider while I became an outsider over time. So, Grandpa ordered a trusted associate ¨C whose name he didn¡¯t mention ¨C to plant the idea in Simon¡¯s empty head that American shamans could remove seals. Grandpa himself pushed Simon to run away!


    That same man, whose name Grandpa still didn¡¯t reveal, tracked Simon to Farnell. The trail disappeared after that, but Grandpa assumed Simon had managed to board a ship.


    I tossed the journal onto the desk and rubbed my tired eyes.


    ¡°Pour me one,¡± I said to Logan.


    My brother quickly filled a clean mug for me.


    ¡°Digging into the dirty laundry?¡± he asked, eyeing my face. ¡°It¡¯s written all over you. I don¡¯t want to know!¡± he warned preemptively.


    ¡°Bollocks, it¡¯s just¡­¡± I said, taking a long swig.


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Logan replied.


    I understood that Grandpa hadn¡¯t done it just for me, but for the clan. Conflicts needed to be dealt with, and they had to be handled in a way that didn¡¯t tear the clan apart in a civil war. It was a surprisingly clever solution. But beyond the logic, there were emotions. Emotionally, I wasn¡¯t ready to read something like that.


    Simon had gone from being a complete bastard to just a spiteful wretch ¨C one who, perhaps, even had a right to vengeance. And once again, guilt started gnawing at me. What would happen if I killed him? How would the clan react? How many more dirty secrets would bubble to the surface in the process?


    I had a sharp urge to tear those pages from the journal and burn them to hell.


    Sure, these pages painted the old story in a new light, but¡­ Simon had been indiscriminate in his methods of revenge. This was between us, yet the blood he spilled belonged to someone who had tried to resolve everything peacefully.


    I didn¡¯t think Feron would stop with what he¡¯d already done, which meant I had no choice: Simon had to die.


    A thought crept into my mind ¨C were my motives really so pure, or did I just want to break these damn seals? The thought was unpleasant. I chalked it up to the alcohol and shoved it aside. To keep it from coming back, I grabbed the gray journal.


    The beginning was familiar. In one way or another, I¡¯d read most of it before ¨C in books about ether, runes, higher spirits, curses, blessings, warlocks, and much more. By seventeen, I¡¯d built up a solid theoretical base in energy practices and magic.


    But Grandpa had dealt with all kinds of people. Sometimes his specialists weren¡¯t well-known, but they were talented and intelligent. On the fourth page, I came across the overheating method I was currently using in my meditations. The expert who had suggested it was a wizard, and ever since, we¡¯ve been sending him a large piece of smoky quartz charged with earth energy every month as payment for his advice.


    I finished the gray journal well past midnight and found nothing particularly new or useful except the names of Grandpa¡¯s old acquaintances. By then, Logan had emptied more than half the keg and passed out. I decided to get some sleep too ¨C there would be serious conversations ahead.


    The next morning, I went to see Uncle Bryce late. The new clan head was sitting in the kitchen with a heavy head, waiting for his wife to bring him some light broth.


    ¡°Aunt, Uncle,¡± I greeted them.


    Bryce took in my determined expression and said,


    ¡°Let¡¯s go to the office. Ailie, can you make us some tea?¡±


    ¡°Biscuits?¡± Aunt Ailie asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ll manage without,¡± he replied.


    Bryce¡¯s office resembled Grandpa¡¯s in many ways ¨C the atmosphere was familiar, as was the situation. I¡¯d already played the role of a petitioner before.


    ¡°Are we waiting for tea?¡± Bryce asked.


    I shook my head.


    ¡°Logan said Evan found Simon¡¯s trail,¡± I said.


    ¡°There is a trail,¡± Bryce confirmed.


    ¡°I want to take part in the hunt.¡±


    ¡°I understand what this opportunity means to you. And believe me, no one will lay a hand on him. Simon is your prey.¡±


    ¡°I want to be involved in the entire process, from start to finish.¡±


    ¡°I want, I want...¡± Bryce mimicked me. ¡°That¡¯s how children beg for toys. But before you...¡±


    A knock at the door interrupted him. Bryce paused as Aunt Ailie entered and placed a tea tray on the table.


    ¡°Thanks, love,¡± he said.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I added.


    Ailie left, and Bryce continued.


    ¡°Before you start making demands, think about what you bring to the table. With your mark. What use are you? If Simon has truly mastered magic, you¡¯re no match for him.¡±


    ¡°We fought, and I survived!¡±


    ¡°Because he overestimated his strength! And now you¡¯re overestimating yours! Duncan, we¡¯ll track him, catch him, and after that, you can do whatever you want with him.¡±


    ¡°Ferrish needs a hunt,¡± I reminded him.


    ¡°No, he doesn¡¯t,¡± Bryce said. ¡°I asked. All you need to do is take his life. This isn¡¯t the forest, Duncan. You have no experience in this kind of hunt. Let those who do handle it.¡±


    Bryce¡¯s logic was crushing. All I could do was grit my teeth and sip my tea.


    I returned home in a state of complete frustration, but I didn¡¯t stay long. Grabbing my rifle, a backpack with supplies, and some gear, I headed into the forest, toward the Ancient Stones. Grandpa¡¯s death had thrown my meditation schedule out the window, and I also needed to recharge the ring¡¯s corundum stone.


    Today, the power spot shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. Semi-precious stones were laid out on the boulders, absorbing the energy of the place. Minerals weren¡¯t placed directly on the ground ¨C anything that wasn¡¯t local stone was slowly consumed by the petrified earth. For the same reason, meditating on the ground wasn¡¯t recommended. Two boulders were set aside for that purpose. Their positions were not fixed, as the field¡¯s layout shifted over time, so workers selected the boulders as needed.


    I spread my mat on the nearest boulder and began with the ring. Controlled charging took much less time than infusing raw stones, but the ring was a finished artifact, while the other stones here were absorbing power here for the first time.


    Reassured that I¡¯d have protection from bullets next time, I shifted my focus to my breathing and then dove into my Spiritual Core, where Ferrish¡¯s seal lay embedded. To me, the seal appeared as a large sphere filled with intricate patterns. These ¡°patterns¡± were, in fact, etheric runes, woven into a complex five-tier structure. For four years, I¡¯d been hiking to Gromloch, pumping one particular rune in the seal with water energy until it overheated, burned out, and left a small breach.


    That breach restored my ability to activate artifacts. The breach granted me access to three fourth-tier runes. Two glowed with fiery hues, while the third was stone-gray and easily yielded to earth energy. That was the one I planned to break next.


    The ultimate goal was to reach the central rune and burn it to hell. In theory, that would collapse the entire structure ¨C but only in the spiritual core. My third eye and elemental source would remain sealed. Experts claimed the seals on those were two-tiered.


    It took several hours to overheat the rune, and that was considered quick, thanks to the elemental match. I didn¡¯t even want to think about what I¡¯d do if the next tier revealed elements not represented by any power spots in the Bremor Forest.


    The searing energy began to cause physical pain, and I had to stop before I burned out the entire energy node. That was a very real possibility.


    I got home by evening, cooked dinner, and started receiving visitors. Logan was the first to show up, followed shortly by Sally, who invited me to see her father. He was preparing to leave on an extended assignment.


    I declined, and she tried to pique my interest.


    ¡°Come on, Dad¡¯s heading out on the first mission from the new clan head.¡±


    I knew exactly what kind of mission it was ¨C if Bryce was sending Evan, it was to deal with Simon.


    ¡°No, thanks.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Sally pressed. ¡°Everything¡¯s so top-secret it¡¯s almost scary, but he bought a ticket to Dramock.¡±


    I looked into my cosin¡¯s eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. She understood the importance of secrecy as well as I did and wouldn¡¯t recklessly jeopardize her father. Why would she spill where Evan was going? Only if someone had told her to.


    Fine. Why did I need to know where Evan was headed? So I¡¯d follow him?


    The whole situation reminded me of the trick Grandpa had played with Simon. The right person planted the right thought... Like father, like son, I guess... They were using the same methods! But why would Uncle want to get me out of town? That stung a little. Couldn¡¯t he have just said so outright? Clearly, I hadn¡¯t held myself together as well as I thought this morning. At least, someone had convinced Sally it was necessary.


    What did I know about Dramock? Only that the former duke had trouble with vampires, and the city had been free of them for about fifty years.


    The picture was coming together.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s all very interesting, but I¡¯ve already eaten,¡± I said to Sally. ¡°You should go; you¡¯ve left the baby with your husband.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, let him suffer a little. Do you know how tired I am after a whole day!?¡±


    ¡°So you didn¡¯t come to invite me; you just escaped from home!¡±


    ¡°Guilty,¡± Sally admitted with a laugh of relief. ¡°All right, I¡¯ll head back. See you, Duncan.¡±


    ¡°Take care, Sally. When¡¯s your father leaving?¡±


    ¡°In the morning.¡±


    I nodded. If Uncle wanted me out of the city, I wasn¡¯t going to disappoint him.

 Chapter 5

    Sally gave me the push I needed, and I spent half the night at Grandpa¡¯s desk, scribbling down every detail I knew, trying to unravel Uncle Bryce¡¯s plans. But despite my efforts, I couldn¡¯t figure out his intentions. I hate relying on intuition, but that¡¯s what it came down to in the end. There was a strong temptation to just follow along with Bryce¡¯s plan ¨C the man was the clan head, after all, and no doubt had the clan¡¯s best interests at heart. But could he sacrifice my gift for the greater good? Absolutely.


    Right now, Bremor¡¯s combat division was one of the strongest in the country, with nearly a quarter of it composed of Kinkaids. Bryce might easily decide to prioritize the clan¡¯s strength over my magic ¨C or even my revenge. A living Simon wasn¡¯t ideal for him, but a dead one? That could be a problem Bryce wouldn¡¯t want to deal with. Heads of clans couldn¡¯t afford to be reckless.


    And that was where logic and emotion aligned: Simon needed to be dealt with ¨C and fast ¨C before he grew stronger.


    I shifted my focus away from clan politics and back to the hunt for Simon. He¡¯d shown two magical tricks so far: a shadow-based veil spell and a silence dome. His shadow trick might be less effective during the day, but I¡¯d still need a way to detect hidden threats.


    I got up from the desk and headed to the library. There weren¡¯t any novels in Grandpa¡¯s collection, just books on magic: from ancient spellcraft to precise mathematical approaches. I couldn¡¯t rely on spells myself, so I went straight to the sections on artifact crafting and potion brewing. Grandpa had forced me to read most of these books as a kid. I hadn¡¯t understood much back then ¨C some of the older books were written in archaic terms, and the newer ones were mind-numbingly technical ¨C but Grandpa had insisted they¡¯d come in handy one day. And now, for once, I was glad he had.


    I knew exactly which books to pull from the shelves.


    For countering veils and invisibility, I found four potential solutions. For the silence spell, I¡¯d need to figure out whether it was a fixed zone or one that moved with Simon as its anchor. Depending on that, the methods of countering it would vary. That led me to five more books.


    Then there was Simon¡¯s strange hand gesture during the fight. It had clearly been magical, though I had little to go on. And lastly, there was the matter of his injury ¨C the hole in his buttock. Simon would almost certainly come back with something akin to my stone skin enchantment, and he¡¯d likely enhance his bullets to counter my defenses.


    For invisibility, my first thought was a monocle or a pair of glasses ¨C an obvious solution. But without the ability to power them myself, the energy costs would be unreasonable. Potions offered a better alternative, with their long-lasting effects. From the books I¡¯d selected, I found three recipes for infusions, two for potions, one for an elixir, and one for an ointment.


    The elixir had the longest-lasting effect, up to several days, but it took almost a week to brew. The ointment, on the other hand, seemed the most practical: the ingredients were readily available, it had a decent shelf life, and it worked for a few hours with just a dab on the lower eyelid.


    For detecting hidden threats, I settled on a basic signaling amulet powered by air-element stones. Ether would have been better, but Bremor had no etheric places of power. The three ether stones Grandpa had left in his stash were reserved for something else entirely.


    As for the silence dome, a signal-based amulet could help detect it too. Beyond that... could I counteract it? I started sketching some formulas using mathematical runes ¨C two-dimensional projections of etheric ones. With air-element stones, there was a chance I could create a short-lived field to nullify foreign spells.


    It could¡¯ve helped back in the chapel. One shot, and within a minute, people would¡¯ve been swarming to my aid. I wasn¡¯t sure what the consequences of that would have been, but at least Simon wouldn¡¯t have gotten away ¨C and his father wouldn¡¯t have dared run for clan head. Or would he?


    I revised the formula, splitting it into two separate spells: one to amplify sound and the other to dampen it. I liked this approach better ¨C It gave me both options depending on the situation.


    The rest of the night was spent in the basement, brewing the ointment and engraving runes. I had to take a concentration potion to avoid messing up the enchantments, but by morning, the work was done.


    I set a large chrysoprase stone into a copper medallion and hung it around my neck as my signaler. A tiny amethyst was welded onto my pistol just below the trigger guard. Combined with the chain-like runes I¡¯d engraved, it looked more like decoration than functionality.


    The main batch of ointment went into a small tin container, while a single-use portion was tucked into a ring with a hidden compartment. I¡¯d crafted a wide leather bracelet with pockets and runes burned into it for extra protection, though I hadn¡¯t yet added the stones to power it. There was still more gear to prepare and test, but I suspected Bryce had someone watching me. So instead of heading to the Ancient Stones or seeing Evan off, I collapsed into bed.


    It was late in the afternoon when Logan shook me awake.


    ¡°Seriously? You¡¯ve been sleeping this whole time?¡± Logan¡¯s voice jolted me awake. He stood at the edge of my bed, arms crossed, his face a mixture of annoyance and concern. ¡°We were starting to worry about you.¡±


    ¡°We? You mean Bryce?¡± I asked, sitting up.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you believe I¡¯d come here out of my own free will?¡±


    ¡°I think your will just happens to align with someone else¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe it does,¡± Logan admitted. ¡°Duncan, we¡¯re worried about you.¡±


    ¡°No need, brother. I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°Fine? Great! Then come over to our place. Mom made blueberry pie.¡±


    ¡°Now that¡¯s how you should¡¯ve started,¡± I said with a grin.


    Aunt Mary¡¯s pies were legendary, and I wasn¡¯t about to miss out. Besides, it was a good chance to say goodbye ¨C indirectly, of course. No need to involve her in Bryce¡¯s plans.


    By the time I got back home full of pies, it was too late to head to the Ancient Stones, so I stopped by Uncle Gordon¡¯s workshop and borrowed three charged corundum stones. He was preparing a batch for sale, and I doubted he¡¯d miss them.


    Once home, I opened Grandpa¡¯s safe. Inside, I found a handful of expensive magical trinkets and a thick folder of documents. There wasn¡¯t time to go through them, so I focused on what mattered ¨C cash. The safe held ¡ê3,000 in paper notes, ¡ê1,000 in gold coins, and ¡ê500 in silver. Enough to live a farmer¡¯s life of comfort, but I wasn¡¯t a farmer. My expenses were higher.


    I pocketed a few gold and silver coins but left most of the metal ¨C It was too heavy. The notes, however, I took in their entirety. Memories of losing all my money and a pocket watch to pickpockets at the fair came flooding back. To avoid a repeat, I spent the next hour sewing crude hidden pockets into my undershirt, distributing the notes evenly. By the end, I had eight hidden compartments stitched across my clothing.


    My largest suitcase was filled with old clothes and a few heavy stones for weight. My real belongings went into a hiking backpack, a satchel, and a small travel bag. The satchel held ammunition, gun-cleaning supplies, potions, a dozen charged stones, and a token Grandpa had finished crafting shortly before his death. We¡¯d even managed to test it. The token¡¯s formula suppressed my hunter¡¯s mark. It would reappear within five minutes, fueled by my life force, so using the token repeatedly wasn¡¯t advisable, but it was undeniably useful.


    Into the travel bag, I packed one of my travel outfits ¨C clothes sturdy, comfortable, and yet expensive enough not to raise unnecessary questions on the train. Along with the clothes, I added my favorite boots and a newsboy cap I¡¯d found in Grandpa¡¯s wardrobe, though I had no idea where it had come from. The travel bag and the satchel fit snugly into the backpack, with old clothes stuffed around to disguise the real contents.


    After double-checking everything, I called a cab and dressed in my best suit. If the cabbie got stopped at the edge of the clan enclave, I wanted to make the right impression. This was my first test ¨C if Bryce really wanted me gone, the car would pass without issue.


    Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was Bryce.


    ¡°Hello, Uncle,¡± I said, opening the door. A black cab idled behind him, the mustached driver smoking a cigarette and showing no signs of impatience.


    Bryce glanced me over, noting my formal attire and the luggage behind me.


    ¡°Can I come in?¡± he asked. ¡°Or shall we chat on the doorstep?¡±


    ¡°The cab¡¯s waiting,¡± I said.


    ¡°The waiting¡¯s paid for,¡± he replied.


    Reluctantly, I stepped aside and let him into the sitting room. His sharp eyes swept over my suitcase and backpack.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Going somewhere?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Thinking of heading to the coast,¡± I said. ¡°They say Drammock¡¯s beautiful this time of year.¡±


    Bryce froze, his expression turning to stone. Then, after a moment, he gave a slow nod.


    ¡°And what about your meditations? Doesn¡¯t it bother you to interrupt your training?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going forever. I¡¯ll be back in a month or two.¡±


    ¡°Duncan...¡± Bryce hesitated. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯ve read the situation correctly?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be surprised how much I¡¯ve figured out,¡± I said, unable to resist a touch of sarcasm.


    Bryce grimaced. The look was surprisingly genuine, and for the first time, doubt crept into my resolve.


    ¡°Trust me,¡± he said quietly. ¡°It¡¯s better if you stay.¡±


    Something shifted in the air between us. For the first time, it felt like Bryce wasn¡¯t trying to push me out of Avoc ¨C he was trying to misdirect me.


    ¡°No,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    Bryce let out a heavy sigh and handed me a gold signet ring engraved with an oak leaf and crossed swords behind it.


    "Take it, Lord Loxlin."


    "Uh..." was all I managed to say, but my uncle wasn¡¯t finished yet.


    "Here are the confirmation papers, and here¡¯s your new passport with the title marked."


    He had truly gone all out to protect me. Being a gentleman from a respected family was one thing ¨C even regular constables wouldn¡¯t think twice about roughing one up if necessary. But a baron? That spelled trouble for any overzealous officials.


    "This¡¯ll cause you problems," I said.


    "And why would that be?"


    "The title¡¯s meant for your great-grandson!"


    "That¡¯s for me to decide," Bryce replied. "Besides, Berke hasn¡¯t managed to have anyone yet."


    "Thanks, Uncle," I said, overcome with emotion. Before I could stop myself, I hugged him. Family, after all, did look out for each other.


    "Maybe you¡¯ll stay?" he tried one last time, throwing the question out like a fisherman¡¯s line.


    "I can¡¯t," I replied.


    "Well, then go with God," he said, resigned. "Let¡¯s go. I¡¯ll see you off."


    Bryce still thought he was in control of the situation. He even supervised as I bought my train ticket at the station. I couldn¡¯t tell if my assigned seat had been arranged in advance, but my sole companion was a lean man of about forty with an impressive mustache.


    The chrysoprase amulet I wore tingled, the magic reacting to something about the man, pricking my skin like needles. I resisted the urge to apply the ointment I¡¯d brewed the night before. As we made our way through the train car, the amulet reacted three more times.


    Not that it mattered ¨C most warlocks and shifters didn¡¯t need to see me to sense the hunter¡¯s mark I carried. But this seatmate was not part of my plans. As the train whistle blew, Bryce and I exchanged one last hug. He stepped off the train, waited for it to start moving, and waved from the platform.


    "Well, young gentleman, shall we get acquainted?" my seatmate asked, smiling warmly.


    "Duncan Kinkaid," I replied, extending a polite nod. "Sorry, sir, but I¡¯ve got a friend traveling in this train, and I need to find him."


    "And why didn¡¯t you sit with him in the first place?" the man, who introduced himself as Fred O''Shaughnessy, asked with a raised brow.


    "My uncle didn¡¯t approve of our acquaintance," I said, feigning an embarrassed smile. "Apologies again."


    "Is this friend of yours perhaps of the fairer sex?" Fred asked with a sly wink.


    I gave him a knowing smile in return. "Mind keeping an eye on my things?"


    "By all means, go ahead, Duncan," he said cheerfully.


    Of course, there was no "friend" on this train. What I needed was the conductor, whose compartment I quickly located and knocked on.


    "Good day, sir. Could you help me with something?" I asked, slipping a folded one-pound note between my fingers.


    "Helping passengers is our duty," the conductor said eagerly.


    "I¡¯d like a private compartment all the way to Drammock. And the best tea and biscuits for me and my former seatmate," I added with a smile.


    My ticket had cost ¡ê1.23 at the station. Renting out an entire compartment would set me back around ¡ê5, and I figured another 50 pence would cover the tea. I showed the conductor a ¡ê5 note and a smaller ¡ê2 one. With such an incentive, I knew he¡¯d be highly motivated to find me a compartment, even if it meant rearranging passengers.


    "One moment, sir!" he said, his eyes lighting up as he reached for the money. I quickly tucked it back into my pocket.


    He got the message. "One moment!" he repeated, this time more energetically, and hurried off down the corridor.


    The conductor¡¯s strategy became clear when he left his compartment door ajar. I could hear him profusely apologizing to another passenger as he cleared out a compartment. Judging by the tone of his voice, he¡¯d simply relocated someone else to free up space for me.


    It took less than a minute for him to finish shifting their luggage, and when he returned, he was practically glowing with pride.


    "All ready, sir! Please follow me."


    The compartment he¡¯d found was indeed empty. Returning to Fred O''Shaughnessy would¡¯ve been awkward at this point, so I asked the conductor to fetch my luggage. Then I handed him the promised payment.


    The knots securing my backpack were still intact, which was a relief. However, my knife, unlike my pistol, was buried deep in my travel bag. Cutting the knots would¡¯ve been quicker, but instead, I set about untying them by hand.


    "If I¡¯m left undisturbed until Drammock, there¡¯ll be another pound waiting here for you," I told the conductor.


    "Understood, sir," he said with a grin, closing the door behind him.


    Once I was alone, I started working on the knots in earnest. Ten minutes in, I was already regretting not leaving the knife more accessible.


    Waiting for nightfall and the next station, I applied the ointment to my eyelids. When the train gave its first whistle, I grabbed Grandpa¡¯s medallion and stepped into the empty corridor. The train let out another long whistle and began to move. At that exact moment, I activated the medallion¡¯s magic. Its energy coursed through my subtle body, dispersing the energy of the hunter¡¯s mark.


    The door of the neighboring compartment suddenly flew open, and out jumped Brian McLilly ¨C a young warlock who had only hunted two beasts for Ferrish.


    "Evening, Brian," I greeted him.


    "E-er, you must be mistaken," he stammered.


    I pointed at the faint shimmer of the ointment under my eye.


    "Bollocks!" he cursed, his irritation plain.


    I smirked, bid him goodnight, and returned to my compartment. Not a minute later, there was a knock at the door.


    "Who is it?"


    "Brian."


    I opened the door. "What do you want?"


    "Let me travel with you."


    "Not a chance. I paid for this compartment."


    "Duncan, you bastard!"


    "Good night!" I slammed the door shut.


    The trick had served its main purpose ¨C I¡¯d identified the spy. I doubted my uncle would have spent money on accommodations for both of us. But the maneuver had a secondary objective too: to teach Brian how situations like this might unfold. This time, I didn¡¯t plan to repeatedly drill the reflex ¨C It would be too obvious and might backfire, putting him on constant alert. Besides, the hunter¡¯s mark actively drained life force as it restored itself. For now, it was just mild fatigue, but repeat the trick three times and trouble would surely follow. The next time would have to be the last.


    I pulled out the charged stones from my satchel and slowly transferred the energies of ether and mist into the medallion. Half the energy dissipated during the process, and I ended up using two of my three ether stones ¨C yet another reason to bring this charade to a close.


    The stones from my suitcase were unceremoniously tossed out the window, replaced by useless old clothes from my backpack. I left two fifty-pence coins on the table for the conductor and waited for the next station.


    The following stop wasn¡¯t ideal. It was just a halt in the middle of nowhere, and I needed a proper station in a larger town. Ideally, one with a bustling platform like Avoc. The next stop was better. As luck would have it, a train heading in the opposite direction pulled up to the platform just as ours let out its first whistle. The timing was perfect, and I decided to act.


    The situation with Brian played out almost identically. This time, however, he wasn¡¯t as quick to react. He opened the door to his compartment, cast a sour look at me, and slammed it shut with a bang.


    Our train had barely picked up speed when I sprang into action. I darted back into my compartment, locked the door, threw my backpack out the window, and followed it immediately. Hopefully, Brian wasn¡¯t looking out his own window. Within minutes, he¡¯d probably start to worry, look for me, and decide whether he should jump off the train himself.


    The second backlash from using the medallion was harder to bear, but I stubbornly hoisted the backpack onto my shoulders and sprinted toward the railway station. My previous train hadn¡¯t yet disappeared from the platform, but I reached the tail end of the opposite train just as its first whistle blew. Scrambling up the steps, I was met by the conductor, who grabbed my hand and yanked me onboard.


    "Ugh... thanks," I said, pulling a pound from my pocket. "Would you be able to help me, sir?"


    "Always happy to assist a generous passenger!" he replied with a grin.


    "Excellent! I need some tea and a map of the railway lines."


    "And where are you headed, sir?"


    "I¡¯ll decide once I see the map."


    "Then please, come to my compartment."


    I didn¡¯t share my plans with the conductor. Instead, I marked the first decent railway junction on our route and requested to be woken up when we arrived, slipping him another pound for good measure. To my surprise, this payment also secured me an entirely empty compartment.


    Half an hour of changing clothes and an hour and a half of deep sleep later, the morning platform greeted a completely different person. The young man in an expensive suit with a backpack was gone. In his place stood a modestly dressed traveler carrying a small travel bag and a satchel. Three hours later, that traveler boarded a train heading for the county capital, Ross, in Ballywinterurk.


    I needed a truly large station to disappear into for good. I had planned to make three more transfers but recalled how Grandpa used to berate me for being overly cautious. So, I adjusted my plan and headed straight for Farnell instead.

 Chapter 6

    The Farnell Railway Station was a sight to behold: dozens of passenger platforms, hundreds, if not thousands, of bustling travelers, and the constant whistle of departing trains. It was no surprise that this city and its surrounding areas formed a fully-fledged administrative county, with the domain itself being a duchy. Of course, the duke only owned the old district and part of the port, yet he made more from them than our clan ever did from the Bremor Forest ¨C by how much, I couldn¡¯t even begin to guess. The country¡¯s second-largest port and the first one trading with the New World ¨C that was no small matter. The Duke of Farnell was fabulously wealthy, the city¡¯s nobility and businessmen were quite prosperous, and the river of money they controlled attracted thieves and paupers like a lamp¡¯s light drew moths.


    A few times a year, my grandfather, Logan, and I ¨C or sometimes someone else from the family ¨C would travel to the capital. So, I had some experience being in crowded places, and the county capital couldn¡¯t exactly be called a backwater. But I wasn¡¯t fooling myself; comparing Avoc¡¯s two hundred thousand people to Farnell¡¯s three million was simply ridiculous. A new city was like a new forest ¨C before the hunt, you had to study its creatures and their habits, and it wouldn¡¯t hurt to hear from an experienced hunter. I didn¡¯t have any contacts here, but the specialist who¡¯d devised the trick of overloading rune seals in an energy node supposedly lived somewhere in this city. Too bad there was no address in the journal, but a talented wizard wasn¡¯t someone who could escape public attention ¨C or the yellow pages.


    From the platform, I headed into the station building, found a free phone booth, and pulled a battered phone book off the shelf. The yellow pages were missing every other page, but I managed to find a listing for Harry Smith under the "Magical Services" section. I didn¡¯t want to tear the book further, so I jotted the address down in the blank journal my grandfather had left me. The first entry¡­ I didn¡¯t even bother describing my escape. Grandfather¡¯s journal was similarly concise and often omitted motives.


    There were plenty of cabs near the station ¨C something for every taste. A few minutes of observation were enough to figure out how their system worked. The newer motor cabs roared closer to the main entrance, while horse-drawn carriages lingered on the outskirts, but neither stood idle for long. All it took was stepping to the curb and raising a hand, and transportation would arrive. The key was knowing the right "zone of responsibility." Shiny, luxurious cars pulled up directly to the entrance, and I had no doubt their fares were just as steep. I moved farther from the center, closer to the line of horse-drawn carriages. The moment I raised my hand, two cabs raced toward me at once. One motor cab cut the other off, its furious driver blasting the horn, but then a woman stepped up nearby, and the second cab immediately turned its attention to her. I didn¡¯t linger on the cabbies'' dispute, opened the door, and tossed my travel bag onto the back seat.


    "Rapsey, Longhead Road, number seventeen," I said.


    "Got it, sir," the driver smiled into the wide rear-view mirror and reached for the taximeter lever. The mechanical display instantly ticked up five pence, then began its usual incremental count. "First time in the city, sir?"


    I glanced at the overly inquisitive cab driver, trying to figure out what had sparked his curiosity. Cab drivers in Avoc never made small talk with me, but there, I was part of the clan that owned the land. Here, I was just another traveler.


    "I was here a few years ago," I replied.


    "A few years in Farnell is like a century in the provinces!" the driver joked. "You¡¯ve got to visit Shiny at night. The district¡¯s changed a lot. Some places won¡¯t even let you in without a choker, and the prices are biting. Working folk still look for fun in Pubset, but every visitor¡¯s got to see Shiny¡¯s glow at least once."


    "Thanks for the tip."


    "Where are you from, sir? There¡¯s a touch of the North in your accent."


    "Elfshire," I lied, naming Bremshire¡¯s northern neighbor.


    "Ah, I¡¯m from the South myself¡­"


    The cabbie didn¡¯t shut up the entire ride, rambling on about the hardships of the southern provinces until we reached our destination. At least he stopped asking questions. I barely noticed when the buildings outside the window grew more decrepit, the proper roads disappeared, and we drove into typical three-story slums. The grandeur of the progressive city had been left behind. The streets were filthy, the glass in the street lamps shattered, and drunks wandered around in broad daylight. Many windows were boarded up, and the roofs of relatively new buildings were already riddled with holes. By all appearances, the inhabitants of this area were not exactly law-abiding or hard-working citizens. To make matters worse, the houses bore no street names or even numbers.


    ¡°We¡¯re here, sir,¡± the cabbie announced as he braked near an alleyway that ended in a building which, by local standards, was relatively decent. At least its windows were intact. Hm¡­ Farnell¡¯s wizards didn¡¯t seem to live extravagantly.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure about this?¡±


    ¡°You wound me, sir! I¡¯ve been driving all over Farnell for four years. That¡¯ll be thirty-seven.¡±


    I handed the cabbie fifty pence coin.


    ¡°Keep the change.¡±


    ¡°Much obliged!¡± he said with genuine enthusiasm.


    ¡°Don¡¯t rush off just yet,¡± I requested, a premonition of trouble stirring in me.


    ¡°Of course!¡± the cabbie promised, but as soon as I closed the door and turned away, the taxi screeched off so fast that the tires squealed.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I shouted after him.


    Heads started poking out of the windows of nearby houses, and from the alleys spilled gangs of scrappy kids in patched-up clothes, armed with sticks. They moved swiftly, forming six pairs that cut off all my routes of escape. Their tactics mirrored those used against a Thunder Bear. In each pair, one boy was older and bigger, probably around fourteen, while a smaller one, a few years younger, covered him from the side and rear. The older boys were clearly meant to take the first hit while training up the younger ones. It was a strategy we also used in our clan hunts. I couldn¡¯t help but laugh at the comparison, feeling like a powerful yet cornered predator. My reaction seemed to catch the gang off guard.


    The smallest of them ¨C a boy in a flat cap, no more than ten ¨C tugged at his partner¡¯s sleeve and whispered something. The older boy frowned, adjusted his suspenders, and asked a follow-up question. He looked older and cockier than the rest, and his outfit and weapon were of better quality. His shirt was intact, his trousers held up by proper suspenders, and two lead knuckles gleamed in the sunlight. All signs pointed to him being the leader of the group, which made him my target. That¡¯s how Thunder Bears broke free too ¨C by eliminating the strongest obstacle in their way.


    The leader¡¯s hesitation worked in my favor. Uncertainty always trickled down to the group, so I smiled again and began walking toward him. The boy was about my age and height but at least fifteen kilos lighter ¨C nothing but angles and sinew instead of muscle. I quickly pushed aside thoughts of any advantage I might have. Despite all my training, his experience in street brawls far outweighed my own.


    I stopped a few steps away from him. I couldn¡¯t make out what he was whispering to the smaller boy, but their disagreement was clearly to my advantage.


    ¡°I take it this isn¡¯t Rapsey?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Knuckles!¡± the smaller one hissed, but the older boy silenced him with a glare before addressing me.


    ¡°Nope, not Rapsey, country boy. You¡¯ve got yourself good and lost.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow at his boldness, letting sarcasm creep into my voice.


    ¡°Well, perhaps you distinguished gentlemen might point a poor country boy in the right direction ¨C before anyone gets into trouble.¡±


    The small boy tugged at the leader¡¯s sleeve again, but the older boy swatted him away and spat at my feet.


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯ll show you the way. We¡¯ll even keep you out of trouble. And you¡¯ll thank us for it. That¡¯s some nice shiny trinkets you¡¯ve got there. The girls are going to love them.¡±


    I kept the rest of the gang in my peripheral vision the entire time. The other pairs were holding back, keeping slightly more distance than the leader.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that won¡¯t be possible,¡± I said, keeping my tone even. ¡°This one¡¯s a gift from my grandfather, and I treasure it dearly.¡±


    "Knuckles!" squeaked the younger boy.


    So it was a nickname? Original, I¡¯ll give them that. But it wasn¡¯t a name given lightly ¨C he clearly knew how to throw a punch. Best not to let it come to that.


    "He¡¯ll give you another one!" the leader declared, taking a bold and threatening step forward.


    I pulled back the flap of my jacket, revealing the pistol holstered under my left arm. That stopped him in his tracks.


    "My grandfather¡¯s dead," I said, my tone low and deliberate. "And I¡¯d rather not hear any stupid jokes about it. I might take offense¡­ serious offense."


    He hesitated for only a second. He was within a step, close enough to strike. My pistol was still holstered under my left arm, and my right hand held the travel bag. Drawing the pistol would take too long, and Knuckles wasn¡¯t counting on me even attempting it ¨C which was exactly where he miscalculated. He struck out with a classic one-two combination.


    I stepped back just slightly, evading his left jab, and swung the bag in my hand. The bag intercepted his right hook mid-flight, and the weight of the iron-clad object inside wrenched his upper body off balance. I stepped in close, using his own momentum against him, and drove my boot heel hard into his shin. A nasty move ¨C one I¡¯d experienced myself once ¨C and it bent him forward, leaving his face perfectly positioned for a follow-up strike with my knee. Fortunately for him, the travel bag got in the way, so instead of a knee to the face, his arrogant mug caught the bag in an uppercut motion. Since the bag was mostly filled with clothes and books, I didn¡¯t hold back. His body spun in a rather elegant pirouette, landing on his head and shoulders before collapsing into a heap, legs splayed out awkwardly. The shiny lead knuckles he had been so proud of clattered to the ground, rolling in opposite directions.


    I turned just in time to cut off the rest of the gang¡¯s advance.


    "Freeze!" I barked. It worked. The street rats froze in place, still too stunned by what had just happened. Their wide eyes and the tight grip on their sticks made it clear ¨C they hadn¡¯t expected their leader to go down. "Scram," I added, waving them off dismissively.


    The young gangsters exchanged uneasy glances. This might have been the first time they encountered prey that bit back.


    "Ugh¡­" Knuckles groaned, proving himself surprisingly sturdy ¨C he hadn¡¯t even lost consciousness. With help from the smallest boy, who was now fussing over him, he tried to get to his feet. I wasn¡¯t having that. I tossed my bag down onto Knuckles¡¯ stomach, pushing him flat against the ground again, and turned my attention back to the others.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Want me to put the rest of you down too? Get lost!"


    With that, I drew my pistol from its holster and cocked the hammer. The younger kids scattered like leaves in a storm, while the older ones retreated more slowly. Only the smallest boy remained, determined to retrieve my travel bag from his fallen leader.


    "Not on the ground!" I barked, my voice sharp enough to make the kid jump. "Pick it up properly, and if I find so much as a scratch on it, you¡¯ll regret it!"


    Terrified, the boy obeyed. Despite the obvious urge to run, he held his ground, eyes wide with fear but also, strangely, resolve. I stepped over the groaning Knuckles, pressing the muzzle of my pistol to his forehead as I crouched down onto his chest.


    "Do you know what a contribution is?" I asked.


    "Uh¡­ what?" he stammered, clearly confused.


    "It¡¯s when a defeated country has to pay money," the younger boy in the cap ¨C Cap I decided to call him ¨C piped up from the side.


    "Correct," I said with a grin.


    The concept was a bit broader than that, and I certainly wasn¡¯t expecting cash from these street kids. But I wasn¡¯t about to let them off scot-free either. After all, there weren¡¯t many cabs around here, and I still needed to find a way out of this mess. Not to mention, I owed that cabbie a solid punch to the face for leaving me stranded.


    "You¡¯re out of luck, mate," Knuckles sneered, regaining some of his cocky attitude. "We ain¡¯t got no money."


    "No profit today? Or am I your first target? It¡¯s hardly early anymore, gentlemen. Lazy thieves, are we?"


    "Like I said, no money," Knuckles shot back, "and now we owe Talbot for you. He charges twenty per client. Cash. Plus, the cops want their ten."


    "Poor, unfortunate souls," I mocked. "Looks like you¡¯re about as profitable as a leaky bucket. Maybe I should take those ¡®shiny trinkets¡¯ off your girls instead. You said they¡¯d like them."


    "We ain¡¯t got no girls," Knuckles grumbled. "Just said it for show."


    "And what do you do with the trinkets you steal?" I pressed, fishing for the name of their fence. That could be a useful lead ¨C criminals always knew more than they let on. "Think carefully before you answer, mate. I¡¯m starting to lose patience with this conversation."


    "I¡¯ll fetch it!" §³ap squeaked suddenly.


    "§³ap!" Knuckles barked, clearly displeased.


    §³ap and Knuckles ¨C a colorful duo indeed.


    "Quiet," I said to Knuckles, waving him off. It wasn¡¯t what I¡¯d expected, but it wasn¡¯t a bad development either. "That would be the right decision in your situation, my young friend. But remember, my patience isn¡¯t endless. And I¡¯ll be waiting¡­" I paused, pulling out my pocket watch and flipping open the cover. "Two minutes. Time starts now."


    "You¡¯ll leave us on the street!" Knuckles warned the boy.


    "You¡¯ll survive," I retorted.


    §³ap hesitated, torn between his leader¡¯s order and the travel bag still in his hands. Realizing what was troubling him, I returned the pocket watch to my pocket and held out my hand. The boy immediately shoved the bag into it and then bolted down the street, his oversized shoes slapping against the pavement.


    I set the bag on Knuckles¡¯ chest.


    "§³ap, stop! Damn it, I¡¯ll give it back! You don¡¯t understand!" Knuckles shouted.


    "Enlighten me," I said, noticing the growing number of onlookers peering out of their windows.


    "It¡¯s dangerous here at night," Knuckles muttered reluctantly. "People disappear. And storing things at The Coin isn¡¯t cheap."


    "What¡¯s The Coin?"


    "The business district of Smuggler¡¯s Bay ¨C where the serious folks are."


    "You fence your loot there?"


    "Yeah."


    "Well, look at that ¨C Cap¡¯s actually running back." I had a suspicion that instead of loot, the boy might bring me more trouble.


    Knuckles groaned and cursed under his breath.


    "Now, now, it¡¯s not that bad," I said, mocking him.


    Cap returned, panting hard but managing to meet the two-minute mark. In his hands was a large leather Pouch. I gestured to the ground.


    "Dump it."


    "We¡¯re being watched!" Knuckles protested.


    "As if they didn¡¯t see you taking it in the first place," I countered. "Dump it."


    Cap emptied the pouch¡¯s contents onto the ground. Rings, brooches, necklaces, earrings ¨C it was a magpie¡¯s treasure trove. I carefully sifted through the pile, running my hand over the stones. Most were cheap glass, but one caught my attention ¨C a modest citrine set in a primitive copper band.


    I held up the ring in front of Knuckles¡¯ face.


    "And how much were your distinguished thieves planning to get for this?"


    "Ten pence," Knuckles admitted grudgingly.


    I shook my head, imagining how much their fence must have been ripping them off. But then Cap surprised me.


    "A pound," he blurted out.


    "I like you," I said, amused. He had been terrified of me at first, but now¡­ This ring was interesting. I didn¡¯t know what enchantment it held, but it practically radiated heat. Brand-new, it might fetch five to ten pounds, but no one would pay these thieves anywhere near that much.


    "Which path are you walking, kid?" I asked, suspecting that Cap might dabble in energy practices.


    "I¡¯m not gifted," Cap quickly denied.


    It was a personal question, so I didn¡¯t press further.


    "As you wish. Gather it all up," I said, gesturing to the scattered jewelry. "Aside from your friend Talbot, do any other cabs come down to this hole? I need transport to Rapsey."


    Knuckles stayed silent, forcing Cap to answer again.


    "Old Yusom¡¯s got a cart, and he probably isn¡¯t too drunk yet," the boy suggested.


    "Horses don¡¯t like me," I replied, dismissing the idea.


    "There¡¯s a butcher two blocks from here. The owner¡¯s got a two-seater Austin. I think he¡¯ll take you if you ask, but he¡¯ll charge you at least three quid."


    "That works for me." I rapped Knuckles lightly on the forehead with the barrel of my pistol. "See? All sorted. Now grab my travel bag. Let¡¯s see you work honestly for a change."


    I pocketed the citrine ring but left the rest of the loot untouched, even though Cap offered me the leather pouch.


    "Here, sir," he said timidly.


    "Hold onto it for now," I waved him off with the pistol. "Move along, my dear friends. And let¡¯s not get clever with any ambushes. I¡¯m tired and in no mood for games ¨C or mercy, for that matter."


    "I¡¯ll go on my own," Knuckles muttered under his breath. "Let the kid go."


    "Move!" I commanded, letting the would-be thieves walk ahead of me. "Who do you sell the loot to?"


    The boys exchanged glances.


    "I might need connections of that sort," I admitted honestly. "Knuckles, keep quiet ¨C I trust Cap more than you. So, my young gentleman?" I holstered the pistol to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.


    "We take it to Patrick Mallory at the ''Commode,''" Cap confessed.


    "That¡¯s in the Coin?"


    "Nope, Pubsate," Knuckles spat. "In the Coin, they wouldn¡¯t even give us that much for it."


    As I mulled over whether to question them about vampires, we reached a small butcher shop. Chalked in large letters on a board was the phrase "Fresh Blood." Judging by the sign, the butcher was more in the know than these street kids.


    "We¡¯re here," Knuckles said, snatching the pouch from Cap¡¯s hands. "Go home," he barked at the younger boy before opening the shop door and motioning for me to follow. "The kid can¡¯t come in here."


    I didn¡¯t entirely believe him, but I wasn¡¯t familiar enough with the local rules to argue.


    "Hey, Dick, is your dad in?" Knuckles asked the skinny boy manning the counter.


    "What¡¯s it to you?" the boy replied, frowning.


    Knuckles nodded toward me and, without warning, flung my travel bag at me. I caught it with both hands, but by the time I looked up, Knuckles had vaulted over the counter and disappeared through a door into the back room.


    "Hey!" the butcher¡¯s son protested, but I just laughed.


    "My good fellow," I said, trying to sound both amused and composed, "I have a lucrative proposal for your father. Would you kindly fetch him for me?"


    The laughter and calm tone must have unsettled the boy because he didn¡¯t argue. When the butcher appeared, I laid out my proposition quickly and clearly, offering half the sum Cap had mentioned as a starting bid. Predictably, the butcher tripled it, but we eventually settled on three pounds.


    An hour later, I found myself in a much more affluent part of the city, far from the slums. The butcher, unfortunately, hadn¡¯t known this area well, so it took us a bit of time to find the right street. But the wizard¡¯s mansion stood out immediately.


    The surrounding buildings were uniform four- or five-story red-brick structures, tightly packed with barely any room to walk between them. In stark contrast, the mansion occupied an entire block, enclosed by an ornate wrought-iron fence. The gray stone house in the center wasn¡¯t particularly luxurious ¨C It was at least a story shorter than its neighbors ¨C but it was surrounded by its own unruly, overgrown garden. It was a breath of fresh air amidst the oppressive reign of brick, asphalt, and the stench of petrol. Though, to be fair, the last offense might have been the fault of the butcher¡¯s ancient Austin.


    I stepped out of the car near the wrought-iron gate bearing the emblem of an anvil, paid the driver, and took a step toward the gate. That¡¯s when I heard someone shout.


    "Wait, sir!"


    I glanced over my shoulder, unsure who they were addressing.


    "You, sir! Yes, you!" A man waved to me from the porch of a house across the street from the wizard¡¯s mansion.


    He quickly crossed the road, heading in my direction. As he approached, the amulet on my chest gave off a faint tingling sensation. Subtly, I flipped open the lid of the ring on my finger and dipped my thumb into the concealment-revealing ointment. The broad-faced man, though dressed in an expensive brown suit, didn¡¯t inspire trust.


    "Sir Smith isn¡¯t receiving visitors right now," he said as he stopped in front of me.


    "And you are¡­?"


    "Martin Belor," he replied, offering a smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. "If you¡¯re in need of professional assistance from a wizard, I can recommend the Fairburn House ¨C ten specialists, centuries of magical tradition, and its head holds the title of baron.¡±


    It sounded... like an overly rehearsed radio advertisement.


    "I¡¯m afraid I need Sir Smith specifically," I said, keeping my tone calm and polite.


    Not wanting to escalate the situation, I turned back toward the gate. But before I could take another step, a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder.


    "Boy, I said you¡¯re not going in there," Martin said, his tone shifting from courteous to threatening.


    I swiped my thumb under my right eye, smearing the remaining ointment under the left as well, and waited for my vision to shift. As the magic took hold, the wizard¡¯s house beyond the garden lit up with energy. I turned back to face Martin, noticing his figure was surrounded by a faint blue aura emanating from his amulet ¨C similar to the glow coming from my own.


    "Sir, I don¡¯t appreciate being told what to do," I said sharply.


    Martin jabbed his finger into my chest.


    "Don¡¯t push your luck, country boy. Get lost!"


    I jabbed him back, aiming precisely where his amulet glowed faintly beneath his shirt. Defensive amulets worn over the heart¡­ It would be foolish to place an object designed to absorb hits in such a vulnerable spot, but they still do. Let¡¯s see what this thing was.


    The moment my finger connected, the amulet responded with a surge of air energy. I immediately latched onto it and pulled it free from its restraints. The surprise on Martin¡¯s face told me everything I needed to know. His amulet carried an air shield, designed to deflect ranged attacks.


    "Listen carefully," I said, keeping my voice cold and steady. "I¡¯m not asking for an apology, but if you don¡¯t disappear in the next three seconds, I¡¯ll beat you so thoroughly no healer will be able to put you back together."


    His expression shifted from surprise to disbelief.


    Street rats had that same look of defiance ¨C until I pulled out my pistol. This time, I didn¡¯t wait. I drew my FN and pressed the barrel against Martin¡¯s stomach. At this range, even with his shield active, I wouldn¡¯t miss.


    "One."


    "I understand, sir! Apologies, sir! Forgive me, sir!" Martin stammered, raising his hands in surrender.


    He took one step back, then another, before quickly retreating to the house across the street.


    I slid my pistol back into its holster and turned toward the gate again. Only now did I notice the faint glow of magic radiating from it. This, undoubtedly, was a security enchantment.

 Chapter 7

    Bloody hell! I needed to figure out what to do about the gate ¨C and fast. The thug hadn¡¯t come to his senses or returned yet. The worst part of situation was that I couldn¡¯t distinguish one type of energy from another. Everything with an air or water base looked pale and similar in the soft blue-green spectrum. Only lightning, thanks to its fire component, had a brighter violet hue. For gifted energy practitioners with a developed third eye, differentiating them would have been easy, but the ointment I was using didn¡¯t offer that kind of clarity.


    Still, I had a point of reference!


    I threw my travel bag to the ground and pulled out a small box of stones from my satchel. Each one was stored in its own compartment and had a distinct glow, except for the ether and mist stones that had been drained on the train. Bright red for fire, nearly black for metal, and gray for earth ¨C those could be ruled out immediately. Water¡­


    I took a water stone from the box and brought it close to the gate¡¯s handle. Unlikely. It wasn¡¯t lightning either. Air again?


    The glow of the air stone was remarkably similar to the energy surrounding not just the gate¡¯s handle but the entire fence. Damn it, just a basic signaling spell? Hopefully, it wouldn¡¯t chop my hand off. I returned the box to my bag but kept a glowing green garnet bead in my left hand. If I sustained physical damage, I could at least use its raw energy for some quick recovery.


    My hand rested on the gate¡¯s handle, and I pressed. The gate clicked with its rusty lock, creaked on its long-neglected hinges, and opened. A sharp prick of foreign energy shot through my hand, but it wasn¡¯t more than that. Relieved, I grabbed my travel bag and stepped onto the gravel path.


    The pedestrian path wound alongside the driveway but was in a sorry state. Weeds of all kinds pushed their way up through the gravel, reaching for the sun. A pair of spiky thistles had grown so large that I had to step off the path to avoid them ¨C right near some red energy spots hidden in the grass that radiated fire magic. And that wasn¡¯t the only trap.


    The garden ¨C or rather, the park, as it was too vast to be called a garden ¨C glowed with magic. Even in the middle of the path, I encountered powerful circles etched with seals of somber metal energy and dark-red magma magic. The house felt like it was under siege, and the warning from that strange man earlier no longer seemed so ridiculous. It was clear that ordinary people weren¡¯t meant to enter these grounds.


    Adding to the ominous atmosphere was a large plywood sign stuck in the middle of the path. Faded red paint scrawled across it read: ¡°Get lost while you¡¯re still alive!!!¡± In smaller text beneath it, the words: ¡°Leaving the path is dangerous to your life. Regular clients know what to do.¡±


    Beyond the sign began a minefield of small seals glowing with a kaleidoscope of energies.


    Walking straight down the path wasn¡¯t an option, but if there were regular clients¡­ I looked closer.


    On the right, in the tall grass, there was a faint gap, as though a trail had once been there. It led to an old oak tree, and it was the only direction free of ground seals.


    Reaching the tree, I spotted another gap that brought me directly to the grand porch, with its thick columns and a massive balcony on the second floor. Damn it, this Smith guy was either in serious trouble or a full-blown paranoid! There were seals even on the porch. The clear path was no more than a meter and a half wide, and the door itself radiated an unpleasant blue energy ¨C especially the bronze door knocker.


    Still, no one would attach an offensive spell to a knocker. It was likely another signaling spell, like the one on the gate. Most knockers are shaped like large rings held in the mouth of some grotesque beast, but Harry¡¯s knocker was a literal hammer hanging from a ring. It struck a plate that depicted an anvil.


    I knocked three times and heard the sound echo through the house, amplified by magic.


    I waited. And waited. Eventually, I knocked again¡­ and again. Entering a wizard¡¯s home uninvited wasn¡¯t just impolite ¨C It was downright dangerous. But the ointment¡¯s effect was wearing off, and the knocker¡¯s glow had almost completely faded.


    Taking a deep breath, I decided to risk it and pushed open the massive doors.


    "Sir Harry!" I called out, my voice echoing through the dusty hall. There wasn¡¯t much light in the entryway. The double doors, which likely led to a grand hall, were shut. On either side of the doors, staircases spread out like the wings of a predatory bird, curving upward to the second floor. My attention was caught by a faint, blurry figure with a bluish glow on the right staircase.


    "Sir Harry Smith?" I repeated, uncertain.


    The blue blur shot out a beam of the same color. It instantly wrapped around my legs and yanked upward so fast that I dropped my travel bag and barely managed to hold on to my satchel before flipping upside down. Then an invisible force tore the satchel from my grip as well.


    "Careful!" I shouted instinctively.


    To my surprise, the man who caught me listened. My satchel didn¡¯t slam into the floor, which would have been disastrous for the glass vials inside. Instead, it floated gently down.


    "Sir Harry¡­" I tried again, hoping it was him.


    "The very same. But I don¡¯t know you!"


    The blue blur solidified into the form of a tall, thin man with a shaggy beard and a shiny bald head. The wizard was dressed simply, in a plain shirt and rough work pants held up by suspenders. He gave a sharp flick of his outstretched hand, sending me swinging up and down violently. The movement dislodged my grandfather¡¯s dagger from the inside pocket of my coat, and it clattered to the floor.


    The wizard extended his left hand toward it with interest. I saw his energy try to wrap around the dagger, but it resisted and stayed where it was.


    "A warlock?" he muttered. "You don¡¯t look like one¡­"


    "My grandfather was a warlock," I admitted quickly. "Gregor Kinkaid. I¡¯m Duncan. You examined me five years ago."


    The same force that had grabbed my legs now seized my arms and stretched them downward, carrying me closer to the wizard. My body stopped about half a meter away from him, still hanging upside down. Harry scrutinized my chest, rotated my body slightly in midair, and finally set me upright on the floor.


    "Looks like you¡¯ve been keeping busy. One rune broken, working on the second. Impressive." He nodded approvingly. "Sorry about the rough welcome, boy. I¡¯ve got a bit of a¡­ conflict going on."


    "I noticed. A man outside ¡®strongly advised¡¯ me not to come in."


    "Advised, did he?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "That bastard¡¯s scared off everyone he could, and anyone he couldn¡¯t, his master took care of! What¡¯s that crap under your eyes? Can¡¯t make sense of it."


    "Ointment to see what¡¯s hidden," I explained.


    "Ah, classic warlock education. Next time, try putting it on your third eye."


    "My third eye¡¯s closed."


    "Try it!" Harry said insistently.


    Not wanting to upset the wizard, I opened the ring, scraped out the remaining ointment with my pinky, and brought it toward my forehead.


    "Lower," Harry corrected immediately.


    "I know. The spot¡¯s just above the brows," I replied, applying the ointment to the proper point.


    Almost instantly, the world blossomed into sharper, more vivid colors. The elemental hues gained clarity, and even Harry¡¯s form changed. A small blue glow appeared where his third eye should be, green energy shone where his spiritual core resided, and gray light radiated from his elemental source. All three key energy nodes were open and brimming with power.


    "Impressive," I whispered, awed.


    "See? All it took was using it correctly!" Harry smirked. "Right, gather up your stuff and let¡¯s head to the kitchen. I¡¯ll treat you to some chamomile tea and baked potatoes. That¡¯s all I¡¯ve got, unfortunately."


    I bent down to grab my travel bag and satchel, but froze mid-motion. Through the cracks in the grand hall¡¯s doors, I could see powerful streams of magic leaking out. Gray earth energy shifted into nearly black metal, only to transform into a vivid blue ether. What kind of monstrous spell could radiate that power?


    "Come on already," Harry grumbled. "It¡¯s not like you haven¡¯t seen places of power before."


    "There are three elements in there¡­" I murmured, unable to tear my eyes away.


    "It hasn¡¯t fully formed yet," Harry replied dismissively.


    It was becoming clearer what was happening here. If the wizard was trying to awaken his own place of power, it made sense that competitors would attempt to sabotage him. The only thing that puzzled me was that I¡¯d never heard of such a complex ritual being conducted by a single person. Sir Harry Smith was either a genius or a madman ¨C or maybe a bit of both.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    "Should you really be stepping away?" I asked, complying with the wizard¡¯s instruction to follow him.


    "Pfft... I¡¯ve been playing with it for a year," he replied, leading me toward the kitchen. "An hour or two won¡¯t make much of a difference."


    "A year?! That means you haven¡¯t left the house in a year?"


    "And how do you think I¡¯ve been growing potatoes and gathering chamomile?" he retorted. "The bastards scared off all my suppliers too. I¡¯d kill for some bacon and a couple of eggs."


    "Why not get some chickens, then?" I suggested.


    "I did have chickens ¨C until a fox got into the coop. I prepared seriously for this ritual," Harry grumbled.


    We entered a spacious, bright, but slightly dusty kitchen. It looked like it could host a banquet for a hundred people, but signs of activity were limited to the gas stove and one corner of the table. The wizard grabbed a ladle, scooped water from a wooden barrel, and filled the kettle.


    "They cut off my water and gas as soon as they realized what I was doing. The well in the backyard and a few cylinders in the basement keep me going. Same with the electricity ¨C they cut that too. Even blocked the sewer line. They even tried to summon me to court, but for some reason, they stopped. No idea why."


    Harry lit the stove and set the kettle on it.


    "Hungry?"


    "I last ate on the train," I admitted.


    "Then grab a knife. We¡¯re peeling potatoes. Your grandfather was good at this. How¡¯s the old fart doing, anyway?" Harry handed me a short kitchen knife.


    "He¡¯s dead. Killed," I replied, my tone somber.


    "Damn¡­ Sorry, boy. I¡­ I¡¯ve been out of touch with people for a while. I¡¯ve been putting off moments like this. So, what brings you to me? How can I help?"


    "It¡¯s a long story," I said. "I can tell you while we peel the potatoes."


    "Hmm! Go on then!"


    "One question first ¨C how much longer will the ritual take?" I quickly clarified, hoping to avoid being hoisted upside down again. "I just want to know how open I can be. If the ritual¡¯s ongoing, you won¡¯t exactly have a chance to spill the beans to anyone."


    "A month. Give or take a week," Harry said, waving off the concern.


    I told him everything. Harry turned out to be quite emotional. He cursed furiously when I described my grandfather¡¯s rise, swore vividly at Simon, laughed heartily at my escape from the train, and recommended tracking down and thrashing the street gang that had tried to mug me.


    "You know who I feel the sorriest for in this whole mess?" he asked as the kettle began to whistle.


    "Who?"


    "Bryce. You¡¯ve dropped quite the headache into his lap. Well done, by the way, for clarifying about the ritual. If I had the chance, I¡¯d definitely have ratted you out to him."


    "Thanks for your honesty," I said dryly.


    "Don¡¯t mention it," Harry waved me off, pouring the boiled water over crushed chamomile in the teapot. "What exactly do you want from me? To track down your Simon?"


    "No," I surprised him. "I wanted to learn about the balance of power here in the city. And I wanted to figure out what caught Ferrish¡¯s attention about Simon. My uncle mentioned that his dagger reacted to vampires."


    "I don¡¯t deal with bloodsuckers," Harry said quickly, distancing himself from the topic. "And as for the city¡¯s power structure, I¡¯ve been out of the loop for nearly a year."


    Harry¡¯s potatoes¡­ Well, they were something else. As it turned out, he had been "feeding" them with magic ¨C not blood, but earth energy ¨C which gave them a distinctly peculiar flavor, like road dust. The chamomile tea, however, was surprisingly decent.


    The wizard allowed me to stay the night, giving me time to rest after my journey and think over my next steps. I confessed that I had brought a small fortune with me, which he strongly advised me not to carry around. Then again, he also didn¡¯t recommend staying in the city either. According to Harry, Baron Fairburn was an influential bastard, and picking a fight with him without a proper patron was foolish. Harry himself would have gladly acted as my patron, but for now, his abilities were severely limited.


    So, I was assigned one of the mansion¡¯s dusty rooms and a much-needed bed, where I welcomed the morning ¨C though it was a rather late one, to be honest.


    A note lay on the floor, clearly slid under the door by Harry:


    "Don¡¯t go into the hall!!! Call for me. If I don¡¯t answer, I¡¯m busy. Potatoes are on the stove."


    I made a mental note to buy him some meat.


    After calling for Harry a few times and receiving no response, I left a note of my own in the kitchen, letting him know I was heading into the city. But before leaving, I sorted through my satchel, packing the unnecessary items into my travel bag: the stones, half the potions, and an undershirt with sewn-in banknotes. I kept only ¡ê200 in cash with me ¨C a sum that was easily ten times the average monthly wage of a descent worker in Avoc.


    The only significant item of value that I didn¡¯t leave behind was the baron¡¯s ring. I figured it might come in handy, but instead of wearing it, I strung it on a cord alongside my signaling amulet.


    Once more, I called for Harry, and this time I heard his voice from behind a closed door.


    "One more hour!"


    "I¡¯m heading into the city," I shouted back.


    "Don¡¯t stir up trouble," came his sage advice.


    I paused by the gate, even waving toward the house where Fairburn¡¯s men were holed up. I had hoped to settle things peacefully, but no one came out, so I continued on toward the nearby square where Harry had mentioned cabs gathered.


    There were about ten idle vehicles there; it was that time of day when no one was in much of a hurry. The second cabbie I approached recognized the establishment I named in Pubsate.


    Unsurprisingly, the "Commode" turned out to be a pawnshop of middling quality. Or perhaps I was just biased ¨C it was my first time in such a place, so I couldn¡¯t help but look around with curiosity. The shop was packed with all sorts of items: watches, kitchen utensils, furniture, weapons, and even works of art.


    Patrick Mallory turned out to be a large, rotund man with the cheerful smile of a favorite uncle and small, oily eyes. He immediately pegged me as an outsider and set to work on me. Clearly, I needed to change my clothes.


    Mallory assured me that the streets of Farnell were rife with dangers and that only a reliable firearm could keep me safe. He then attempted to sell me a revolver that had been outdated for at least half a century. In response, I showed him my own pistol, and the shopkeeper immediately quieted down. Then, hoping to catch him off guard, I casually mentioned my fear of vampires.


    The man perked up instantly, launching into a sales pitch for a wooden crucifix, thrice blessed by the bishop himself. It was a bargain at just one pound, he claimed.


    I bought the cross. Building contacts, after all, required a bit of give-and-take.


    Asking direct questions about the city¡¯s shadow community ¨C or vampires specifically ¨C might have scared him off. So, I left the pawnshop no wiser than when I had entered.


    The next item on my agenda was finding a place to stay, but life had other plans for me. Pubsate was a district known for cheap entertainment, so during the day, the streets were mostly empty ¨C just the occasional passerby, workers, or completely unhinged partygoers stumbling around. The streets didn¡¯t come alive until the evening.


    That said, a couple of sturdy-looking fellows immediately started tailing me. When I stopped by a pub, so did they. I took a step forward ¨C they followed.


    "Gentlemen," I asked directly, "whose interests are you representing?"


    Who knew what had drawn their attention to me? Maybe they were just common thugs.


    "Huh? We¡­ uh¡­" one of them stammered.


    "We¡¯re just here, not botherin¡¯ anyone," the other chimed in. "Keep movin¡¯."


    "Apologies, but I¡¯m already where I need to be," I said, gesturing toward the pub. "You¡¯re free to move along; I won¡¯t keep you."


    "Well, we¡¯re here too!" the first one declared, puffing out his chest.


    "Then by all means, go ahead," I said, pointing toward the pub¡¯s doors.


    An awkward silence hung between us.


    "Let¡¯s not kid ourselves ¨C you¡¯re following me. Why don¡¯t you just tell me who sent you and arrange a meeting with them? That would save us all some trouble."


    "What?" the thugs said in unison, clearly baffled.


    "There¡¯s always a way to settle things peacefully," I continued. "And then there¡¯s no need to hide bodies from the police."


    "What bodies?!" blurted the first one, his voice rising slightly.


    "Not live ones, surely. The live ones will just walk away," I said matter-of-factly. "So, gentlemen, what will it be?"


    The two men, who had been visibly tense, suddenly relaxed. I followed their gaze over my shoulder and turned to see what had caused the shift.


    Storming down the sidewalk with the fury of a thousand devils was none other than Martin Belor, with two more enforcers trailing behind him. We were still separated by a fair distance, and it seemed he was afraid I might run. But running from a predator only triggers its hunting instincts.


    "Mr. Belor!" I called out, waving cheerfully. To make matters worse for him, I began walking toward him.


    Martin slowed his pace, clearly wary. I scanned the surroundings with my peripheral vision and adjusted my stride so that we would meet directly in front of another establishment. Judging by the female mannequins in overly revealing dresses on display in the windows, it definitely wasn¡¯t a pub where someone could drag me out easily. It might have been a specialized boutique or a salon. I hoped men weren¡¯t barred from entry. The well-maintained exterior and tasteful decor spoke of a certain status.


    "Sir," Martin spat the word like it was poison, clearly in no mood for pleasantries.


    "I¡¯ve been informed about the disagreement between Sir Harry and Lord Fairburn," I said calmly. "You can assure your employer that I have no intention of interfering. However, I do need some time to find alternative accommodations. I hope to be done by evening. For now, if you¡¯ll excuse me¡­"


    I turned ninety degrees, took a step toward the door, and pressed the button for the electric doorbell. If no one answered, I¡¯d likely be smeared across the pavement in short order.


    No one answered immediately, so I pressed the button again under Martin¡¯s increasingly irritated glare. He shoved his hat back on his head and furrowed his brow, clearly trying to decide what to do.


    Thankfully, before his thoughts settled on a violent course of action, the door opened. Unfortunately, the man who opened it gave off the kind of vibe that suggested a painful death awaited those who crossed him.


    The bruiser, dressed in a vest with a loosened tie around his thick neck, was bigger than anyone present, including Martin¡¯s enforcers.


    "The girls are sleeping," he grunted.


    Damn it. The dresses in the window suddenly clicked in my head: I¡¯d walked right into a brothel.


    "Surely this problem can be resolved?" I asked, holding up a five-pound note. It was the first thing my fingers found in my pocket, but I would¡¯ve offered more if needed.


    "All of ''em?" the bruiser asked, raising an eyebrow.


    I turned back to the stunned group behind me.


    "Let them pay for themselves," I said with a shrug.


    "Entry¡¯s a fiver," the bruiser declared.


    I handed him the note, squeezed past him with as much dignity as I could muster, and stepped inside.


    None of Belor¡¯s men followed me, but I couldn¡¯t shake the unease about what lay ahead. My immediate future was suddenly looking rather uncertain.

 Chapter 8

    "Any preferences, sir?" the bruiser asked.


    "Young and fresh," I replied. I had some experience in intimate matters, thanks to Betty McLal, though she quickly shifted her attention to John Kink.


    "Give us a moment; the girl needs to get herself ready." The bruiser gestured toward a red velvet-upholstered chair. "Tea?"


    "I won¡¯t say no."


    The man disappeared through a side door, leaving me with a brief window of solitude. I needed to use it wisely to analyze the situation. I¡¯d managed to not only surprise my pursuers but also myself. How the hell did I end up here? And what am I supposed to do now?!


    Sure, I knew what people usually did in places like this. Betty... well, she was back in Avoc and had nothing to do with this situation. God, what a mess I¡¯ve gotten myself into!


    The bruiser reappeared in the hall, announcing that the tea would be brought shortly, and lumbered up the stairs.


    Right. First things first ¨C calm down. Now, back to the task at hand. I needed to rent a room, deposit the money in a bank, and, above all, get rid of Fairburn¡¯s thugs. I doubted they¡¯d just give up and leave.


    The shopfront windows on the first floor were sealed tight with decorative walls, for obvious reasons. A shame ¨C I would¡¯ve liked to peek behind the curtains. So, my options were to either stay put here¡­ or sneak out through the back. Perhaps I could try the windows on the upper floors, or even the roof.


    The side door opened again, and out came a plump woman carrying a tray. She had a shawl draped over her shoulders. On the tray was a steaming cup of aromatic tea, a small dish of cookies, a saucer with a few large sugar cubes, and a tiny decorative bottle of milk.


    "Here you go, sir," she said warmly.


    I stood to take the tray from her hands, but she waved me off.


    "Oh, no, no! That¡¯s my job," she insisted, setting the tray on a small table beside me. "Sugar?"


    "No, thank you. Just milk," I replied, noticing the bottle. There was still space in the cup, and the milk practically spoke for itself.


    As the woman poured the milk, I couldn¡¯t help but notice the massive stones set into the gold rings on her fingers. Servants didn¡¯t wear jewelry like that. Was she the manager, or perhaps the owner? I¡¯d heard that former courtesans, those who "retired" and managed to save up some money, often opened their own establishments or inherited them from older proprietors. Abuse of contraceptive potions wasn¡¯t exactly kind to their reproductive health, and few of them had children after a few years of diligent service.


    "Here you are, sir," she said, handing me the cup on its saucer and gesturing toward the dish of cookies. "Please, help yourself."


    "Thank you."


    With women like her, one had to tread carefully. They¡¯d seen a lot and knew how to turn a profit in any situation. For my purposes, though, a young prostitute would be a better choice.


    "Forgive me, sir," the woman said suddenly, "but why now? It¡¯s rare for anyone to visit a brothel in the morning."


    "Why not? At least I¡¯ll avoid the lines," I joked.


    She laughed, a genuine sound, it seemed.


    "Polite, with a sense of humor. Fine qualities!" she said with a smile. "I like you, young man, so I¡¯ll give you a gift: an hour with a girl, on the house."


    It took the girl longer than the promised minute to "freshen up." In the meantime, I finished my tea and gathered my thoughts. And it¡¯s a good thing I finished the tea ¨C otherwise, I might have choked when I saw the red-haired "beauty queen." The damn thugs from Fairburn¡¯s crew looked more appealing.


    No, it wasn¡¯t as if the girl was poorly dressed. Her dress was presentable, her hair styled in neat curls, her eyebrows plucked, and her lips painted. But something about the whole picture just didn¡¯t come together.


    What can I say? I¡¯m a country boy through and through. I prefer sturdy girls ¨C not fat ones. This girl clearly wasn¡¯t watching her weight, and her waist was maintained solely by the corset she wore. Pencil-thin, drawn-on eyebrows, lips painted into a bow shape, and thick eyeshadow made her look more like she was masking an illness than enhancing her beauty.


    Nevertheless, I made a titanic effort and smiled.


    "Miss," I said politely.


    She blushed as red as a poppy. The brothel madam made some sort of gesture to her and disappeared, leaving the girl to take my hand and lead me upstairs in silence.


    In a tiny bedroom, the first thing she did was unfasten her voluminous skirt and spread her legs wide, revealing herself through the open slit in her pantalettes. It was a silent demonstration of what she assumed I had come for.


    Dear God, save me.


    Despite my revulsion, I felt a stirring of desire. What the hell was this?


    The girl, convinced she was being enticing, stepped forward and tried to take my bag off my shoulder.


    "Hold on, hold on! Just a moment, miss!" I exclaimed, pulling away from her grasping hands.


    "Don¡¯t worry, sir, I can be gentle," she said with a laugh.


    What the hell is going on?! I find her repulsive!


    "The tea!" I suddenly realized. Bloody hell, and damn my carelessness. "What was in the tea?"


    The girl¡¯s expression shifted. She was clearly inexperienced, judging by how poorly she masked her reaction. They must train young ones like her on idiots like me in brothels like this.


    "What are you talking about, sir?" she asked, feigning innocence.


    "I see," I sighed. "Take a seat for a moment."


    "But¡­"


    "Sit!" I ordered, reaching into my satchel.


    If the tea had been spiked with a stimulant, I needed the antidote ¨C second formula. Thank God I hadn¡¯t left it at home. Without looking, I pulled out a vial of cloudy liquid, uncorked it¡­


    "Maybe you don¡¯t need to?" the redhead squeaked, fear flashing in her eyes. "The tea had plenty!"


    "It¡¯s an antidote," I reassured her.


    "But why?" she asked, confused. "It was just a regular aphrodisiac. So inexperienced clients wouldn¡¯t feel awkward."


    I nearly choked on the potion.


    "I am not inexperienced!" I snapped, then immediately felt ridiculous. Who was I even trying to convince? And why?


    Suppressing my indignation, I glanced around the room, estimating the size of the curtained window, and cautiously peeked out. The window overlooked the street ¨C not ideal for an escape. Still, I didn¡¯t see any of Fairburn¡¯s men. Wait ¨C there was one, standing and smoking. Well, smoke yourself to death, for all I care.


    "Where do the back doors lead?" I asked, making the prostitute even more nervous.


    "Are you planning to run?! Beatrice will bury me alive!"


    "Want five pounds?" I offered, but she shook her head desperately.


    "Ten? ¡­ Twenty? ¡­ You¡¯ve got to be joking, miss!"


    "I¡¯d rather work it off!" she said firmly. "Even for a hundred. You¡¯ll enjoy it, I promise."


    "My dear, I hate to disappoint you, but I didn¡¯t come here for pleasure. I came to lose a tail. Come here."


    I gestured toward the window and pointed. "See that big guy with the cigarette? He¡¯s waiting for me."


    "Who are you?" the girl asked, suddenly alarmed. "The satchel¡­ the potions¡­"


    "I¡¯m someone whose death on your doorstep would be very inconvenient," I replied, deciding fear might motivate her. "Though there¡¯s always the question of who will end up killing whom first¡­"


    "You should speak to Beatrice," the girl stammered.


    "I don¡¯t like her," I admitted. "Too cunning."


    "I don¡¯t make decisions," the redhead protested. "Beatrice bought me from my parents for three hundred pounds. Until I work it off, I¡¯m her slave."


    "I could buy your freedom," I offered.


    "And then what?" she asked bitterly. "Will you take care of me? Provide me with a life? I don¡¯t want to rot as a laundress like my mother, find some drunkard for a husband, give birth to his kids, and endure his beatings¡­ This is better than that."


    "That¡¯s a shame," I replied, pulling another vial from my bag and a dagger from the inner pocket of my jacket. I held both in my right hand while my left grabbed her by the hair, turning her away from me. I pressed the blade to her throat.


    "Quiet," I ordered. "I¡¯m truly sorry that it¡¯s come to this. I don¡¯t intend to kill you, but the only way I can ensure your loyalty is like this."


    I released her hair, shifted the vial to my left hand, and kept the dagger steady.


    "Take this," I said, shoving the vial into her hand. "Drink it."


    "V-Willie¡­"


    "You won¡¯t make it. Nobody screams with a slit throat."


    "Beatrice won¡¯t forgive you¡­"A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    "Don¡¯t be an idiot. Drink!"


    The prostitute cautiously removed the cork and poured the contents into her mouth, swallowing it in small sips as if afraid she¡¯d cut herself by gulping too quickly.


    "Good girl," I said, lowering the tension in my voice slightly. "Now, about what you just drank. It¡¯s poison. If you want to live, you¡¯ll do exactly as I say. I have the antidote with me. Feeling dizzy yet?"


    "Y-yes," she stammered, her voice trembling.


    "Perfect." I pulled the dagger away from her neck and slipped it back under my jacket.


    "Don¡¯t scream," I advised. "The poison works quickly, and there are plenty of vials in my bag. Some of them contain things far worse than what you just drank."


    "I-I feel sick!" she cried, sinking to the floor.


    "Close your eyes, lift your head, and open your mouth," I ordered. Once she complied, I dripped a few drops of the antidote into her mouth.


    "This will buy us a little more time. You¡¯ll get the rest later. Now, where do the back doors lead?"


    "To the inner courtyard," she murmured weakly.


    "Is there a way out from there?"


    "Only through the other buildings," she admitted.


    As I suspected, this block was tightly packed and closed off.


    "Do you have an attic?"


    "Yes¡­ I feel awful¡­ Really awful¡­"


    "Then answer faster!" I snapped. "Is there roof access?"


    "I don¡¯t know," she groaned.


    "Are there windows in the attic?"


    "Yes¡­ Give me the antidote¡­ the poison¡­" she whimpered, her head lolling forward as she collapsed onto the floor.


    "Relax," I said with a sigh. "It¡¯s just a sleep potion."


    I lifted her from the floor and laid her on the bed. After one last check for any sign of a tail outside, I quietly opened the bedroom door.


    Two flights of stairs later, I found myself under a ceiling hatch with a pull-down ladder leading to the attic. The damn thing creaked like crazy. Apparently, the brothel workers on this floor were too exhausted to investigate the noise.


    Contrary to my expectations, the attic was clean and tidy, with four triangular windows. Two of them faced the street, and the other two overlooked the inner courtyard. Unfortunately, the windows were tightly secured, with only small vents that could be opened.


    I had to use the dagger again to break the frame, pull out the nails, and remove the panes. After a few minutes of effort, I climbed onto the red-tiled roof and took in my surroundings.


    The inner courtyard below was quiet, with three chestnut trees growing in the center, a couple of flowerbeds, a few tables, and even a sandbox for children.


    I couldn¡¯t find any suitable way down. The drainpipes looked far too flimsy, but two houses on the opposite side of the block had balconies, and I decided to make my way toward them. The risk of slipping and tumbling off the tiles was high, and meeting the cobblestones below could be fatal. Even if I managed to activate stone skin in time, there¡¯d still be the risk of internal injuries ¨C and fractures. Especially fractures.


    I kept my dagger out, using its tip to anchor myself and gain some traction on the hard, slick tiles. Fortunately, all the buildings in the block were built flush against each other and at the same height. After twenty tense minutes, I reached the house I needed and paused to assess my options.


    I could drop down onto the balcony and exit through the door, but that might lead to an unpleasant encounter with the owner. Alternatively, I could climb down the balconies on the outside, but that would attract the attention of everyone on the street ¨C and possibly the police. Then again, the owner might call the constables anyway. And if the owner was armed...


    Fine. If the constables caught me, I¡¯d tell them the truth ¨C I escaped from a brothel.


    Still, I decided not to push my luck too far. Once I reached the roof ridge, I stopped to look around. The streets below were free of police officers. Moving quickly would have been ideal, but I chose to act cautiously instead. Note to self: pack a rope next time.


    I slowly worked my way to the edge of the roof and dropped down onto the first balcony. Amazingly, only a few passersby noticed me, and that was only when I climbed to a lower balcony. Despite the attention, I descended the rest of the way without incident. No one approached me, and the dagger in my hand likely discouraged any curiosity.


    Once I reached the ground, I slipped the blade back into its sheath and tucked it inside my jacket. My hand was still gripping the hilt when my eyes caught sight of a passing cab, and a surge of anger flared through me.


    "Wait a second!"


    The woman sitting in the backseat was most definitely not Simon.


    The cab turned a corner and disappeared from sight, and I let go of the dagger¡¯s hilt, immediately sprinting after it like a hunting hound on a fresh trail.


    I rounded the corner just in time to see two identical cabs turn in different directions.


    Which one?


    I reached for my dagger again, thinking quickly, but it was too late ¨C the vehicles vanished from view.


    "Bollocks!" I swore under my breath, only to notice a familiar face just three meters ahead.


    It was Cap, the little street rat from yesterday. He stood frozen in place, clutching the same leather pouch in his hands. He was obviously on his way to deliver the loot to the pawnshop, following orders from his leader.


    "You!" I pointed the dagger at him. "Don¡¯t move!"


    But the brat didn¡¯t listen. He spun around and bolted.


    "Stop!" I roared, chasing after him.


    Never before had I encountered a child so fast. Despite all my physical training and the grueling drills my grandfather had put me through, I only caught up to him after three blocks. By then, Cap was screaming at the top of his lungs:


    "Ellie!"


    He darted behind the back of a petite girl carrying a basket, using her as a shield. I almost bowled her over in my pursuit.


    "My apologies, miss, but I need that little thief!" I said, pointing my dagger at a terrified Cap.


    "And what exactly do you plan to do with him?" the girl demanded, her tone sharp and unyielding. She showed no fear of the blade I had foolishly forgotten to conceal during the chase. Her firm voice snapped me out of my adrenaline-fueled haze.


    I glanced at the dagger in my hand, realizing how threatening I must have looked, and laughed awkwardly.


    "Forgive me, that was an accident." I slid the blade back into its sheath beneath my jacket. "Better now?"


    "Nathan, give him back what you took!" the girl ordered sternly, her tone brooking no argument.


    She was pretty¡ªround cheeks, a small upturned nose, and a long black braid draped over her shoulder. Now that was the kind of lady I wouldn¡¯t mind meeting at a brothel.


    "I didn¡¯t steal anything!" Cap squeaked, his voice indignant.


    The girl shot him a fierce glare.


    "Really!" he protested.


    "Then why were you chasing him?" she asked, turning back to me.


    "I had my reasons. Isn¡¯t that right, Cap?" I said, staring at the boy.


    Cap avoided my gaze, shrinking further behind the girl.


    "Speak, or leave," she said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.


    "Young lady, my dear," I began, irritation seeping into my voice, "what exactly are you going to do? Call a constable? Your little thief here is carrying a pouch full of stolen valuables."


    Nathan ¨C or Cap ¨C shrank under the girl¡¯s stern gaze, awkwardly hiding the pouch behind his back.


    "Why call a constable¡­" the girl said, her tone hardening. "I can handle this myself."


    Her eyes flared orange, glowing with a predatory intensity. She shoved her basket into Cap¡¯s arms, and in one swift motion, she ripped off her skirt.


    Before my mind could wander to inappropriate comparisons with the brothel, I saw she was wearing sturdy gray trousers and laced-up hiking boots. Her legs ¨C strong and shapely ¨C momentarily distracted me. Was this still the tea talking, or was it just me?


    I took two cautious steps back. A fight with a shifter wasn¡¯t in my plans.


    But the girl was young ¨C at first glance, my age or perhaps younger. This was likely the first year of her merging with her spirit, the stage where they often lost themselves in their newfound power. Full mastery would take another five to ten years, but during this early phase, they often became drunk with confidence until someone put them in their place. My grandfather had used me more than once to teach shifters such lessons.


    But back then, I had time to prepare ¨C to study my opponent¡¯s habits and anticipate their moves. Now I was walking blind into a confrontation.


    Retreat wasn¡¯t an option. Showing weakness would ruin the small authority I had over Cap, which was the only thing keeping him somewhat obedient.


    I really hoped I wouldn¡¯t get my ass handed to me.


    First, I reached for the corundum in my stone skin ring, ready to activate its protection. Then, under the girl¡¯s watchful gaze, I plunged my hand into my bag and pulled out a vial of potion.


    She allowed me to uncork it with my teeth and pour the contents down my throat. Big mistake ¨C she should have attacked immediately.


    The battle elixir surged through my veins, sending a rush of energy and agitation through my body. My ears rang unpleasantly for a moment before my system adjusted.


    "I suggest you stand down," I said, my voice roughened by the potion¡¯s effects.


    Only now did the girl realize she had waited too long to react. She launched her attack. In my defense, I¡¯d never seen a move like it before. She leapt into the air, coiling herself like a spring, and then struck me with both feet square in the chest, her body snapping straight as if parallel to the ground.


    The impact sent me flying backward, skidding three meters across the pavement.


    Damn it ¨C I¡¯d spent the stone skin charge out of sheer reflex, but at least it softened the blow. Simon¡¯s bullets had stung worse.


    The girl didn¡¯t land gracefully either ¨C she fell flat on her backside and looked as stunned as I felt.


    I was on my feet first and closed the distance instantly. She was still getting up when I kicked her in the solar plexus. My aim was slightly low, but it still sent her sprawling.


    Thank God for cousin Sally, who had long ago beaten any stereotypes about female weakness out of my head. Otherwise, I might have been the one lying flat on the pavement.


    The girl struggled to rise again, but I closed in and landed another blow to her solar plexus ¨C the physical counterpart to the spiritual core. This time, my aim was dead on. She let out a grunt and collapsed into a fetal position.


    And, of course, that¡¯s when I heard the police whistles.


    Two constables in tall helmets, truncheons in hand, were rushing toward me.


    "Bollocks! Just perfect!" I muttered. Couldn¡¯t they have shown up a minute earlier?


    I glanced toward Cap and saw the little bastard spring away again, leaving the girl¡¯s basket and skirt abandoned on the pavement.


    "Stop!" I barked, taking a step to chase after him.


    But¡­ damn it, the constables¡­


    "Catch the thief!" I shouted, pointing toward where Cap had fled, but the officers ignored me entirely.


    "Face down on the ground, now!" one of the constables ordered, his bristling mustache making him look even more intimidating. He raised his truncheon threateningly.


    "Be more polite, sir," I snapped back, my frustration and the battle potion¡¯s lingering effects boiling over into misplaced irritation. "Or I¡¯ll shove that baton down your throat to the handle! The lady shifter struck first ¨C I¡¯m the victim here. And on top of that, you just let a thief slip away! So, for the love of all that¡¯s holy, mind your manners!"


    The constables were taken aback by my sharp response, and the fact that I wasn¡¯t trying to flee, threw them even more off balance. They exchanged uncertain glances, clearly unsure of how to proceed.


    In truth, I had no intention of causing further trouble. Adding the police to my growing list of enemies was a terrible idea. Less than an hour from now, the effects of the potion would wear off, leaving me with a nasty backlash in the form of debilitating weakness. I needed to resolve this situation before that happened.


    "The witnesses will scatter if you don¡¯t act fast!" I reminded them.


    The mustachioed constable, the one who had been threatening me with his baton, nodded to his younger colleague, signaling him to handle the crowd. Then he turned back to me.


    "You¡¯re the¡­ ah, pardon me, sir. We might¡¯ve overreacted in the heat of the moment."


    "It happens," I said magnanimously, though I wasn¡¯t feeling particularly charitable.


    The constable, however, showed no signs of letting me off the hook.


    "If you¡¯d be so kind, we¡¯ll need you to come down to the station. You as well, miss."


    He turned to the girl, who was still dazed and shaky on her feet. With a surprising amount of care, he helped her stand.


    "You won¡¯t resist, will you?" he asked her firmly.


    The girl shook her head.


    "Good," he said, summing up the situation with an air of satisfaction. Then he shouted to his younger colleague, "Johnny, if the statements match, we¡¯ll need three of them for the report. Let¡¯s go, miss."


    The girl obediently followed the constable, her movements sluggish and defeated.


    "Wait a moment!" I called out, suddenly remembering something. I bent down to pick up the basket and skirt Cap had left behind.


    "This is hers," I explained, holding them up.


    The constable gave me a dubious look but didn¡¯t object, and I carried the items over to where the girl was waiting. She glanced at the basket, her expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment, before quietly taking it from my hands.

 Chapter 9

    As we walked, I wanted to explain my version of events to the constable. The fact that the girl seemed too shaken to gather her thoughts worked in my favor, and I planned to take advantage of her subdued state to get her to confirm my story. Not the most noble tactic, I admit, but sometimes you have to play dirty. Unfortunately, the constable dashed my plans by stating that both parties had to be questioned separately.


    At least the nearest police station was in Pubset, only four blocks away.


    The moment we crossed the threshold, the constable promptly handed us off to the desk sergeant with all the deference of a man ridding himself of a headache. Not that he disappeared entirely ¨C he relayed the situation and stayed on as our escort ¨C but he made it clear that he wasn¡¯t making any further decisions.


    The sergeant, a middle-aged man with tired, beady eyes, looked us over before pulling out two wooden boxes and placing them on the desk.


    "Personal belongings, valuables, and weapons go in here," he grumbled.


    The girl slipped off an unremarkable ring, unclasped her pendant, emptied a handful of coins into the box, and set her basket on top.


    I removed my pistol from its holster, which made the constables visibly tense. Without missing a beat, I ejected the magazine and racked the slide to eject the chambered round. My actions were accompanied by a running commentary.


    "FN Model 1910, seven-round magazine, .45 caliber, artifact-modified. Reservoir stone fully charged. Rounds in the magazine - " I slid the ejected round back into the magazine - "seven. First round artifact-modified for armor penetration. Reservoir charge ¨C full."


    Okay, "fully charge" might¡¯ve been an overstatement, but the tiny shard of corundum embedded in it was no joke.


    "The dagger¡­" I hesitated. It was a warlock¡¯s blade, but its owner was dead. I wasn¡¯t capable of using its powers, and calling it anything else might lead to unforeseen complications. "Hunting dagger, sheathed. And a satchel¡­"


    I noticed the constables and the girl watching me with a mix of suspicion and unease. Especially the girl ¨C she was probably imagining what might have happened if I¡¯d gone for the pistol instead of the vial earlier.


    "Sergeant," I said, snapping him out of his stupor, "aren¡¯t you supposed to document this?"


    "Later," he muttered dismissively.


    "Now, if you don¡¯t mind," I insisted, my voice firm. "And I¡¯d like a copy of the inventory, signed by you."


    The sergeant¡¯s expression darkened as he remembered who held the power in the room ¨C or thought he did.


    "Listen here, boy," he barked. "You think you¡¯re something special because you bought yourself some fancy toys?!"


    "I think the police are obligated to follow the law!" I shot back, raising my voice to match his. "Write the inventory. Or give me a written refusal to do so!"


    "Are you some duke¡¯s bastard?" the sergeant retorted, his tone still hostile but now laced with caution. "Or did that rotten brew of yours mess with your head?"


    "Brew?! A rotten brew?!" He had the nerve to call Aunt Ailie¡¯s work a rotten brew?! If Uncle Bryce ¨C or anyone from the clan, even Feron ¨C heard this, they¡¯d make mincemeat of this idiot.


    "Second-category combat tonic," I replied icily. "Market price: ten pounds a vial."


    The room fell silent. After hearing that figure, the constables and even the girl began looking at me with renewed curiosity. A man in a brown civilian suit, who had been observing from the side, finally decided to intervene.


    "What¡¯s going on here?"


    "Nothing much," the sergeant said, waving dismissively in my direction. "Just some rich country boy throwing his weight around."


    What the hell was it about my clothes that made people assume I¡¯m a country boy?


    "Detective Inspector John Sunset," the man introduced himself, flipping open his jacket to reveal a badge pinned to his vest.


    "A pleasure, Inspector. My name is¡­" I hesitated. Too many people were watching, and rumors had a way of spreading. The chances of anything reaching Simon were slim, but I didn¡¯t want to take any risks. "Magnus," I said finally, using my middle name.


    The pause didn¡¯t escape the inspector¡¯s notice.


    "The constable refuses to document my belongings," I explained.


    "Who cares about his junk?" the sergeant muttered dismissively.


    Without thinking, I reached into my bag and pulled out a dual-compartment vial. The liquid in one compartment was designed to mix with the powder in the other when it reached the mouth.


    "Are you familiar with this marking?" I asked, holding the vial out toward the detective. Sunset raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his expression turning sharp. I pressed on. "I didn¡¯t provoke the fight. I didn¡¯t make the first threat. And I certainly wasn¡¯t the one who hit first!"


    "Nathan is just a child!" the shifter girl protested.


    "A pickpocket and a gang member!" I shot back.


    "Quiet," the detective ordered firmly, silencing both of us.


    "It¡¯s been a bad day," I said, letting some of my frustration seep into my voice. "I don¡¯t want to risk my valuable possessions, especially considering the negligence your sergeant has demonstrated."


    The sergeant flushed with anger, his face reddening, but Sunset¡¯s stern gaze forced him to bite his tongue.


    "Clarke, take the box," Sunset instructed. Then, turning to me, he asked, "Will you be satisfied if your belongings remain within your sight at all times?"


    "Completely," I replied with a curt nod.


    "Your bag as well," the detective added.


    I slung the satchel off my shoulder and placed it into the box, which the mustached constable took into his hands with a scowl.


    "Continue," Sunset said, gesturing for me to proceed.


    With an audible sigh, I removed my rings, turned out my pockets, and set the contents in the box. However, I left the string with the amulet and baronial ring around my neck untouched, and I saved my passport for last.


    As expected, Sunset took the document immediately. I braced myself, unsure of how he¡¯d react, but all he did was let out a soft hum of acknowledgment.


    "Let¡¯s move to my office. You too, young lady," he said, motioning to the girl. "Clarke, stay close to¡­ Magnus."


    I was led upstairs to a modest office, where I was invited to enter first. The box was placed on the windowsill, and Clarke was stationed outside the door.


    Sunset walked over to a bookshelf and pulled down a thick tome titled The Register of Aristocratic Houses of Duthigh. Flipping through the pages, he found what he was looking for.


    "So, what brings the great-grandson of the Earl of Bremore to Farnell?" he asked. "Last time I¡¯ve seen a potion like that during my army days, Lord. Are you here to wage war?"


    "First of all, I¡¯m the nephew of the new Earl, not his great-grandson," I corrected. "He hasn¡¯t had a great-grandson yet. Secondly, that potion is just something left over from my student days."


    "Interesting education you had, Lord Loxlin," Sunset remarked, his tone skeptical. "And what exactly was the dispute with the young lady about?"


    "Only my education is the reason I managed to make it to the station on my own," I said with a dry chuckle. "As for the young lady ¨C she¡¯s a shifter."


    I gave him an abridged version of events, starting with Cap, but left out the true reason I¡¯d been chasing the boy. Sunset listened attentively but made no comment.


    After the conversation, I was unceremoniously ushered out of the office with my box while the girl was invited in. Just as I stepped out, the second constable arrived with statements from witnesses.


    Not long after, the detective returned and informed me I was free to go.


    The timing couldn¡¯t have been better. The effects of the combat potion had worn off, leaving me drained and unsteady. I staggered out of the station, running on sheer willpower.


    Thankfully, Pubset was the entertainment district. The first caf¨¦ I spotted was conveniently located across from the police station. It was a no-frills establishment, the kind of place frequented by policemen, which likely meant cheap and decent food.


    Inside, the lunchtime rush had already ended, leaving the caf¨¦ quiet with only a handful of patrons. I chose an empty table near the window and motioned for a waiter.


    "Do you have black pudding?" I asked.


    "Blood sausages," the waiter replied. "Filling without liver."This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    "Blood ¨C just what I needed for recovery." I thought to myself as the waiter confirmed they served blood sausages. I¡¯d heard that some forward thinkers advocated banning its consumption, claiming it made us too similar to bloodsuckers. But in the clan, black pudding was considered a traditional recovery dish.


    It was a pity the sausages didn¡¯t include liver, but to compensate, I added two large, greasy pork chops to my order, followed by an apple pudding for dessert and a massive cup of strong black tea with milk. I barely managed to finish it all. By the end, I wasn¡¯t sure if the sweat beading on my forehead was from the potion¡¯s aftereffects or from the sheer exhaustion of chewing. Still, I had filled my stomach with sustenance and my body with natural energy. I ordered a second cup of tea and pulled out my notebook and pen. Turning to a fresh page, I jotted down the day¡¯s date and quickly summarized the events. Only then did I finally turn my full attention to the bigger questions.


    The main thing gnawing at me was the identity of the woman in the taxi. Ferrish had clearly wanted her dead just as badly as Simon. The moment was fleeting, and I hadn¡¯t fully grasped the connection, but it seemed even the reward for her was the same. This meant the spirit didn¡¯t care specifically about Simon; what mattered to it was whatever tied this woman to the Ferons. And most likely to the vampires Uncle Bryce had encountered during the war.


    But how was I supposed to find them? Wander the streets with a dagger in hand?


    I pulled the dagger out of my pocket and glanced at the other patrons in the caf¨¦. Then I turned my gaze out the window toward the street...


    And froze.


    The shifter girl ¨C Ellie ¨C was walking along the pavement with another woman.


    Wasn¡¯t she supposed to be punished?


    Huh. This was the perfect chance to ask a few questions. She wouldn¡¯t dare start another fight right here in front of the station. Worst case, if things really went sideways, they¡¯d send me packing in the most personal way imaginable. I wouldn¡¯t be thrilled about it, but who knows? Maybe it¡¯d work out. The key was to ask the right question... now I just had to figure out what that question was.


    "Waiter! The bill, please, quickly."


    "One moment, sir."


    "I¡¯m in a hurry, my good man. Will a quarter cover it?"


    "Uh... yes."


    "Here. Keep the change. Good day."


    At this rate, I¡¯d be broke in no time. Stories about young men squandering their inheritance in the city suddenly made a lot more sense. I needed to start budgeting better.


    Before approaching, I decided to observe the girls from a distance. My eyesight was sharp enough for it. Ellie¡¯s companion was taller than her ¨C possibly taller than me, thanks to her heels. She had a slender figure wrapped in a green dress, walked with confident poise, and laughed with a bright, ringing voice. Her fiery red hair cascaded down in thick, cloud-like waves.


    She was stunning. My eyes lingered a little too long on her.


    Interesting... but wait, that wasn¡¯t a dress.


    The skirt appeared to detach, just like Ellie¡¯s had. Another shifter, perhaps?


    Taking advantage of the fact that they hadn¡¯t noticed me yet, I applied some concealment-revealing ointment to my third eye.


    Ellie¡¯s spiritual core bloomed on her back like a green flower. Unfortunately, the ointment didn¡¯t allow me to see the spirit at its center ¨C such clarity required an entirely different level of preparation. The redhead¡¯s spiritual core, by contrast, was poorly developed, not much better than mine. However, her elemental source, situated lower¡­ in her body... well, it blazed bright red.


    A fire elementalist.


    What was I getting myself into?


    Calm down. The station is still in sight.


    That reassurance helped settle me, and I decided to act before they turned the corner. Wiping the ointment from my forehead, I quickened my pace. Strangely enough, the vision it provided didn¡¯t immediately fade; it seemed to have absorbed into my skin.


    Ellie flinched slightly and turned her head. Could she sense the mark? I assessed the distance between us. Her senses weren¡¯t as sharp as Logan¡¯s, thankfully.


    The girls paused and exchanged a few words as I approached.


    "Good afternoon, ladies," I greeted, my tone polite.


    "Good afternoon, sir," the redhead responded. "Are you following us?"


    "In a manner of speaking. But I¡¯m not after you," I said, directing a meaningful look at Ellie. "If I¡¯m not mistaken, your name is Ella..."


    "It¡¯s Ellie," she corrected me.


    "My apologies. Shall we sit somewhere and talk? My treat."


    "You''re quite bold, mister!" the redhead laughed, her voice bright and mocking. "Or is this some clever move? Beat up a girl first, then invite her on a date?"


    A few passersby turned their heads in surprise, clearly intrigued by the exchange.


    "Oh, no need to worry this time," I said lightly, keeping my tone calm. "I simply want to know why the shifter lady decided to attack me."


    "And if we refuse?" she asked, her eyebrow arched. "Are you going to drag us there by force?"


    "I¡¯ll just return to the station, have a little chat with Detective Inspector Sunset, and perhaps file an official report about the assault," I said with a faint smirk.


    "Fin," Ellie tugged at the redhead¡¯s sleeve, her voice low and urgent. "Let¡¯s not. I¡¯ll agree."


    But Fin was already riled up, and she wasn¡¯t calming down anytime soon. I saw the air around her right hand shimmer as crimson energy began to swirl and condense into a vortex.


    "You think some papers will save you?" she began confidently, thrusting her glowing palm forward.


    I stepped closer, without hesitation, and jabbed my index finger directly into the molten core of her fire vortex. Channeling a small drop of my personal energy, I disrupted the unstable magic. The swirling power around her hand erupted, bursting outward in a wave of scorching heat. The acrid stench of singed hair filled the air, and pain shot through my burned finger like lightning. It took every ounce of my willpower not to yelp, though I was already planning to rub ointment on it later.


    "Keep your temper in check," I said, my voice firm, pointing to the police station behind me. "You¡¯re both going to end up in there."


    "Fin, stop it!" Ellie said sharply, and it seemed to finally have an effect.


    Fin, however, wasn¡¯t ready to let it go. She shoved her clenched fist in my face, displaying a tiny gold signet ring on her ring finger.


    "You sure you want to pick a fight with the Flowers?" she asked with a cocky grin.


    "Is that an official declaration?" I asked, keeping my tone measured.


    "Spark, don¡¯t you dare!" Ellie barked, her voice snapping with authority.


    "Shut it, Goat," Fin shot back. "Yeah, boy, this is for real."


    Calmly, I reached under my collar and pulled out the string holding my amulet and baronial ring. Under the watchful eyes of both girls, I untied the knot and slid the ring off the cord.


    Their expressions shifted as I slid the signet ring onto the little finger of my left hand, claiming the role of head of my house and bearer of my title.


    "I seem to have forgotten my manners," I said evenly, letting the weight of my next words sink in. "Lord Loxlin. My clan hasn¡¯t hunted elementalists in quite some time."


    "You''re an idiot," Ellie muttered to Fin before the redhead could respond. She quickly turned to me, her tone suddenly conciliatory. "Perhaps we can still come to an agreement?"


    "We could¡¯ve done that from the start," I said with a trace of superiority, letting my newfound leverage show. Not my proudest moment, but the sense of control was intoxicating.


    "There¡¯s a pastry shop nearby," Ellie offered, her tone more composed.


    "Lead the way," I said, then paused, remembering my manners. "May I carry your basket for you?"


    "Thank you," Ellie replied softly, handing me the basket while shooting a pointed glare at Fin.


    The pastry shop exceeded all my expectations. The cakes and tarts were absolutely delicious, though the sob story about Nathan and Clint Sparrow left a bitter taste in my mouth.


    It turned out Cap (Nathan) and Knuckles (Clint) were brothers. The moment I heard their story, I regretted my earlier decision to use them. Years ago, their family, headed by Esquire Sparrow, had lived in the old city district, near the families of Lord Flower and mister Sheridan ¨C Ellie¡¯s father. The children had grown up as friends.


    But seven years ago, tragedy struck. Esquire Sparrow¡¯s wife fell ill and passed away. Consumed by grief, Sparrow drowned his sorrows in alcohol and quickly lost his law practice. Within a year, he had hanged himself in a drunken stupor.


    Even in death, the man found no peace. His spirit began haunting his children, visiting them as a ghost. Meanwhile, the authorities took an interest in the orphans. With no close relatives to claim them, the boys were sent to an orphanage. Their haunted family home was sold for a pittance, the money funneled into the institution that had taken them in. But Nathan and Clint escaped at the first opportunity. They found refuge in the slums of Smuggler¡¯s Bay, surviving through petty theft and other illicit activities.


    Ellie Sheridan seemed to have developed either a maternal instinct or a big sister complex toward Nathan. She fed him regularly, much to the delight of the boy and his older brother, Clint. Finella Flower, Ellie¡¯s fiery redheaded friend, had also gotten involved in this little charity project. From their perspective, I wasn¡¯t the victim in this situation ¨C I was the thief, and they were merely defending the innocent: Ellie protected a helpless child, while Finella stood guard over her younger friend.


    Wearing the skin of a thief was an uncomfortable role, one that nearly pushed me to give in to emotion. There was a brief urge to confess my intentions outright, but I smothered it before it could fully form.


    "I have no real interest in your boys," I admitted at last. "They tried to rob me, and now I believe they owe me a debt. But it¡¯s a debt you ladies can repay, if you¡¯re so inclined."


    "How much?" Finella asked boldly, her tone sharp.


    I chuckled and shook my head.


    "Money isn¡¯t what I¡¯m after."


    "Then what?" Ellie asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What could a couple of homeless orphans possibly have that you¡¯d want?"


    "Information," I replied, my tone as serious as stone. "Let¡¯s make something clear, ladies. If you decide to take on the Sparrow brothers'' debt, you don¡¯t get to ask why I need this information. In return, I¡¯ll forget about your¡­ indiscretions." I let my gaze rest pointedly on Finella. "And you¡¯ll do everything in your power to get me the answers I¡¯m looking for. Or you¡¯ll direct me to someone who can."


    I gave them a moment to consider my offer and used the time to slip my signet ring back onto the string with my amulet.


    "And if we refuse?" Finella challenged, her green eyes narrowing.


    "Spark!" Ellie hissed, clearly exasperated.


    "Is this a family feud?" Finella pressed. "I haven¡¯t seen anything about it in the papers yet."


    The redhead¡¯s unusually serious demeanor surprised me.


    "No," I said simply. "It¡¯s a hunt. For one man. But he may very well be connected to others ¨C less pleasant and far more dangerous individuals."


    "What chance do two orphans have against those kinds of people?" Ellie asked, her voice tinged with concern.


    "Oh, come on now. Don¡¯t make me out to be some kind of villain," I retorted. "Street kids like them already know a lot. And for the record, I was planning to pay them. Honestly!"


    "Name your clan," Finella demanded, her voice firm.


    "Look it up in the Register of Houses," I shot back, irritation creeping into my tone.


    "And what if we just pass your questions along to them?" Ellie suggested.


    "Then what use are you to me?" I countered. "If you¡¯re involved, I expect a personal contribution. Ask your family, your friends¡­ My questions aren¡¯t exactly top secret. I¡¯m new to Farnell, while you¡¯ve lived here and know this city inside out."


    "Fine!" Ellie agreed, her tone resolute.


    "And who¡¯s the idiot now?" Finella scoffed. "You didn¡¯t even negotiate."


    "This isn¡¯t a market stall, Spark," Ellie snapped. "Ask your questions, Lord."


    I glanced meaningfully at the redhead, silently prompting her to agree.


    "Oh, fine," she said begrudgingly. "I¡¯m already stuck in this now."


    "What do you know about vampires in the city?" I asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.


    "I told you," Finella said with a smirk, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

 Chapter 10

    There were three official vampire nests in Farnell, each home to about a dozen bloodsuckers. Most of them were women. Their numbers leaned female due to the physiological limitations that vampirism imposed on male vampires. Their regular blood flow ceased entirely, and certain pleasurable aspects of mortal life only became accessible after a proper feast. Sure, blood could be bought at most butcher shops and slaughterhouses, but overindulgence could send even the most disciplined vampire spiraling into dangerous mental instability.


    Even so, two of the city¡¯s three ''parents'' were men, all of them wealthy bastards. Accumulating a fortune wasn¡¯t exactly hard when you lived for three centuries, two of them spent in a prosperous city. Rumor had it that this system had been designed by a certain illustrious ancestor of the current Duke of Farnell. He personally selected three mature vampires from rival princes and permitted them to lead the city¡¯s blood-drinking community during Farnell¡¯s most explosive period of development. Before this, vampires had caused endless problems, but the newly anointed ¡®patriarchs¡¯ quickly divided the city into territories, drove out other bloodsuckers, and established their nests.


    Various lords and governors had tried to overturn the system, but it proved surprisingly resilient, satisfying both aristocrats and state officials. Predators took on the roles of businessmen, patrons of the arts, and connoisseurs, but they didn¡¯t fundamentally change their nature. Blood still flowed in the darkness of the night, and when it became too frequent, the holy brothers could ¡®confess¡¯ a vampire or two. About a century and a half ago, this led to one of the patriarchs being replaced. Only a miracle, along with the Duke¡¯s support, allowed his successor to hold onto their position.


    ¡°How many of these brothers are there in the city?¡± I asked the girls. Honestly, I¡¯d kind of overlooked the combat orders of the clergy. In my defense, my family wasn¡¯t exactly pious. Though I think Father Martin was a member of¡­ what was it again? ¡°The Coulier Order?¡±


    ¡°There are plenty of Hospitaliers, and a few operatives of the Righteous Hand,¡± Ellie said.


    ¡°Vicar Max Coulier, if I¡¯m not mistaken,¡± Spark added. ¡°He borrowed some empty fire stones for exorcisms from my brother about a year ago.¡±


    ¡°Was someone possessed by a fire spirit?¡± I asked.


    ¡°A year ago, there were fires breaking out all over Rapsey. Then, just like that, they stopped,¡± Ellie said.


    ¡°The timing matches,¡± Spark confirmed.


    ¡°Where does he live?¡± I asked.


    The girls shrugged in unison, but Spark went a step further. ¡°He serves at St. Paul¡¯s Cathedral, right on the border between Rapsey and the Old City. You might want to ask him about the bloodsuckers. The Church definitely keeps an eye on them. Plus, he probably has connections with the Hands of Righteousness.¡±


    ¡°Fine. That settles this question. What¡¯s the deal with Harry Smith and the Fairburns?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s Smith?¡± Ellie asked, looking puzzled.


    ¡°Sledgehammer Harry,¡± Spark clarified.


    ¡°Oh, him¡­ There hasn¡¯t been any news about him for a year now.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because few people know the truth. I heard it from my brother. Turns out, the guy¡¯s a genius.¡±


    ¡°Not surprising, considering he restored James¡¯s sight,¡± Ellie added. ¡°Though you wouldn¡¯t guess it from his reputation.¡±


    ¡°What reputation?¡± I couldn¡¯t resist asking.


    ¡°Well, he¡¯s knocked out a lot of teeth. Literally.¡±


    ¡°About seven years ago, when Harry first settled in Farnell, he didn¡¯t leave much of an impression,¡± Spark began. ¡°Kind of like you, actually¡­ no offense. Maybe worse. He didn¡¯t have a clue about manners. An older, penniless rural wizard without a title or connections, willing to work for whatever he could get. But a mage is a mage, and there¡¯s always work for one. He churned out basic enchanted artifacts, summoned spirits, banished spirits, set up protective barriers on houses, brewed potions, and dabbled in healing. At first, no one took him seriously. But when wealthy clients started seeking him out, his competitors tried to squeeze him out. And that¡¯s when the teeth started flying. Did I mention his lack of manners?¡±


    "So, the conflict with the Fairburns..."


    "No! The Fairburns are a whole other league. Their clients are exclusively the wealthy ¨C the elite. Do you want the backstory first, or should I jump straight to the conflict?"


    "Start with the backstory." I was curious to know more about the man whose house I¡¯d stayed in. Sure, Harry had given me quite the terrifying welcome, but later he turned out to be intelligent and surprisingly sociable.


    Spark leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying the chance to recount some drama. "After the competitors came the criminals, offering him ''protection.'' I can¡¯t say for sure if any vampires got involved, but after a couple of heated clashes, Harry wound up in the lockup. That¡¯s where he caught the attention of de Camp¡¯s people."


    "And de Camp is¡­?"


    "His Worship, Mayor de Camp. He asked Harry to track down the Butcher of Smuggler¡¯s Bay. There¡¯s always some sort of madness happening there, but this particular werewolf had really gone off the rails."


    I just nodded. My family had often taken contracts to hunt werewolves. Lycanthropy was a terrifying affliction that corrupted the spiritual heart, reshaped both the physical and subtle bodies, and twisted the mind of the host. Vampires were a similar case, but the root of their transformation lay in the elemental source. They gained power much more slowly, which might explain why they lost their minds less often. Vampires typically reached mastery at around three hundred years of age, but a werewolf, if fortunate enough to feed on strong hearts, could match them in as little as a decade.


    "Harry tracked him down," Spark continued, "and flattened him. Literally. De Camp pulled some strings and got him a knighthood, and Harry bought that manor himself."


    "How was it even up for sale?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "If it¡¯s sitting on a nexus?"


    Nexuses were intersections of at least three ley lines, the magical veins of the planet, where new places of power could form. Older, naturally occurring places of power could sit on far more ley lines. The Ancient Stones rested on seven ley lines, while the Royal Source in the capital sat at the junction of thirteen. In Bremor Forest, three out of five of our places of power were natural, while the other two were shaped by my ancestors. Bald Hill, a lightning place of power, was the youngest ¨C only a century and a half old.


    "There wasn¡¯t a nexus there before," Spark said with a smirk. "But there were three ley line intersections in nearby neighborhoods, all unsuitable for activation. Harry pulled them into his own property."


    "He what?!" I sat up straight. "Is that even possible?"


    I knew ley lines weren¡¯t stable. Over time, they could shift, literally redirecting to other places of power. I also knew places of power could be sealed off, but I¡¯d never heard of anyone controlling the process.


    "I hadn¡¯t either," Spark admitted. "But somehow, he did it."


    "Three intersections," I calculated aloud. "That¡¯s six ley lines, right?"


    "Four," Spark corrected. "They overlap each other."


    "And the Fairburns?"


    "They had their sights on a nexus of their own. The grandfather of the current baron bought the land decades ago, where a third line was slowly converging toward a stable intersection. It would¡¯ve been ready in about five to ten years¡­"


    "Let me guess," I interrupted, "one of the lines Harry redirected was theirs."


    "Exactly. And it veered away from their land."


    "So why didn¡¯t they kill him?"


    I was starting to realize Harry was tougher than he looked, but he was still just one man. And a place of power meant money, influence, and potentially a new title for the family.


    "De Camp," Ellie explained. "He¡¯ll get certain benefits if Harry succeeds. Plus, the Fairburns already have one place of power. A second one would make them too influential. And since Harry has no heirs, if he finishes before he dies¡­"


    "The place of power will go to the state," I guessed.


    "To the city, to be exact," Ellie clarified. "That¡¯s why the Fairburns aren¡¯t going all-out. Not too much, at least. If they¡¯re not careful, their own place of power might end up reverting to the city under certain conditions."


    I needed to get out of Harry¡¯s place, and fast.


    ¡°Ladies, my dear friends,¡± I began, trying to sound polite. ¡°I need a house.¡±


    ¡°To buy?¡± Ellie asked, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline.


    ¡°To rent!¡± Buying would be like throwing money into the wind, though I did have enough for that. Three thousand would cover it ¨C maybe even twice or three times if I settled for a shabby house. But settling here wasn¡¯t my goal. ¡°Something modest, maybe just a room, but with landlords who won¡¯t stick their noses into my business. And a quiet neighborhood ¨C someplace without a lot of visible crime.¡±


    ¡°The Wilcox house,¡± Ellie said immediately. ¡°It¡¯s near us in Old Town. After her husband passed away, old Mrs. Wilcox moved in with her son in New High, but she doesn¡¯t want to sell the place.¡±


    ¡°Perfect. Shall we go see it?¡± I jumped to my feet, already reaching into my pocket for some cash to cover the tea.


    ¡°Hold your horses!¡± Ellie waved me back down into my chair.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Oh, my apologies,¡± I said, misinterpreting her protest. ¡°Go ahead, finish your tea.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± she dismissed with a sigh. ¡°Are those all your questions?¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± I admitted. I didn¡¯t have any more at the moment, but who knew what I¡¯d want to know later?


    ¡°Then ask them now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve already satisfied my curiosity for the time being.¡±


    ¡°For the time being?¡± Spark cut in, her voice sharp. ¡°You planning to keep using us indefinitely?¡±


    ¡°Until I¡¯ve sorted out my situation,¡± I confessed.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t the deal,¡± Spark snapped.


    I hesitated. She had a point; I was pushing my luck, and it wasn¡¯t exactly honorable or fair.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said after a moment. ¡°Help me find a place to stay, and we¡¯ll call it even.¡±


    ¡°Now, that¡¯s more like it,¡± the girls said, smiling as they drained their cups.


    I paid the bill, leaving a few extra coins as a tip, and waited while Ellie made a phone call to Mrs. Wilcox at her son¡¯s apartment from a nearby telephone booth. Once she confirmed the place was available, I flagged down a cab.


    Old Town was a patchwork of mismatched styles, each block starkly different from the next. The dense, drab apartment blocks of Pubset with their tiny courtyards stood beside centuries-old mansions, while further down the street were rows of quaint little houses with neat lawns and tidy porches. Yet, for all its eclecticism, the neighborhood exuded charm and order. The streets were clean, flowers spilled from window boxes and planters, and bursts of color adorned the balconies and pavement in decorative pots.


    The Wilcox house caught my eye immediately. It reminded me of my grandfather¡¯s home back in the clan¡¯s enclave in Avoc. A well-kept, two-story house surrounded by a thin strip of lawn and enclosed by a white picket fence no higher than my knee. Across the fence stood the larger Sheridan residence, and a little further down the street was the Flower estate, which Spark shared with her older brother.


    The cab dropped us off at the Sheridan house. Ellie quickly ran inside to retrieve the key to the Wilcox house, which Mrs. Wilcox had entrusted to her family, and then led me to the house.


    Inside, the place was just as charming as it looked on the outside, and it was clear the previous owner had an eye for comfort. However, the air was thick with the musty smell of age ¨C old carpets and furniture steeped in the scent of bygone years. I figured I could deal with that easily enough. I still had some air stored in an amethyst, and the formula for a cleansing spell would take me no more than an hour to calculate.


    What intrigued me more, though, was the subtle signal from the amulet on my chest. It hinted at secrets hidden within the house, stirring my curiosity.


    We were standing in the kitchen, and I was about to say yes when I noticed Ellie¡¯s sudden tension. She stood as still as a statue, her head slightly tilted, elongated ears straining to catch a sound. Then it struck me ¨C her ears! They were rolled into a shape like... a horn, a tube. She wasn¡¯t a predator at all. What kind of animal had ears like that? A goat?


    Wait a minute... was "Goat" not just a friendly insult, but an actual nickname?


    I gestured for Spark to pay attention and drew my pistol. Ellie immediately waved her hands, signaling for me to put it away. I shook my head firmly and mimed hitting with the pistol¡¯s butt instead of shooting. Then I gestured to ask where the sound was coming from.


    Reluctantly, Ellie pointed to the door leading to the backyard.


    I crept up to the window on tiptoes. Doing this in city shoes wouldn¡¯t have worked nearly as well ¨C and they had the nerve to call my country attire out of place! Carefully, I peeked past the curtain. Aside from a small table beneath an apple tree, nothing else came into view.


    I gripped the door handle, threw a glance at Ellie, and yanked the door open. My eyes swept the yard in an instant, but no opponent was in sight. Stepping out, I pivoted sharply, ¡°Freeze!¡± I barked, leveling my pistol at the figure pressed against the wall under the window.


    ¡°Knuckles?¡± I blurted, lowering the barrel but not holstering the weapon.


    ¡°Clint?¡± Ellie echoed in surprise, her ears returning to their normal form. ¡°What are you doing breaking into houses now?¡±


    ¡°Goat!¡± Clint began, his voice brimming with emotion as he abruptly stood up. But my raised pistol quickly reminded him to calm down.


    ¡°Cap¡¯s been taken,¡± he said, his words spilling out in a rush.


    ¡°What?¡± Ellie and I said in unison, though our tones couldn¡¯t have been more different.


    ¡°He went to Pubset and got caught on his way back. He wandered into Hunchback¡¯s turf, and they grabbed him.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll take his money and let him go,¡± I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. ¡°Or what, are they demanding ransom now?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s worse,¡± Clint growled, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Wait ¨C how do you know about the money?¡±


    ¡°I saw him in Pubset with your loot pouch,¡± I said flatly. ¡°Now tell me, why worse?¡±


    Ellie jumped in, her voice concerned. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t kill him, would they?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re gonna offer him up!¡± Clint hissed. ¡°Damn it, you don¡¯t even know what¡¯s been going on, do you? For the past two months, people have been disappearing in the slums ¨C mostly old folks, cripples, and other outcasts. But here¡¯s the weird part: drunkards and junkies are left alone.¡±


    ¡°Vampires?¡± I asked instinctively. It fit their pattern.


    ¡°Hell if I know,¡± Clint said, throwing his hands up. ¡°Whoever it is, they only hunt on Friday nights.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s tonight¡­¡± Spark muttered, then voiced the most important question of all: ¡°How does this... offering work?¡±


    ¡°I only know the rumors,¡± Clint admitted, pacing nervously. ¡°Hunchback dragged out an old pillory cage ¨C one of those medieval ones they used to put criminals on display in so people could throw rotten food at them. At night, they lock the victim inside, slap a padlock on the door, and leave the key nearby. They¡¯ve done this three times already.


    ¡°The first time, they threw in some cheap whore ¨C she cursed like a dockworker until something came for her. She screamed, though... like a pig at slaughter."


    ¡°Second time, it was an old addict. Nothing touched him, but someone opened the cage. The fool was so overjoyed, he got high on opium and died of an overdose before next morning.


    ¡°The third time, it was a homeless guy, a newer face. He kept quiet, but the cage was empty by sunrise.¡±


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. ¡°No bodies were ever found?¡±


    ¡°Fucking right,¡± Clint confirmed bitterly.


    ¡°Language,¡± I said instinctively and waved my pistol for emphasis.


    Vampires were the most likely culprits, but there were other possibilities: possessed individuals, werewolves, and a whole host of rarer nasties like okami, wraiths, and rougarou. But one thing was clear ¨C this wasn¡¯t the work of a deranged human playing monster. Those types craved attention, often mimicking their supernatural idols to the letter. Whoever this was, they were careful and calculated, leaving no bodies behind to provide clues about their motives ¨C whether it was blood, a specific organ, or death itself.


    ¡°I¡¯ll call a cab!¡± Ellie said, snapping out of her thoughts.


    ¡°Freeze,¡± I ordered, instinctively raising my pistol toward her. Realizing what I¡¯d done, I immediately lowered it. ¡°Sorry. But think this through ¨C If you take Cap back, someone from Hunchback¡¯s gang will have to die.¡±


    ¡°Let them all die!¡± Clint barked, his face red with anger.


    ¡°That¡¯s one way,¡± I said, nodding. ¡°Otherwise, they won¡¯t forgive you. Sooner or later, they¡¯ll come for you and your brother.¡±


    ¡°Fuck them!¡± Clint snarled, but his bravado rang hollow.


    I pointed at Clint with the barrel of my pistol. "One more outburst, and I¡¯ll knock you out!" Then I turned to the girls, adding, "Your friend here isn¡¯t thinking straight. Maybe you two have a clearer head? Take Cap away from that cage, and the blood of the next victim will be on your hands."


    "And if we don¡¯t, it will be Cap¡¯s blood!" Ellie shot back, her voice sharp with emotion.


    Spark placed a calming hand on her friend¡¯s shoulder. "Do you have a better idea?"


    I nodded. "Catch the bastard. That cage is the perfect bait ¨C whatever monster¡¯s behind this, it¡¯s trained to see it as a free meal. It won¡¯t expect an ambush. I¡¯ve pulled off something like this before.¡±


    "Oh yeah? And how many monsters have you killed?" Clint sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. He didn¡¯t care about my motives or anyone else¡¯s life ¨C he only wanted to save his brother.


    It was the kind of question you couldn¡¯t avoid answering, and the timing didn¡¯t help. The girls were hesitant, and I was pitching a risky plan, unsure myself why I felt so compelled to help. Sure, I might¡¯ve played a minor role in Cap wandering into enemy territory, but what was driving me to hunt? I¡¯d always been cautious, overly so, according to my grandfather.


    Maybe that was the point. Back in the woods, I¡¯d always known someone was watching over me, ready to step in if things went south. But here¡­


    Who knows? It didn¡¯t matter now. I needed to answer, and more importantly, I needed backup.


    "Vampires," I sighed. "I¡¯ve had excellent training on the subject, joined a dozen hunts for dangerous forest creatures ¨C but there, I had experienced hunters covering my back. I¡¯m still adjusting to city life, and if we¡¯re talking urban monsters, I¡¯ve only taken down one fledgling vampire."


    A vampire who had once been my grandfather. But I wasn¡¯t about to say that out loud.


    "That¡¯s¡­" Spark started, hesitating before finishing, "One more vampire than us."


    A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment.


    "Fine," Clint finally said, his voice sharp with challenge. "Let¡¯s hear it, mighty hunter. What¡¯s the plan?"


    "First, let¡¯s talk payment," I said coolly. "What are you willing to offer in exchange for your brother¡¯s life?"


    "We could just go grab him ourselves!" Clint snapped, his anger flaring as he took a threatening step forward ¨C though not close enough to take a swing.


    "They," I said, motioning to the girls, "could do that. But you? You¡¯re in no position to do anything but beg for help."


    "We¡¯ll help!" Ellie scoffed, glaring at me as if I¡¯d turned into a greedy villain.


    "You¡¯ve already helped once today," I reminded her. "And that landed you in a police station. Your friend over here nearly started a war. Now you¡¯ve taken on someone else¡¯s debts, and the person who should¡¯ve paid them doesn¡¯t even know about your little act of charity. From his perspective, it was all for nothing. And now he¡¯s dragging you even deeper into trouble. Sure, go ahead ¨C rescue Cap. Maybe in a week or two, some vagrant will stab you in the street with a rusty, poisoned knife. There are plenty of cheap but effective ways to get even in this city."


    "What debts?" Clint asked, visibly taken aback.


    "You didn¡¯t repay me for the little ¡®incident¡¯ the other day," I said dryly. "The girls covered your debt."


    "He¡¯s right," Spark chimed in unexpectedly, crossing her arms. "You¡¯re always dragging Ellie into your messes. If you want to save your brother, then quit your life of crime. That¡¯s the price."


    "Spark!" Ellie exclaimed, outraged.


    "Goat, it¡¯s only fair," Spark insisted.


    "And what are we supposed to live on? Want us to go back to the orphanage?" Clint snarled.


    "Find honest work. Dockhands start at thirteen."


    "And drop dead by forty."


    "In the slums, you won¡¯t live to see thirty!" Spark snapped back.


    "Fine! I¡¯ll quit," Clint growled through gritted teeth. "Happy now?"


    "I¡¯m serious, Clint," Spark warned, her voice firm. "You don¡¯t get to walk back on this promise. I¡¯ll make sure you stick to it."


    "Yeah, yeah, I get it," Clint muttered before turning to me with a scowl. "And you, son of a bitch hunter, what the hell do you want for your help?"


    I stepped closer and drove my fist into his gut. Clint doubled over, collapsing onto the ground, gasping for air.


    "My mother," I said coldly, "was a wonderful woman. Remember, you¡¯re the one asking for a favor. Arrogance and insults have no place here."


    "I¡­ understand¡­ sir," Clint wheezed, clutching his stomach. "What do you want?"


    "A favor in return," I said. "Equal to the one I¡¯m giving you. And I promise I¡¯ll take your skills and abilities into account."


    "I don¡¯t¡­ understand," Clint admitted, blinking up at me in confusion.


    "This might not be my last hunt in Farnell."


    "No!" the girls protested in unison, their voices sharp and firm.

 Chapter 11

    Knuckles agreed. What choice did he have? The girls were still glaring at me like wolves, but Grandfather used to say that life was worth exactly as much as people were willing to pay for it. And Knuckles needed this price just as much as I did.


    ¡°Perfect,¡± I nodded. ¡°Keep in mind, I don¡¯t forgive betrayal. And as for hunting... well, you¡¯ll see for yourself. Let¡¯s not stand out here like fools. Let¡¯s head inside, make some tea. We¡¯ve got a lot to discuss. Don¡¯t get fidgety!¡± I snapped at Knuckles as he opened his mouth to speak. ¡°We¡¯ve got time until sunset.¡±


    I asked Finella to take care of the tea, and told Ellie to call old Lady Wilcox to arrange renting the house for the next month. While the girls were busy, I questioned Knuckles about the Hunchback¡¯s base and the girls about their abilities. Naturally, they didn¡¯t tell me everything, but Finella did mention she was skilled with fire. She preferred ordinary fireballs but could also unleash a concentrated beam. Her fire shields worked well against magical attacks but were somewhat weak against physical ones. A heavy pistol round could break through them about half the time. Ellie, like any shifter, had enhanced regeneration, excellent hearing, and quick reflexes. Her spirit wasn¡¯t a goat, as I had initially thought, but a roe deer, which gave her incredible speed over short distances and the ability to leap a four-meter fence without a running start. Her kicks were lethal.


    Knuckles couldn¡¯t boast of such skills, but he was a decent fighter for back-alley brawls.


    Once the tea was poured into cups, Ellie handed me a few sheets of paper and a pencil, while Knuckles helped draw a map of the neighborhood.


    ¡°First of all, we need to think about escape routes.¡±


    ¡°We could use the basements ¨C they¡¯re all interconnected,¡± Knuckles suggested.


    ¡°That¡¯s an option, but I wasn¡¯t talking about that. I mean injuries, wounds. We¡¯ll need transport.¡±


    ¡°A horse and carriage?¡±


    ¡°Horses are afraid of me, and they might panic at the beast. What about your buddy¡­ Talbot? His cab might do.¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t agree.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s asking him? Although¡­ do you think I should talk to him?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°Fine, we¡¯ll handle that right after the planning. Is the cage big? Will I fit inside?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be tight. It¡¯s one of those hanging cages they used to put on poles. Looks more like a birdcage.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s no good. We need a larger cage. Any ideas where to get one?¡±


    I asked more out of habit than expectation. Locking myself in a cage as bait was too risky. The mark ¨C damn it ¨C could ruin the whole plan. Who knows what kind of beast it was and how sensitive it was to etheric traces?


    ¡°The zoo?¡± Ellie unexpectedly suggested.


    ¡°As if they¡¯d just lend it to you,¡± Finella snorted.


    ¡°We could buy one¡­¡± I mused, calculating how much time and money it would take, including transport costs. ¡°No, too conspicuous.¡±


    I turned back to the sketch. The building surrounding the courtyard with the cage was shaped like a ¡°U,¡± similar to the alley where Knuckles and his gang had tried to corner me.


    ¡°Draw the roads and the neighboring buildings,¡± I asked.


    Knuckles quickly scratched out some crooked lines and squares. I picked the one across the street from the house and asked:


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°A three-story box, like everything else around here.¡±


    ¡°I take it everyone will be hiding in their homes like mice tonight?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Knuckles nodded.


    ¡°Finella, can you extinguish fire?¡±


    ¡°More like suppress it,¡± she replied.


    I checked my watch. Half past five. And so much still to do¡­


    ¡°Listen carefully, girls. Buy about three liters ¨C no, a liter and a half ¨C of kerosene and pour it into bottles, then change into something fit for the slums. Fin, hide your hair. Wait for Knuckles and me here. Oh, and some healing potions wouldn¡¯t hurt, but only if possible. Knuckles, can you buy a rifle and rounds at the ¡®Commode¡¯? I need a good one!¡±


    ¡°The f¡­ if I know¡­ I mean, I don¡¯t know. Nothing good in ¡®Commode.¡¯ If it¡¯s something like ¡®death arrows¡¯ or specialty rounds... There are a few places, but the prices there¡­ Whew! They might not even let me in.¡±


    ¡°Nothing illegal. A standard military Enfield will do. A shortened barrel is fine, as long as it shoots straight. Keep in mind, I¡¯ve only got two hundred on me.¡±


    ¡°Then why the hell are you asking me? If it¡¯s nothing illegal, just walk into any weapons shop.¡±


    ¡°Not just any, I need a reliable one.¡±


    ¡°Not my thing. In Pubset, there¡¯s ¡®The Royal Stag,¡¯ ¡®Thunder Bear,¡¯ and something like ¡®Powder Some-sort-of-shit.¡¯ I haven¡¯t been to any of them, though.¡±


    ¡°Ellie, be a dear and call us a cab.¡±


    The name ¡°Thunder Bear¡± caught my attention. With minimal information and limited time, it seemed as good a choice as any. Turns out, I wasn¡¯t wrong.


    The weapons shop was spacious, with the latest, including automatic, long-barreled models mounted on the walls. Under glass on the shelves lay an assortment of pistols and blades. The cheapest SMLE Mk2, with rifling still intact, cost me a tenner. After that, the salesman tried to sell me a branded ¡°Thunder¡± bullet, but it turned out to be carved from ivory. Sure, it looked impressive, but a true Thunder bullet is carved from Thunderbone.


    I had a few pistol rounds made of the real thing in my satchel, so I pulled one out for comparison. That¡¯s when things escalated. I raised my voice, called for the owner, and caused a bit of a scene. To my surprise, the owner actually showed up ¨C a gray-haired man with thick white mustaches who had been working in the repair shop attached to the store. He apologized for the fake bullet and, in an attempt to smooth things over, tried to give it to me as a gesture of goodwill. I wasn¡¯t having it. I told him I¡¯d only take a real one, and that¡¯s where he dug his heels in. In the end, I had to cough up an extra ten for the genuine round.


    Now I had a bullet imbued with the powerful paralyzing essence of lightning. A shot to the chest with this would kill instantly, though I wasn¡¯t planning to kill outright.


    A few more pounds bought me a holster, a box of basic cartridges, two coils of sturdy rope, and a pair of thick leather gloves.


    The next task was tracking down Talbot.


    It turned out this weasel had a legitimate job as a porter at the docks, where he¡¯d honed his skill for reading people and sharpened his nose for profit. But, like any respectable scoundrel, he didn¡¯t foul his own nest. Time was running short, so I slipped on my signet ring, turning the seal to the inside.


    We found Talbot resting under one of the columns in the central hall. We carefully flanked him, which was the right move because the bastard¡¯s first instinct, as soon as he saw me, was to run. I frowned, pulling back my coat to reveal the pistol holstered at my side.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it, Johnny,¡± Knuckles hissed menacingly.


    ¡°You got a lot of nerve, punk.¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± I ordered. ¡°We don¡¯t have time to convince you. Apologies in advance. Knuckles.¡±


    The boy smirked and, with a short swing, drove his lead-weighted fist into the porter¡¯s ribs.


    ¡°B-bastards,¡± Talbot wheezed, collapsing to his knees. ¡°I¡¯ll kill you brats.¡±


    ¡°I need a vehicle and a driver for the night,¡± I said. ¡°After that, we¡¯re even. Or, we can have Clint beat you to a pulp first, then head to the police and tell them how you¡¯ve been forcing starving homeless folks to rob travelers. Your choice.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you bastards!¡±


    ¡°Knuckles,¡± I prompted.


    The next punch sent the porter sprawling onto the floor.


    This didn¡¯t go unnoticed by the port police. One officer called out to his partner, and they both started heading towards us.


    ¡°Put away the knuckles and don¡¯t move,¡± I told Clint, then turned the signet ring outward to display the crest. ¡°And here come the noble guardians of order. Your choice, Talbot. With this situation, you won¡¯t just lose your job.¡±


    ¡°Fine!¡± he barked.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± I greeted the approaching officers, making sure they noticed the ring. ¡°Apologies for this minor incident. The porter was careless with a fragile package, and it upset me.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t give you the right to hit people!¡± one officer declared boldly.


    ¡°Do you think it would¡¯ve been better for me to file a complaint and get him fired?¡±


    ¡°Boy?¡± the constable addressed the porter.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, guys. Really, no big deal¡­¡± Talbot got to his feet and dusted himself off.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The conflict was resolved. John took the rest of the day off, and we went to the pier to test the rifle. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore muffled the shots perfectly, and I finished before the golden hour, using that time to fetch the girls. I left the rest of my money ¨C except for some small change ¨C at Finella¡¯s house. They¡¯d already tried to rob me in the slums once before.


    With the last rays of sunlight, we arrived in the slums.


    I couldn¡¯t figure out why this district was so run-down compared to the overall wealth of Farnell. It wasn¡¯t even that the buildings were particularly old. As it turned out, before the Big War, this area was home to dock workers and craftsmen. But in ¡¯15, a fierce battle took place here. The enemy had used a caustic gas that dissolved lungs. Supposedly, wizards and healers had dealt with the aftermath, but every cough and sneeze here was still blamed on that poison. Only those with no other choice agreed to live here.


    I spent some of my pocket cash to rent a room on the third floor of a building across from the courtyard with the cage. That¡¯s where I stationed a noticeably shaken Talbot and Knuckles, whose role was to keep an eye on him. The car was left parked directly below.


    Naturally, there were people who decided to try their luck stealing such a valuable vehicle. After all, it wasn¡¯t that late yet. We were fortunate ¨C they turned out to be members of the Hunchback¡¯s gang. The girls were still downstairs and were the first to confront the audacious thieves. Finella didn¡¯t feel like ¡°lighting things up¡± and instead let Ellie stomp her hoof. The pair folded immediately, but by the time I came down, they had already crawled away.


    ¡°Well, ladies, shall we have some fun?¡± I asked. ¡°Ellie, flash your eyes when I say so. Finella, light a flame just enough for the Hunchback to see it. Make sure he sees it, and then snuff it out. Stay one step behind me and let me do the talking. I think I¡¯ve figured out how to handle this lot.¡±


    Our trio walked straight up to the central door of the building. I knocked.


    The door was opened by a skinny, hedgehog-haired guy who looked like a smaller version of Knuckles. This one was a bit shorter and had lost one of his front teeth somewhere along the way.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Certainly not you, my good man. Call the Hunchback.¡±


    ¡°What, you think the Hunchback¡¯s some errand girl? If you want him, you go to him yourself.¡±


    ¡°Then lead the way, or am I supposed to search the whole house myself?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get lost, then!¡± the young thug sneered, darting inside the stairwell.


    As I stepped in, he had already dashed up the creaking stairs to the next landing.


    The interior of the building looked even worse than its exterior. The plaster had peeled off the walls decades ago. The wooden floors and beams were rotting. Some steps on the staircase were missing, and the ones that remained didn¡¯t inspire much confidence.


    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯ve figured it out?¡± Finella teased.


    ¡°I¡¯m starting to doubt it.¡±


    By the time we reached the second floor, our guide had sprinted down the hallway and disappeared behind one of many doors.


    The lighting here came exclusively from the surprisingly intact windows at either end of the corridor. The density of door frames gave the impression of a beehive ¨C an abandoned one. My vision allowed me to pick out the most dangerous spots where the floorboards had rotted or dried out.


    ¡°Step where I step,¡± I told the girls. ¡°Any guesses where they are? Ellie, can you tell?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t hear anything,¡± Ellie replied.


    ¡°Gentlemen!¡± I shouted. ¡°Don¡¯t waste my time.¡±


    One of the doors ahead opened.


    ¡°Lost your way, eh? Heh-heh,¡± the gap-toothed guide jeered and immediately ducked back inside.


    ¡°Follow my steps,¡± I reminded the girls, sidestepping the worst spots on the floor.


    Behind the door was a tiny, narrow room, but the adjacent wall ¨C made of thin wooden planks and plaster ¨C had been completely smashed through, forming a spacious passage into the neighboring room.


    There, lounging in a decent old armchair, was the Hunchback. Judging by his appearance, he could have been anywhere from twenty to thirty years old. His stern, and at times, almost attractive face was clean-shaven, his clothes neat, but the hump over his right shoulder ruined the impression. His right arm was significantly thicker than his left, the fist nearly one and a half times larger, and the old revolver in his hand looked like a toy.


    Of course, he had minions. Four of them, to be exact, armed with rusty cleavers and bats. They were significantly younger ¨C somewhere between fourteen and sixteen years old.


    Judging by the thick, uneven layer of fine debris on the floor and the smell of dust in the air, the wall had been broken recently. Notably, in our room, someone had thoughtfully spread an old carpet over the dust, but the tracks leading into the neighboring room stuck close to the wall. As trappers, these bandits were hopeless amateurs.


    I stopped just short of the carpet, leaving room for the girls to stand behind me.


    ¡°Esteemed¡­ scumbags,¡± I said. ¡°Allow me to introduce Lady Ellie¡­¡±


    I didn¡¯t see her flash her eyes, but I did notice how the bandits flinched.


    ¡°And Lady Finella¡­¡±


    This time, the reaction was even more dramatic.


    ¡°Now then,¡± I continued, drawing my pistol and cocking the hammer. ¡°Should I take this step forward?¡±


    The Hunchback paled and aimed his revolver at me, but said nothing. His minions fidgeted, casting nervous glances at their leader.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯m wearing a Stone Skin ring. If you don¡¯t lower your gun, I¡¯ll shoot.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit! I¡¯ve got one too!¡±


    The Hunchback proudly displayed the ring on his right hand, his revolver''s barrel tilting upward to show it off. I drew my gun and fired, quick and precise, just as I had done countless times at the target range. Thanks, Grandpa. You were right ¨C It came in handy.


    My bullet struck his revolver. The weapon discharged as it flew out of his hand. The enemy¡¯s bullet lodged itself in the wall above us, while his revolver bounced off and smacked one of the boys square in the forehead.


    ¡°Freeze!¡± I said calmly.


    The Hunchback clutched his right hand with his left, stunned. His ring hadn¡¯t helped. Or rather, judging by the red streak on his cheek, it had helped ¨C but just barely. Who knows how¡­ Did my bullet ricocheted off the revolver?


    It meant he was still under the ring¡¯s protection, but the shock left him unable to use it.


    Slowly, I holstered my pistol and motioned for the bandit to approach with my finger.


    ¡°Come here. Come on, don¡¯t be afraid.¡±


    The Hunchback obediently rose to his feet. He took a few hesitant steps forward and froze at the edge of the carpet.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stop now,¡± I encouraged him. He took a step sideways.


    ¡°Straight!¡± I ordered.


    The Hunchback muttered a curse under his breath and stepped forward quickly.


    Under his weight, the carpet suddenly puffed up, folding around him to the point where it swallowed him whole before his body completely fell through the hidden hole beneath.


    Only his unnaturally strong right hand flashed above for a moment, trying to grab onto the wooden planks. His nails scraped uselessly against the old wood before slipping off.


    I approached the edge and looked down at the bandit sprawled awkwardly on the carpet below.


    ¡°Do not dig a pit for someone else¡­ Ever heard that saying?¡± I asked.


    The Hunchback didn¡¯t answer, but that was fine by me. He turned his head toward my voice, and that was enough.


    ¡°Here¡¯s what we¡¯re going to do next,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re going to hand over Nathan Sparrow to me, and you¡¯re going to give the ladies a room on the third floor of either the right or left wing of the building, closer to the street.¡±


    ¡°I only control the central wing,¡± the Hunchback muttered.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯ve got five minutes, and then I¡¯ll get offended. I¡¯ll be waiting outside.¡± I stood up and glanced at the Hunchback¡¯s terrified minions. ¡°Toss me that piece of junk,¡± I told the gap-toothed kid, pointing at the revolver.


    He obeyed, though he picked it up with two fingers, as if it were the corpse of a venomous snake.


    The girls and I stepped outside.


    ¡°You know,¡± Finella said, ¡°you really pulled it off.¡±


    Nathan was brought out two minutes later. He immediately ran to hug Ellie but kept glancing at me with apprehension.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± I said, cutting the touching reunion short. ¡°Time¡¯s up.¡±


    ¡°Nathan, listen to Magnus. It¡¯s important!¡±


    Magnus? Oh, right, I¡¯d introduced myself using my middle name. Fine. If this works, maybe I¡¯ll start using my first name again.


    ¡°Come on, kid,¡± I ordered. ¡°I¡¯ll take you to your brother. Just don¡¯t run off.¡±


    ¡°Go,¡± Ellie instructed him.


    ¡°Here.¡± I shoved the revolver into the boy¡¯s hands to calm his nerves.


    While we talked, the Hunchback¡¯s minions dragged another homeless kid out into the street and locked him in the cage. Cap turned pale, the girls tensed, and the boy started to raise the revolver.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it,¡± I hissed. ¡°It¡¯s not time yet.¡±


    I won¡¯t lie ¨C I wasn¡¯t entirely emotionless myself. I¡¯d have loved to crack a few heads, but I kept my composure and, in doing so, tested the girls. Even soft-hearted Ellie managed to hold herself back from doing anything rash.


    The unfamiliar kid screamed, sobbed, struggled, and even bit, but none of it helped. The thugs shoved him into the cage and locked it with a large padlock. They placed the key on a wooden tray about two meters away, closer to the building entrance.


    I glanced up at the window of the rented room.


    The cage was positioned with its door facing the building entrance and secured to the old asphalt with metal stakes. This blocked the view of the tray from the window. I couldn¡¯t turn the cage around to position the lock toward the window, but I could move the tray.


    ¡°Ellie, grab the key and try to open the cage. Make a scene,¡± I instructed, pulling out one of the paired vials from my pouch.


    Ellie must have misunderstood me because she genuinely started trying to unlock the cage, and I nearly had to wrestle the key away from her.


    ¡°Cap, bring me the tray,¡± I said.


    While everyone was watching the boy, I discreetly uncorked the vials and dripped a bit of two-component adhesive onto the key¡¯s head. I placed the tray between the cage and the right wing of the building, securing myself a good vantage point.


    The girls moved to their new position, while I returned to the room in the building across the street.


    I pulled out my dagger and carefully removed the slats holding the largest pane in the window frame. Missing glass was less suspicious than an open window. Even so, I didn¡¯t close mine completely, just enough to leave it ajar.


    I set a table in the middle of the room and tied one end of the rope to its leg. On top of the table, I set up a firing position, loaded the SMLE with a Thunder bullet, and smeared the ointment across my third eye. I slipped on a thick leather glove over my left hand.


    After half an hour of staring into the darkness, even my eyes were struggling to distinguish shapes. I had to mix a night vision potion with a drop of prolonger. This slightly weakened the original potion¡¯s effect but extended its duration. The lower intensity didn¡¯t matter much to me.


    A few minutes later, a figure emerged from the shadows near the wall. A man.


    My hand moved to touch the dagger, but it remained silent. A shame.


    The stranger moved slowly around the courtyard, approaching the tray but still staying out of sight of the captive.


    Absolutely silent, he darted toward the tray, lowered his hand, and his fingers brushed the key. But the adhesive held it firmly to the wood. The tray shifted slightly and scraped against the asphalt. The shadow froze in surprise, and I pulled the trigger.


    In the small room, the gunshot roared like a cannon blast. The enchanted bullet sliced through the darkness in a bright flash of lightning and struck the stranger¡¯s leg, erupting in a shower of blue sparks. The electric discharge arched the shadowy figure¡¯s body violently.


    I leapt over the table and kicked the window frame with my foot. A bit too hard. Even though the window was already open, the frame was sent flying out into the street.


    Still gripping the rifle in my right hand, I grabbed the rope with my left and swung out through the window. The leather glove screeched from the friction as I slid swiftly to the ground.


    From the third-floor window of the right wing of the building across the street, three bottles of kerosene flew out in quick succession, shattering on the asphalt below.


    I ran, leaping over the spreading kerosene puddles just in time to avoid the fireball that crashed down from above, igniting them in a blaze of hot flames.


    In the flickering glow of the fire, the vampire bared its fangs at me.