Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a stinging pain in my thumb.

All I could make out was that my thumb was hurting, and that it may have to do with the fact that I'm not home.

My eyes opened again to the Storybook Kingdom, it has to be, with an eerie blue fog clouding the skies.

"What am I doing here?"

The burning sting came back.

"Ow!"

That's when I noticed my thumb's discoloration, wisps of indigo emanating from it, brightening with every sting.

I began to walk around some more, trying to make sense of what was happening.

That was when I saw an enchanted box, just like all the enchanted gift boxes I would unpackage everyday, with a magical letter on top of it.

It was from Isabel, who usually had the time to tell me what was going on herself.

Dear Traveler,

 

We’ve detected a terrible magic emerging from one of the books in the Story Desk spreading where it shouldn’t. You’ve been brought here to the Storybook Kingdom to get extra aid in fixing what’s wrong. Here’s a fresh batch of clothes to look your very best when you receive the Traveler we’ll be sending to assist you.

 

Sorry I couldn’t be there to tell you in person, but rest assured I’ll be there when you need me! I am mitigating as much minor damage as I can to make this easier for you. I hope you and the Traveler we sent over will work well together.

 

All the best,

Isabel

Once I was done reading, I pocketed the letter and opened the box to change. 

A simple and warm outfit, much like the one I wore to those Paris galleries, was inside.  A nice blue blouse with a striped scarf and skirt, tucked in nicely under a long coat had covered my figure, with my feet stepping into matching socks and simple boots. I had a white headband on with a simple ring, a pair of earrings, and a bracelet too. 

Once I was fully dressed, the box disappeared into sparkles.

The thumb pain then came back, making me suck air through my teeth as I began to walk around again.

It was not too different from when I got sucked into that pseudo-Aurethelian place because of Audwin’s magic. Or with that incident with Chapur. And that other time with Light.

Hey, I think there’s a pattern starting to form when it comes to these things now. What’s next this time?

The horizon from where I stood was blurry, every visible building too far away. No animals or plants other than the grass below my feet were present.

Isabel mentioned another Traveler would come to help me solve a problem happening in the Story Desk. What book could that terrible magic possibly come from? How terrible was it that Isabel had to send another Traveler to meet me?

Just as I was about to walk into what seems to be a thick blue fog, a humming sound from behind me caught my attention.

A bright blue light began to glow from the ground, from there forming a portal that released a figure from it.

This was a familiar figure, and this figure seemed to recognize me.

“Felix!” I gasped out, helping him up from the ground.

I’ve never met someone else like myself in a story before. All this time of thinking he was a character from a book that just happened to be a traveler like me, and then it turns out that he quite literally was a traveler like me. 

I mean, why else would he be here? Looking at the blue glow of his pin, with his own magic too?

He looked at me, shocked as well, “Anais?!”

I hesitated, “Y-Yeah, it’s me. Did Isabel send you here?”

He stood up straight, wearing the same clothes I saw him wear in those Parisian streets, “Is that what that little fairy’s name is? I didn’t realize you were close with the people here.”

“Well, it’s just Isabel I’m really close with anyway,” I replied, scratching the back of my neck, “So… you’re a real traveler?”

“Apparently, so are you,” He threw back at me, just as confused as I was, “And for a moment, I thought something was wrong with my pin, but no! You’re another traveler, and two of us occupied the same book at the same time.”

“Is that supposed to be impossible?”

“I’d say illegal, but clearly nothing stopped us both,” He then snapped his fingers, “Hold on, is your name really Anais?”

I flushed red, too shy to admit anything. 

“Uh–”

“I won’t pry.”

“Well, is your name even Felix Bailey?”

“Of course it is. Travelers are outsiders to books and merely insert themselves…” His eyes widened suddenly, realizing something, “No no no, you’re definitely not Anais Petit, why didn’t I clock that earlier? She was supposed to be a supporting character, not a major one!”

“What are you talking about?”

“What am I-?” He chuckled out in bafflement, then raised his arms in the air, dumbfounded at my question, “Travelers aren’t supposed to take over other characters! Why on Earth would you, a Traveler, do that?”

All these ramblings from Felix were news to me. What exactly was going on? What did he know that I apparently didn’t?

“I don’t understand, I-I’ve always traveled this way!” I told him, “I was guided accordingly by Isabel on how to make choices that can make these stories better. Is there some Travelers’ Rulebook that I’m unaware of?”

Felix blinked, unsure of what to make of me now that he realized I wasn’t one of his misplaced Companions, but rather another Traveler like himself.

“Well, there are truths unspoken when it comes to people like me—us! Er, a-anyway,” Felix began to pace around, “And we’re supposed to be doing that quietly. It takes a ridiculous amount of power to do whatever it is you’re doing.”

Isabel made herself present to me, telling me since Day 1 that I was very special. I thought that was just flattery on her end, but Felix’s words were starting to change what that meant in my head.

“Then, I suppose I am powerful,” I replied, too tired to worry any further about that, “though, not powerful enough for this problem, since you’re here.”

Felix looked at me with pity, “The fairy Isabel told me that you knew where the source of the problem was coming from. Do you actually know, or do you still need to figure that out?”

“Well,” I raised my thumb at him, “This has been hurting since I got here.”

“Ooh,” He winced at the discoloration, “that definitely looks painful.”

“It is.”

He hummed in thought, “Has there been any story you’ve traveled to that distinctly involves your thumb? Perhaps we can work from there.”

“I need to check the Story Desk for that. It’s in my home.”

“I can take us there quickly,” Felix held out his hand, his pin glowing blue along with his eyes, “and I’m sure you’ll be able to show me the way.”

I smiled, determined to solve this problem once and for all.

“Of course.”

I took Felix’s hand. As I did so, the pin on his lapel began to glow bright, and we were both engulfed in its light.

“What did you mean by Anais being a supporting character? Have you been to the Book many times?”

“Yes, many, many times. It’s one of my favorites."

"Really?"

"Nothing captures my heart more than stories about reawakening. 'Golden Age' was about the reawakening of a scrappy, struggling artist.”

“Ah, you mean Lea Ducas!”

“Yes! The book was supposed to be about her, but our shared interference has apparently changed the book in its entirety.”

Felix and I were in my room, looking through the Story Desk’s books together. There was a blue foggy haze covering all of them, the horrible sight keeping us on our feet.

We briefly had our hands on the Story Desk itself, mine on the lectern and his on the page about the story where we met for the first time.

“Now,” Felix continued, grazing the enchanted paper, “it’s become the story of an art curator’s reawakening through a secret encounter with a brochure-jumping story traveler.”

“Well, was Anais supposed to help Lea out and add her works to her gallery?”

He looked at me, “Y-Yes. That happens halfway through the first chapter.”

“And Lea, through quirky trials and tribulations, challenges the unfairness in the Parisian Art industry with Anais’ help and becomes a successful artist?”

That gave him a chuckle, “Are you sure you haven’t been in the book as much as I have?”

I laughed, “There’s a story or two I’ve read that feels similar.”

“As it is with all stories,” Felix mused, “Lea and Anais would form a sisterhood that rivals the Van Goghs, with family drama and a fleeting romance for our dear artist as some of the many challenges in her career.”

“How sweet. But we have our own adventure right now,” I said, flipping the pages back to the Table of Contents, “We can try traveling through books with magic in them.”

“Your library is too big,” Felix replied, worried as he eyed the story listing, “With the time we have, we would take too long.”

“Hm." 

We both kept thinking.

"Does your thumb still hurt?" Felix asked.

"Not as much as earlier. Why?"

"May I test something?"

I raised a brow at him before nodding.

He nodded back and gently took my hand, the dragging motion across the names of books making me immediately realize what he was trying to do.

"Ow!" The sting came back full force when my thumb reached one of the names.

"'House of Horrors?' I don't think I'd step into a book like that," He remarked, "Are you alright?"

I shook my hand to lessen the pain, "I'm alright. I can bear with this."

"Would you mind telling me what happens in that book?"

I gave Felix a rather dry summary of the book, including the specific choices I chose to make when I went through it.

“A Book of Curses? Where did it come from?”

“I’m not sure,” I thought back to the sight of the wretched tome in Anson's steady hands, the aura it produced chilling to witness up close, “All I know is that it was created by spiteful witches, and has since been passed down from victim to victim. Adonias and Rae would be the last, a-and hopefully, final ones.”

Felix was rather unsettled when I laid down the details, which didn’t exactly surprise me, but still.

“But you were walking in Rae’s place when that choice happened, right?”

“Yes. I…I really wanted to make sure everyone, and I mean everyone, gets some semblance of a happy ending.”

“Even for someone like Adonias, for someone happily ready to take someone else’s agency for their own desires?”

Classic Felix, always looking for the meaning in everything. 

“I’ve seen him behave with respect outside of that Book’s influence. Well, not that I don't think there’s something wrong with him. An orphaned Nobleman left to his own devices and a literal Book of Curses containing a spirit that takes advantage of people, as we know, aren’t exactly a good mix.”

Felix smiled faintly, “I’m rather moved by your mercy, Anais—wait, do you mind me calling you that still, or? I mean, you know my real name, but I don’t know yours.”

I thought about it. I chose to tell him.

“Emma Wile. My real name is Emma Wile.”

Felix reacted the same way he did when he realized that the art curator, Anais Petit, had followed him into the past—a brief disbelief followed by a smile.

He breathed, “I’m glad to finally know you, Emma.”

“I’m glad for you too,” I felt warm, reveling in the delight of solidarity with another traveler.

“...where were we?” He asked.

“I was detailing 'House of Horrors' to you.”

“Right!” The joy he had for me earlier slipped into concern, “I was about to say,”

“With that look on your face, it looks important.”

“Well, yes. You said that anyone who makes a deal with the Cursed Spirit sells their soul to it, right?”

“Yes,” Where was Felix going with his theories this time?

“You made Rae choose to save Adonias, Emma. It may have been her soul in peril, but you made that choice,” He briefly pursed his lips as he paused, “Is it possible that perhaps a part of you, or rather, your magic, has been taken into that deal?”

That sounded possible. I knew how I traveled, how easy it was to feel and think like the people I’ve taken over. To harness their magic, their special talents…

And to suffer their distresses as well. Of feeling the blade of a guillotine slice my neck, being molded like clay in the throes of magic, getting shot at, and so much more…

Of being hypnotized and having all and none of the control I could possibly have simultaneously.

“Emma?”

I debated on being angry about it. I chose to swallow.

“You might be right,” I mustered out in dread, “I-I didn’t even think that was a possibility.”

“And that damn book’s to blame,” Felix crossed his arms, fidgeting with his scarf, “Is this the first time something from your more, er, fictional books went beyond their pages?”

“Honestly? No. I’ve begun to notice a pattern after every couple of, I don’t know, months? Yeah, months, o-of something magical from one of the books I’ve been to, just going haywire and dragging me into it.”

“God, you are powerful indeed!” He remarked, “Was last time this messy?”

“A wizard prince after my heart wanted to see what I saw in his competition. He casted it wrong and involved some companions of mine from other books by accident.”

“I suspect all that happened just because you walked in the shoes of the girl he loved.”

“With the pattern I’m seeing, that might be the case.”

Felix hummed affirmatively, “Are you sure possessing the bodies of characters is the only way you’ve been able to travel?”

“Yes!” I blinked, “Like I told you earlier back in the Storybook Kingdom, that’s how I’ve always been traveling. If there’s another way, I don’t know how to do it.”

I pointed at his magic pin, “Clearly your way of traveling is influenced by that thing over there.”

“Well, that’s true. Without this, I wouldn’t be able to travel at all.”

I sighed, worried about the Cursed Spirit ruining my stories. I don't understand why my empathy would be punished like that.

“Speaking of travel,” Felix swiftly changed the tone of our conversation, “I think it’s about time we head over to the town of—what was it again?.”

I huffed amusedly, giving him a smirk, “Lanceno.”

He then took my hand, “To Lanceno it is! We ought to prove our theories right, Miss Wile.”

I shook my head, "Lead the way Mr. Bailey."

Chapter Text

How did the Stories I read continue as soon as I left? Leaving meant the story was over, or that my magic couldn't let me change the story any further. 

Well, that was as far as I know anyway.

According to Felix, many of his stories would go the way people do after one meets a stranger. Some books revisited repeated themselves, some continued where he would have left off, while some would have changed, subject to choices made beyond him.

Felix and I arrived, the both of us spat onto my—Rae's—bed from the glowing portal produced by the magic of his pin.

Whatever magic that pin had, it was powerful too. I no longer had to change, the familiar lace-in-leather already on my body. It was simple and noble, with my hair tied, braided, and held back with a clip. I had black fingerless gloves that matched the fabric of my stockings, of which were being hugged by my boots. I then noticed the lantern I’d usually carry whenever I wore this outfit now hooked onto one of the buckles of my leather skirt., dangling at my side and still glowing faintly.

When I rose up from my bed, I saw that Felix had also been donning new wear as well. He had a nobleman’s clothes, with a lilac blouse held back by a golden vest. He had a night blue long coat that matched his pants and shoes. His cravat matched the print of the scarf he owned, so messily placed that I could see his 6-star pendant dangling like a soldier’s dog tags. The dreaded pin was on his coat lapel, as usual.

I pulled him up, eyeing the relative changes in the bedroom. It was more lived in, with books and papers strung about.

My thumb still hurt, but I was already beginning to get used to its sting by now.

“Who are you supposed to be in this book again, Emma?”

“My name is Rae,” I told Felix with more conviction than I usually felt, “and I live here, with A-Adonias, and Coiseam and Zacharias.”

“So this Adonias is the Master of the House…” He stretched and cracked his knuckles, “We need to find him quickly.”

I nodded at him as I led the way, leaving my room to the sight of an empty hallway.

Many of the room doors were boarded up, the air dusty with a hint of the smell of dried blood.

New memories flowed into my brain as we walked the hall, fluctuating in my head like my thumb's sting. 

I had told Anson—no, we agreed to be honest from that point on—Adonias that I wanted to save him, my heart beating at his promise that we would fight the Cursed Spirit together and free our souls, no matter what.

I remembered that we would all cook each other's meals. We'd change the wallpaper and they'd actually change after several days of repeatedly changing them, Sisyphean they may have felt. Coiseam and I started repurposing the curtains and excess bedsheets and made new clothes for ourselves.

Paco died again, mysteriously this time, and the plague ate out those I knew weren't real. The twins, that bickering couple, the one with a scarred grin. Zacharias and I would board their rooms in respect. There was a comfort in all of us slowly having each other.

We, Adonias and I, had to make our own excuses. What Coiseam and Zacharias didn't know wasn't anything they needed to mind. They didn't need to know about the blood spilled for me and the Master of the House to know what had to be done. We still had some things to explain, the words always messy. The outcome of it was as I hoped: that we would all agree to work towards fighting that damn Spirit until we were all free.

"Rae?" That was him, Adonias, calling for me, "did you find that—"

We faced each other, so long yet so quick, that I forgot I had invited a stranger into our Home.

With angry eyes, Adonias raised Coiseam's borrowed rifle towards Felix.

"Who are you?!"

"This is our new guest, Adonias," I quickly responded for Felix, hoping this would give him time to improvise a reasonable response to future questions.

"He said that, uh, he was a hunter of dark magic and a-apparently ended up here."

"Mistress Rae told me that the both of you would be of great help to my, er, displaced soul."

Adonias gave Felix a hard look, eyeing him for anything suspicious.

"I see." 

He was clearly still wary of Felix, but he lowered the weapon, "I would have much preferred to welcome guests like yourself under better conditions, but I suppose your presence here is beyond your control as well, yes?"

"Yes, indeed," Felix slowly walked forward with his hand out to shake, "...Lionel. It is good to meet you, Adonias."

Adonias nodded, shaking back, "I suppose it is good for us as well. Let's discuss what we need to discuss downstairs, Lionel. I'm sure Coiseam and Zacharias would be pleased to see a new face, just like Rae over here."

I smiled at Felix as he turned to acknowledge me.

"Of course, of course."

That Cursed Spirit always tried to dangle our secrets around, taking delight in any potential for suffering, from something small and petty to something much greater and far more upsetting.

We were all orphans here, it had seemed, and in a way, it explained a lot about our quirks. That was a truth Zacharias and I had embraced our whole lives, but it was a harder pill to swallow for Adonias and Coiseam.

It felt like the longer we stayed inside, the less alive I began to feel. I suppose it was the same with Adonias, since our souls have been traded away. Yet while Coiseam and Zacharias didn't do that, they felt suffocated too.

It had come to the point where we were being struck ill, the Spirit's influence so strong in the house that it didn't have to giggle along the halls to make known its power.

The first knocked down was Zacharias. Felix, Adonias, and I came down to see so, with Coiseam preparing some towels for him.

“We have a guest,” Adonias said, making Coiseam pause in her work.

“Hello!” She got up, putting away a bowl and wet towel, “I suppose it’s fair that we give you a warm welcome.”

Felix held his hand out to shake, “Thank you very much. You are Miss Coiseam, right?”

“That’s me,” Her eyes were duller, but not enough to ruin her smile, “And you are?”  

“Lionel,” He smiled as Coiseam shook his hand, “I’ve come a long way from home.”

I then drew myself to Zacharias, placing a hand on the couch where he was laying.

"How is he?" I asked.

"He's less feverish now, but I don't know how long that will last," Coiseam replied, turning to me.

"Remember to keep your hands clean, Lionel," Adonias addressed him, "We have yet to still figure out if Zacharias' illness is contagious."

“Note taken.”

Adonias then told Lionel all he knew about the book, a knowledge familiar to me and Coiseam already.

“Do you have the Book with you?” Lionel asked, his concern sincere.

“That’s our current predicament,” Coiseam spoke for Adonias, “We thought the Spirit had finally given up tormenting us, only for the Book to be missing!”

Felix and I eyed each other.

“I still have reason to believe it’s still in this mansion,” Adonias said, determined, “the Spirit has no reason to leave, especially now of all times.”

“Have you guys had any luck finding it?” Felix began to fidget with his scarf.

“Rae?” Adonias turned to me.

“Uh,” Crap, this was sudden, “I was looking through my bedroom bookshelves for some clues, then Mister Lionel showed up out of nowhere.”

“I apologize for that, Miss Rae,” Felix gave me a slightly playful look, one that Adonias caught, “I could make it up to you by helping out.”

“I’ll come with,” Adonias got up, “Will you be alright with Zacharias, Coiseam?”

“You had him for all of yesterday,” She replied, “Go on with Rae. You two have a knack for keeping visitors company, anyway.”

The compliment made me blush.

“I’ll lead the way,” Adonias went ahead, as stiff as he’d move whenever he was quietly upset about something, “I’d advise you to make your pace quick, Lionel.”

There was no luck in my room.

“Don’t the boarded rooms contain books?” Lionel asked, keeping to my side.

“Zacharias and I empty the rooms before boarding them,” I replied, bringing myself closer to Adonias, who was ahead of us both.

“And none of them have books?”

“Coiseam and I take care of those,” Adonias spoke up, “Many of the books have been used for the fireplace. Some of them respawn back as stacks in the living room.”

“And the book was always in our sights, so it would be impossible for us to burn it by accident,” I added.

“Did you check the stacks when the Book disappeared today?”

“Coiseam found nothing,” Adonias replied, “and I double checked.”

“The last room we'd need to check would be the Main Bedroom.”

Neither Adonias and I liked going in there. It was where the truth of all things lied, where the first of the revelations were made known to us.

The door always taunted us, just like the first time we all stepped in there, all as one as a team. Based on Adonias’s reaction to what I said, it taunted him too.

“So, what are we waiting for?” Lionel asked, noting the worry in our faces, “Is there something we have to do in order to get in there?”

“No, no,” Adonias cut in before I could, “we just have… bad memories from there.”

“...no guarantee that I can be spared from those too, then?” Lionel asked back.

Neither of us reply. I then opened the door.

The room was clean. Very clean, to the point where it shouldn't be.

I was quick to the bookshelves, with Adonias by the cabinets and tables, while Lionel had his head spinning around the relative grandeur of the room.

"What malicious things has this Spirit done to you, Mister Adonias?" Lionel asked, hand on one of the fancy, cushioned chairs, "If it's alright to ask, of course."

"I rather not spook you with all the gory details," Adonias replied rather grimly, opening and closing an empty drawer, "All I will say is that it ruined my parents, as well as the soul of whoever gave the Book to our family."

"I'm, er…sorry to hear that."

"Your pity is unnecessary, Mister Lionel."

It was mostly silence after that tense chatter. It wasn't long before we finally found the book.

"Is this it, then?" Lionel had called out from a secluded corner of the room.

Adonias and I went to see him with eyes fixed at the Book itself, which was pinned into a frame where that painting of Adonias's parents would usually be.

"Why on Earth is it just over there?" Adonias asked out loud.

I reached for it.

"Whatever the reason, it's dangerous left out of—OW!"

"Rae!" The two cried out in concern for me.

I recoiled my hand from the Book, and I saw my thumb begin to glow in wisps and fogs of blue and purple.

"Are you—ack!" Adonias went to me first, but was drawn back by a pain of his own.

"Let me see that," Lionel took Adonias's wrist, presenting to all of us the same discoloration apparently on Adonias's thumb as well.

"This has never happened before!" Adonias exclaimed.

"Not since we made our deals with the Cursed Spirit," I said, clutching my hurting thumb.

"Well," Lionel—no, his name is Felix—went for the book, "I made no such deal,"

"Wait, be careful!" I warned.

To our shock, Felix successfully pulled out the Book, a brilliant effort of strength. He gave it a good look once it was off of the wall, the color in his eyes dimming.

"Do not listen to its beckoning, Lionel! You'll end up just like us," Adonias pleaded, making sure Felix wouldn't fall prey to the Book's hex, "Your soul will be ruined!"

Felix stared at the book with an eerie silence.

I needed to pull him out of the Book's enchantment.

I chose to whisper quietly, "Felix, please."

This worked, shaking the color back into his eyes.

"My God," He remarked, "I can see why you two fell for this Spirit's spell."

"Tempting, isn't it?" Adonias mused through the pain.

Felix huffed back, "I ought to see your pages," opening the Book to flip through it.

"That's a lot of names!" He exclaimed.

I went to peek, and saw that he stopped at my and Adonias's pages, our thumb marks on the page aglow with the rest of the Book's text.

He turned red as he read, leaving me unsure and uneasy as to what he thought of what I had with Adonias. 

"You two really care about each other, huh?"

"We do," Adonias warmly put an arm around my back, smiling, "sometimes to the point of damning ourselves."

Felix flipped the page to see a new name, squinting.

"Who on Earth is Olive Langston?"

"What?!" I knew who that was, my cheeks flustered as the memory of her flickered briefly in my head.

"That can't be right," Adonias said out loud, all of now crowded around the Book of Curses, "this Book has remained in this house for so long! How could the Spirit get another victim?!"

"Well, this is a clue to locating it," Felix said, "You said it has been absent for quite some time, right?"

We watched a new thumb print appear right before our eyes, my knowledge giving me a newfound dread of just what might come.

"W-What did she ask for?" I asked Felix, who looked back at me and caught the recognition in my eyes.

"Something about freedom and power? It's rather vague."

"Oh, that's bad. That's a wish very likely to backfire," Adonias began to worry for, to him, this stranger, "Easy for the Spirit to exploit."

"L-Lionel," I turned to him, "whatever it is you used to get yourself here, you must use for us again."

"Of course, I can do that," He closed the Book, "but, er… there's something I think you should do first."

"What is it?" Adonias and I asked at the same time.

Felix pointed with his eyes, from me to Adonias.

Oh God, I have so much explaining to do before we go.

"...r-right, of course,"

"Rae?"

I breathed. I explained. Felix helped me make it easier.

Adonias processed everything quietly, as he always did with heavy subject matter.

"...how much of that was you?" was the first thing he asked, "How much of all this is her?"

"We…w-we influenced each other, especially when we spent our first time here in the Mansion together. It's our fault, really."

Something then clicked in Adonias's brain.

"It's why the Spirit isn't here… You and Rae signed the Book together, didn't you?!"

"And we can stop it together," I croaked out, "I-I know it's big talk for me to call you out because of this, I just…"

I couldn't stop my tears. I let it all out. This really happened because I chose to walk into this book, because I made the choice to bind myself to a Book of Curses.

"Shh, hey," Adonias was quick to console me, despite the new weight on his heart, "y-you're right about one thing. We can still fix this if we can catch that Cursed Spirit."

"Y-You're not angry at me?" I sobbed out.

"...I can't say that I'm not, but I do forgive you. And, er, I've done you harm before. If anything, we're even."

I calmed down a little, huffing, "Even. Of course."

Felix then tried to get our attention with an exaggerated clearing of his throat.

"I don't mean to be rude, but we are running out of time."

"Y-You're right," I forced myself to become composed, taking his and Adonias's hands.

"Let's get moving."

Chapter Text

I opened my eyes, not to the Tara Kingdom, but to someplace else entirely.

And I thought my own traveling was confusing.

I was clearly alone this time, as I found myself under the shade of a large tree in a well-kept garden.

I found a sketchbook—my sketchbook of designs—along with a pencil right beside me, greeting me with drawings of…

"A wedding dress?"

And then the memories hit me.

I'm not in the Tara Kingdom, I'm in Tulipe! I'm in a completely different book!

My clothes screamed it all. I wasn't in a white, feathery formal and gentle gown, I was in a formal and gentle silk dress. 

I can remember designing it myself, putting the synthetic leather and Chantilly silks together. I felt my beret on my head, the pink highlights on my short hair, my heart-themed piercings and jewelry, as well the ambitious socks and sandals combo on my feet. Yaoyao liked it, and that was enough for me.

I glanced back at my sketch, and the dress design resembled the one I wore when I went to marry Duke Cyrus—Olive Langston. This one had less feathers though, with butterfly wings in place of them. The roses were tulips instead.

I took the sketchbook and closed it. That dress was not for me.

Crete Manor, however, was. My haunted house and heritage, I worked my ass off to keep it and to keep the ghosts inside it satiated.

I got up and saw the Manor from where I stood, immediately deciding to head back towards it.

Shame it was a beautiful day, but I had to rush.

First thing's first: find Felix and Adonias before they do something stupid.

My head was spinning, and I was frantic in my search.

"Afternoon, Miss Hofmann!" It was the gardener, "Good day, isn't it?"

I took a breath, "Have you seen anyone new in the property?"

"Don't you have security cameras for that?"

"...I-It's urgent," I told him, "I, er, scheduled it, and I may have fallen asleep in the garden."

"Well, I'll call you when I see them," He replied.

As I was about to go on my way, he immediately stopped me.

"Is that them?"

He pointed me in the opposite direction, and there I found Adonias. This property's size was both a blessing and a curse.

"Adonias!" I called out to him. He heard immediately as he caught me.

We were surprised at each other's wear, but it was clear he recognized me less.

Adonias's shirt was looser, the cut more contemporary. His black vest was made from mixed fabrics, with neon spray prints instead of buckles. His pants were now denim, and they were tucked into slip-on sneakers that matched the vest’s color and print. 

The vest had a chest pocket, in it a bunch of yellow tulips, just like the ones I remember sharing with him back in the Greenhouse. I remember the way he smiled when he saw me pick them. He would fit right in here in Tulipe, what with his fluency in flowers.

"Is this where this Olive Langston is supposed to be?" He asked.

"No," I told him, my hands shaking, "no no no, we're not in the right place."

He put a hand to his chin, "Well, it certainly sounds like Mr. Bailey isn't as reliable as we thought."

"I guess. I don't know him as well as I know you, o-or as much as Olive, honestly," I said, fidgeting, "the only thing we have in common is that, well…"

"You both just come and go?" He said with a hint of sarcasm.

I rolled my eyes, "Sure. Let's go with that."

He then looked around, "If we're not at the right place, perhaps the Spirit is simply speedy. Why don't we look for it here? Unless of course, you're insistent on getting to this Olive person."

"My main concern right now is making sure all three of us are together,"

"Ah. Would you rather we find the Spirit or we find Felix first, then?"

I chose to go find Felix first.

"Alright," Adonias pursed his lips, "let's hope he's not too far from where we are."

We both began to traverse the gardens. The bushes were shaped into orbs, with the field’s trimming layered in a creative way.

"...you are familiar with this place,” Adonias broke the silence, “right, Rae?"

"Yes, the property is Crete Manor," I told him, "and it's Stella, p-people here know me as Stella."

"Well, what's your business with Crete Manor, then, Stella?" He asked curiously. Oh, how quick he was with names!

"It's mine."

Adonias was taken aback, "you're the heiress?"

"Yep," Still no sign of Felix, "My Aunt gave it to me in her will."

"Hm," He then caught the sketchbook in my hands, "What's that for?"

"I'm designing a wedding dress for one of my friends," Isabella, the damn history buff, begged me to use the Manor as the venue, "she's getting married in fall this year."

"So, you're a seamstress?"

"I prefer 'fashion designer,'" I gave him a haughty look, "And technically, I'm more businesswoman than seamstress."

It was clear he didn't quite get my profession, "I, er, I-I see."

I sighed, a big part of me disgruntled at his inability to understand my work, "Let's just keep looking for Felix. I'll talk more about this place later."

Before Adonias could reply, he was suddenly interrupted by a scream of terror. We both froze.

"Is that—"

"Yes, that is absolutely him."

We ran into Felix whom we caught running out of the Manor. My fashion-pilled brain caught his particularly interesting style. I was so much so that I must note that Adonias was staring at him too.

The first thing that caught my eye was the glasses on his face. The shades were tinted gold, the rims silver. He had a twilight-colored sweater, the hues rendered out like it was tye-dyed. He had baggy pants on, a dull dirt brown and covered in pockets. His shoes were pink, and he had layers of dangly necklaces on, as well as mismatched rings. Upon closer inspection, the magic pin was now on his hair, beside two more color-coordinated hair clips.

He was scared out of his mind, the apparent eyeliner emphasizing the fear in his eyes. He panted as he clutched the Book in his arms.

"Thank God you two are here!" He laughed at us deliriously, "That Mansion is haunted! How unlucky of me to wake in it, right?!"

"Haunted?" Adonias sounded concerned, turning to me, "You were aware of this?"

"I was—"

"YOU WERE?!"

"Felix, it's alright,"

He slammed the Book into his face, muffling his screaming and his reply, "You can see ghosts, can you?"

"...yeah,” I groaned, “Poor Stella Hofmann—that's me, by the way—who must endure the inherited burden of seeing dead people!"

Felix lowered the book from his face, revealing an annoyed look, "I'm guessing intruders are frequent, Ms. Hofmann?"

"Not in months," I replied, "I use this place as a function building, really."

"A haunted mansion for a function building?" Adonias blinked at me, "That's quite absurd, don't you think?"

"Your mansion is haunted too, you know?"

"...touché, Stella."

I sighed, heading towards the main door where Felix came from, picking up the detachable communication tablet I got installed there a few months back (with Sage’s help), "Look, I can talk to them. Maybe they saw the Cursed Spirit pass by and may have clues—"

"You're awake!"

"GAH!" I fumbled backwards, almost dropping the tablet.

"Stella!" The two with me tried to catch me, but they backed up when it was clear I didn't fall.

"Oh no, that guy was a guest of yours, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Sage," I reply back with gritted teeth, "look, there's something concerning I need to talk about, and I would appreciate it if you don't mess around for a bit, alright?"

The ghost was still phased through the door, and he took offense at what I said.

"Concerning? We had an interesting encounter earlier, and you were asleep for it!"

Interesting encounter?

"Why didn't you guys try to wake me up?"

"We did!" Sage opened the door in his frustration, the action making the two behind me more terrified than they already were, "You wouldn't wake up, which is odd because you're usually a light sleeper—"

"Just call everyone into my bedroom, man," I entered, fighting the new headache forming in my brain, "I-I'll explain everything."

Thankfully, Sage could tell I was tired and kept from snarking back at me like he always did.

"Alright, Stella. You know best," And then he floated up into the ceiling.

Once I moved forward, the other two slowly began to follow behind.

“Were you just speaking to one of the ghosts just then?” Adonias asked, clearly shaken from what must be me talking to thin air.

“Yes. That was Sage,” I readied the tablet, setting up the program the ghost in question created and installed so communicating with him and the other ghosts would be easier, “A descendant of the original Crete family. He’s kind of like a mad scientist, and apparently he was mad enough to be literally disowned but ehh… It’s not my place to discuss further. To his credit, he is actually smart with technology once you get past how annoying he is.”

“...he scared me with the Mansion TVs,” Felix mustered out, “I assume that’s him, then…”

“Oh, definitely,” I chuckled, “He likes scaring people.”

It took a while for me to set up the tablet thanks to connection issues. We were in my room, a place I found secret enough as eavesdroppers from outside were the last thing I needed on my plate.

I was waiting for the connection to come back. The ghosts were chatty as always, many of them gossiping about Felix and Adonias, both who were in the room with me and therefore couldn’t ask me anything embarrassing. I tuned them out to recollect on what had happened since I left Ghost Manor.

Apparently, enough time had passed for Lambert and Jim to dissipate. All who were left were just the Old Earl Lumberton, happy to see my ownership of the Manor to the end; Sage, eager to see where today’s technology would go; and Helen plus her son Avery. Avery hadn’t figured out what he wanted yet still, and Helen refused to leave until he was ready to do so as well.

Felix was feeling impatient.

“How much longer until we can get some answers?”

“Today has been very unlucky, okay?”

It was to our surprise when Helen’s own words suddenly began coming out through the tablet.

“—st think Stella should be able to find love once more. The one in the colorful vest looks like a nice young man,”

Oh my God, “HELEN.”

“Oh?” She covered her mouth in embarrassment (to the semi-audible snickering of the other ghosts) as she saw how red all of our faces were, “Is that tablet working now?”

“YES.”

I sighed.

“Sage told me you guys had some sort of encounter?”

“He was a shadowy figure wearing a bedsheet,” Avery took over, “Went around the mansion whispering nonsense! He certainly gave me a spook.”

“That’s the one,” Adonias blurted out, “The Cursed Spirit was here!”

“Cursed Spirit?!” All the ghosts cried out, their shared volume rupturing the tablet’s audio quality.

“That shadowy guy is cursed?” “Why were you asleep, Stella?!” “Oh no, have we been cursed?” “What do we—”

“SHUSH!” I kept shushing, “One at a time, guys, you’re becoming inaudible.”

“Why is he called ‘The Cursed Spirit?’” The Old Earl spoke first.

“He’s a dangerous being from this Book,” Adonias replied, pointing at the Book of Curses in Felix’s hands, “We’re trying to trap it so it’ll stop getting more victims.”

“Oh no! Were you cursed by it, my dear?” Helen asked. 

I lowered my head, “Yes, and my friend here too. My other friend is here to help us.”

“We’re sorry, but we’re very little help too,” Helen replied.

“Your testimony is enough,” I said, “We can figure out why it was here from there.”

“That Book over there is his attachment, right?” Sage asked.

“Yes. All the victims’ names are written here,” Felix responded.

“Have you guys tried destroying the Book?”

“Why didn’t we try that earlier?” Felix turned to us.

“It won’t get rid of the curse,” Adonias replied, “I mean, it’ll stop the Spirit from going after more people, but it won’t remove the curse on me and Stella.”

“Were any of you able to make out what it was saying?” I asked.

“Well, it did speak plain English,” Avery continued, “but it’s still nonsense! You know, it’s the kind of poetry that gives you headaches.”

“Was it a riddle or a prophecy of some kind?” Adonias began to pace around the room, “The Cursed Spirit is fond of giving its victims puzzles.”

“It seemed that he did speak to each of us,” said the Old Earl, “so perhaps it is necessary to put his message in parchment.”

I looked at my sketchbook that I placed on a nearby desk. I rushed to get it and placed the tablet where it was.

“Alright,” I opened to a blank page, “hit us.”

Each of the ghosts had a phrase to offer. I placed them down in my sketchbook in this order:

Big, beastly mountains

Shadows that spill ichor

Never resting cities

Oceans, seas, and rivers

“Is that all?” Adonias asked, he and Felix looking at the writing beside me.

“He said nothing else,” The Old Earl replied, “How terrifyingly ominous!”

“We have to get going,” Felix said, adjusting his shades, “Before we know it, there might be more new names in this Book already.”

“Right,” The two of us nodded.

“Be careful, Starry,” Helen was worried for me, “this looks like a very dangerous undertaking. You and your Companions need to stay safe.”

“Not like there’s anything wrong with being a ghost here and all, but I don’t think an early death is a fate for you, Stella,” Avery added, “You have so much else to live for.”

“Can you guys not act like I’m going to die?” 

“We just worried for you, that’s all,” Avery said.

“If you guys need any more help, at least try to call us, yeah?” Sage joined in, “I’m not ready to handle another Manor owner so quickly, especially after you.”

"I'm not that bad!"

"Sure. Where would we all be if you didn't have a change of heart in the span of two months?"

I rolled my eyes, secretly amused, "Wouldn't you like to know, Sage?"

The worry was warranted, I had to admit, as my eyes then drifted to the two Companions at my side, clearly as worried as I am.

I picked up the tablet again, sighing.

“See you soon guys. I promise that we'll get this over with, and over with safely.”

The three of us headed outside after bidding the ghosts goodbye. I was trying to make sense of the Spirit’s mysterious phrases, wondering what they could possibly mean.

“I have a theory,” Adonias spoke up after being silent for so long, “that this is a roadmap.”

“What makes you say that?” Felix asked, browsing through the Book to find clues of some kind.

“Look at the phrases again,” He pointed at my writing, “Most of the imagery here describes various locations.”

“You might be right!” I came to a realization, “Near where Olive is from is the Edith Mountains, which is where beasts and half-beasts are from.”

“Then my theory is right.”

“This is only one part of the ‘map,’ though,” I said, taking my pencil out to mark the first phrase, “We know where to go next from here, but what about after? Like, ‘shadows that spill ichor?’ Whatever could that mean?”

“I have a feeling we may find out more along the way,” Felix voiced out, pulling the magic pin out of his hair, “I mean, we didn’t intend to enter this book but we got something useful out doing so, right?”

“That’s true,” I agreed. The clues we just got were incredibly helpful.

Adonias nodded too, then turned to me, “Beasts! First ghosts, and now these beasts? How far and wide is the scope of your adventuring?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Chapter Text

“My Lady, we’ve arrived.”

I jerk awake.

“W-Wha…?”

This has to be the right place now. I immediately noticed my new wear: a fluffy dress of white lace and aquamarines, with matching gloves and boots. I could feel the cat ear clips on my hair, as well as the floof of the fake cat tail sewn onto my dress.

"Lady Dahlia?"

The coach of the carriage I was apparently in peaked inside to check up on me.

Right. I was supposed to come from a diplomatic trip to visit the half-beasts of Edith Mountains, catching up on my missed time with Aaron and making diplomatic ties with his help.

I had come back earlier than expected, a part of me not knowing why. 

The most obvious excuse wasn't exactly the most valid, nor was it responsible of me to make, but given the circumstances, my tinkering brain might just think up a better one right away.

"M-My apologies," I told the coach, "I was just thinking."

"The servants are rushing to arrange everything for you, my Lady."

I sigh as I exit the carriage, "I'm aware. I forget the consequences of a very early arrival."

As two servants come to escort me back home, I catch another, less fancy carriage, haphazardly stopping right near us.

I rushed to it before the servants could redirect me.

"Now, we have come to the hard part," That sounded like Adonias, "Finding her."

"Hey!" I greet the two figures that emerged from the carriage.

"Ah, 'hard part,' you say," Felix smirked back.

Adonias rolled his eyes, clearly refusing to appear moved by Felix’s teasing.

I see that the two have changed outfits once more.

Adonias caught my eye first, as he seemed to dress the way he always did, only with a golden coat and black top hat on. His stopwatch was dangling like a badge on his coat.

Felix was a lot more loosely dressed, with a beige blouse, dark blue pants, and brown boots on. He had a leather strap buckled and holding pouches of valuable utilities. He had a sash that matched his old scarf. His hair was long too, tied into a ponytail this time.

And the pin had now been curled into a ring, visible on his fingers.

“My Lady,” one of the servants approached me, “We can take care of these men for you.”

“Nonsense,” I told her, “These two men are guests. I met them during my trip back here.”

The other servant then asked, “Should we prepare accommodations for them as well, my Lady?”

I thought about using my private room or the guest hall. I decided to choose my private room.

“I intend to entertain them within my chambers.”

The servants gave each other a brief look of concern for me before nodding and leaving to get the work done.

“I find that we are not introduced yet, Madam,” Adonias had broken the silence, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“Dahlia Joyce-Langston,” I smiled warmly at my two companions, “And you two are going to have to pretend to be other people.”

Despite my brain filling in all it could remember, something felt off about everything.

There were less guards but they looked better armored. The servants were much more plentiful, and many of them were too busy to greet us. Not that it bothered me, anyway.

I opened the door to my room, grand and big and homey, flashes of intimacies little spoken coming back to me as I walked in.

I fidget with the ring on my finger as I ask the cleaning servants away from the room.

Felix closed the door behind us, locking it.

“Alright, Lady Dahlia,” He said, “What do we need to know?”

I explained briefly as I could the politics of Tara, as well the events that led to my marriage (and remarriage, to Olive’s surprise and mine, because despite the taboo there were really no laws against whatever we had). I then continued on to discuss half-beasts, as well as basic etiquette around them.

I tried to be subtle when it came to talking about Olive, because I know Adonias and his issues with jealousy. Yellow tulips not only meant happiness but also jealousy and one-sided love. 

Except he was not standing before a tulip, but rather, a dahlia, a flower of powerful royalty and great change. And it’s not the kind that belonged to a greenhouse, but in the precious china vases of a mighty ruler.

To my relief, he could tell quite quickly this wasn’t Rae he was with. At least, at that moment anyway.

Felix always seemed rather amused, occasionally teasing whenever I brought up a companion he could tell I had a fling with. He whispered to me about Adonias, and now he made his quips when discussing Olive. 

Is that what he wants from me? Right now, I’m just happy to have another traveler just like myself by my side. I reckon he feels similarly. I don’t think he falls so easily in love with strangers, right? (Not as much as I do, surely!)

I’m still not sure what else to feel about Felix. We’re definitely bonded in a very unique way, and yet I still don’t quite know him. Maybe that’s why he asks a lot of questions. That’s always been Felix’s method, which is quite academic of him.

All we have are names.

“This means you are a Duchess too, then?” Adonias seemed rather excited at playing into the character that he was forming in his head, “Our family had friendships with such powerful people. I did not think I would be granted that opportunity again so soon.”

I smiled at him, amused at his excitement.

Adonias caught me, got flustered, and he adjusted his hat, “Especially not like this.”

“Right now, I just came from a diplomatic mission in the Edith Mountains,” I began to pace around the room, unclipping the cat ears on my head, “But I’m not supposed to be back until three days from now.

“How on Earth did that happen?” Felix asked, reclining near one of my dressers.

Some half-beasts can fly.

“I think I found a shortcut,” I shrugged, “but, our problem now is an explanation for why I came so early, and why you two are with me right now.”

“Which is where our creativity will be needed,” Adonias finished for me.

“Precisely.”

Felix moved from his position, “Adonias and I will brainstorm. You should change, Dahlia. We’ll be done when you are.”

“Gotcha,” I nod at them, “maybe turn around too, while you’re at it?”

Adonias elbows Felix before making him turn around with him. That’s one way to express how much you’d protect someone.

I shake my head as I go to my enormous closet, which was filled to the brim with the finest dresses from Leto.

But a particular article, wrapped up in a glitter bag, was hanging. An envelope was attached to it.

I opened it to first find this letter:

Dear Traveler,

 

Have this outfit for your troubles. Sweet and Formal, imagine that! Perfect for this astounding episode you’re in, right?

 

This is a taste of the possible combinations provided by the new style category tags we made available! Consider this a gift from me. More to come if we see that you’ll need it.

 

Isabel

The other paper contained details about the four-star set. It was labeled as “Clever Apparition.”

I kept the envelope and opened the bag to find a trailing silvery dress of silk bedazzled with pearls. I was quick to put it on, the feel of it on my body like a sleeping gown. The collar was high and lacy, the sleeves long and transparent, yet it had a hole that slightly revealed cleavage. My shoulders were exposed and the front of the skirt was cut to reveal clothy heels that were as soft as bedroom slippers.

The set came with a bonnet that resembled a night cap, lacy and full of pearls like the gown. Before putting it on, I found a handheld case of some kind, silver with a chain. It resembled the pocket watch Adonias had as I held it in my hands, the engraving flowery like his.

When I put on the bonnet, magic engulfed my hair. Suddenly, my platinum bob with cerulean streaks turned an ashen shade of lilac, the tips bleached white. My hair apparently got cut shorter, bangs dangling and adding dimension to what seemed to be an undercut fade.

I pried open the handheld case I placed around my neck, and it dropped jewelry into my fingers: a pair of earrings that trailed glitter and a pearl ring. I put them on right away and glanced at the nearest mirror in my room. 

I was happy with how I looked, feeling somewhat empowered by my appearance.

As I closed the closet doors, I realized that the handheld was a pocket watch too. I chuckled as I closed it shut, removing it from my neck and wrapping the string around my left hand in a playful dangle.

“You guys done?”

“We have a story,” Adonias said as he and Felix turned to face me, “j-just, er…”

It then hit me that they were mesmerized by my new look.

“You look beautiful,” Felix was quick to mouth out, as though trying to save Adonias the embarrassment.

“Yes,” Adonias blinked, trying to continue where he left off,  “indeed. We, er, w-we just need names.”

They detail the story of me being informed of a rumor concerning an assassination attempt against Olive, arguing the weight of such a rumor to be heavy enough to get Olive’s attention.

I felt that it was too complicated a plot, one that could also get unwanted attention. Apparently it was Felix’s idea.

“I was thinking about illness, or the rumor of one, if to pull a page from Felix’s proverbial book,” Adonias had proposed, “It can also give us a way to figure out what made Olive make a deal with the Cursed Spirit, but in the guise of a doctor’s examination.”

“That’s brilliant,” I said, “we could use the effects of the curse as symptoms for a mysterious illness.”

“An illness that can be fixed by a doctor you met on your way here,” Felix finished, “yes, it is brilliant, but still subject to holes. She might be convinced we’re conmen, o-or spies from a neighboring kingdom, who have deceived her exhausted wife into cutting short a diplomatic effort.”

“We could just say we’re not from around here,” Adonias said, not backing down on his idea, “It helps that it’s true.”

“That…does not change anything, Adonias.”

“Like you, she’s deceived me,” I remarked, casually enough to wound Adonias, “If she’s as clever as you are, then Felix’s point about holes will ring true. She’ll catch on quickly.”

“Actually, will that even matter?” Felix asked, “I highly doubt we can keep up the act for long.”

That was also a good point. What are we going to do once we figure out Olive’s reasons? It’s not like we found a way to reverse the Spirit’s work. So far, all we have are a means to track it down.

“We must discern the Spirit’s intentions,” Adonias said, “His intentions beyond causing pain, anyway.”

“You really think there’s more to what the Cursed Spirit is doing?” I asked.

“Yes,” He put a hand to his chin, “That poem is a roadmap for us, indeed it is, but it chose to utter those words to those ghosts. To me, it sounds like he wants us to follow him! Whatever the reason, this newfound freedom it has found has dragged more people beyond us into its chaotic game.”

“If we can figure out what’s wrong with Olive," I realized out loud, "we can figure out what it’s trying to do and how we can stop it!”

I walk towards the door.

“Are you gentlemen ready?”

“What?” Adonias replied, “Dahlia, we don’t have names ready.”

I laughed, “Fine. Let’s go through the play one more time. Then we can give your characters some names."

“Can I get a peak of her page again?” I ask.

“Of course, Dahlia,” Felix nodded, opening the Book and showing me the page.

Thumbprints were nature’s signatures, and it was unmistakably hers.

Her wish, right on the page, is transcribed:

I want this song and dance between Tara and Paquete to stop. Not for just for my own sake, but for the sake of all who live within our Kingdoms.

 

I wish for women like me to be granted respect and agency, and I mean real respect and agency, not just opportunities to become powerful like Lords and Kings do, but to be taken seriously beyond title.

 

And… I would like to become more than a Duke, to be the truly great person my citizens have said about me. Not the coward who hides behind the frivolous shield of celebrity.

 

Finally, I suppose, to be a better wife. I want to understand the sympathies Dahlia spares to those half-beasts, a-and how she found the courage to defy expectations. At least, how she did so better than I ever could, even when I have deceived her. Because of that, I fear that she may withhold her trust in me anytime. How she holds onto me still really drives me nuts whenever the thought crosses my mind.

 

If I have to burn for all this, may it be for the safety of many. For their happiness too.

“Dahlia?”

I suddenly realized I was in tears.

“Hey,” Felix quickly shut the Book closed, putting a hand on my shoulder, “We’re going to help her, alright?”

I wipe my tears away, nodding, “I know, I know.”

I glanced at Adonias, who looked away from me as I did so. We both found familiarity in the vulnerability of Olive’s wish, and that thought made the hint of red in his eyes brighten in shame.

I remember Adonias’s eyes shining like that back at his mansion, his hazels giving alexandrite. He’d say how mine dulled yet revealed whisps of (my actual eye color of) purple.

"Dahlia's right," Felix said to Adonias, "You and Duchess Langston are very much alike."

I spot the doors to Olive’s chambers, almost missing Adonias staring bloodied daggers back towards Felix, who snickered in response.

A servant stopped us before we could enter.

“Lady Dahlia, is everything alright?”

I know this servant, my brain was rejuvenated. This one part-time works as an informant for Fort Hawke. She has a twin sister over there who volunteered to help babysit the young half-beast children we would rescue.

“I’m going to see Her Grace,” I reply back with authority, “Is she not here?”

“She just had a meeting with some visiting nobles from Sierce. We’ve been keeping to their needs the whole day. Her Grace has requested no further meetings.”

I then glanced at my companions then back to the servant.

“It’s a matter that requires her attention. I wouldn’t be back so early if it was important.”

The servant raised a brow, “And your guests, my Lady?”

“Under my care,” I put my hand on the door knob.

"And—"

“That will be all.”

The servant hesitated, eyes on the two men with me before nodding and leaving us be.

I turned back to the door and knocked.

“I said I won’t be entertaining anyone else today,” I heard Olive call out as I slowly got the door open.

“Not even me?”

She had been lounging on a long couch, drinking. She got up quickly once she heard me.

“Dahlia?” She had the widest smile a woman could ever have, “You’re back! And so early too?”

Her wear was different, with less rouge and grays and more navy and whites. Her royal frock-cloak was off, her blouse unbuttoned, and her corset was loose. A warm feeling seized me to open the door further and embrace her.

“Goodness, you look beautiful today,” She said to me as she looked at my new wear, “Had I known you’d be coming on today, I’d dress up too.”

And that’s when I noticed the blue of her eyes, suddenly amaranthine with shimmers of a red like the hue of her hair.

…

Right. I have to execute our planned play.

“Are you feeling alright?” I bring out the worry I’ve been hiding, “Have you been experiencing weird things lately?”

Her eyes darted around the room, struggling to avoid my stare; I pricked onto her guilt very quickly.

“I-I can assure you, I’m fine,” She said, failing to reassure me, “Is this why you came back so early? Because you were worried about me?”

“Well, y-yeah, but I have reason to believe there’s a serious problem.”

"What do you mean?"

"Gentlemen, please," I call for Adonias and Felix to come in.

"Dahlia, who are these people?" Olive began to tense, "Why have you brought them here?"

I backed away from her to introduce them.

"This is Doctor Tobias Robitel," I gesture towards Adonias, "and his scholarly companion Rigel Scott," then to Felix.

"We're happy to see that you at least look well, your Grace," Tobias smiled warmly, the character settling in very quickly.

"I got word from one of our informants that you contracted a mysterious illness," I said, "so I came in contact with them and headed right back here."

Olive clasped her hand closed, remaining composed, "Wherever that informant got that information from was clearly trying to cut your time within the Edith Mountains short. I can assure you that I'm fine."

I sigh, "At least let them give you a check up? It'll be quick!"

I turn to Tobias, "It'll be quick, right?"

"As long as there is nothing wrong with her," He replied.

He then instructed Olive to sit back down and relax. I was asked to dull the fire by the fireplace.

The plan was originally going to be a lot tamer than this, with a lot more dancing around in conversation, but Felix's suspicions about Olive being able to catch on had legitimate weight. She knew I was back too early, and far too many servants have noticed my lack of explanation.

I don't know if it was really me that wanted to go for the backup plan so quickly. Hypnosis wasn't exactly fun when you're put under it.

"Dahlia, how did you meet these men?"

"They've, uh, they've treated my family before! They mostly spend time with my older sisters."

"It's true," Rigel mixed some tea and whiskey together from the tray of bottles and cups for Olive's comfort, "the more delicate Ladies of House Joyce call upon our help a lot."

"I…see," Olive was visibly still tense, "I suppose you must be really good at your jobs, then?"

"We wouldn't be here if we weren't," Adonias—Tobias—then pulled out his watch from his coat pocket.

Once everything seemed set, he began his work.

Olive was asked to drink the beverage, with me behind her for comfort and Rigel on watch and notetaking.

"It'll be alright," I whisper to Olive's ear. This action relaxed her a little, and then she was suddenly face-to-face with the moving stopwatch.

I kept an eye on her as Doctor Robitel did his work, memories of feeling half-asleep coming back to me.

“I need you to imagine that you’re in a safe place.”

I tried my hardest to avoid the pendulous swing of the pocket watch, my vision focusing on the Doctor and his literally glowing eyes.

“Where are you, my Lady?”

Olive clutches my hand firmly, “I’m in someone’s room. I’m not sure who it belongs to, but it’s inside this place.”

“That’s good,” The red in his eyes got stronger as his voice softened.

Her grasp began to shiver.

“I smell orchid perfumes,” She said, "Like the ones I got for my wedding."

“What else?”

“I…”

All of a sudden, I caught her thumb beginning to emit wisps of light.

The pain in mine returned, and I can tell the same was happening to Tobias—Adonias—as well.

And it seemed that the doctor was beginning to lose control of the hypnosis.

“Stay with me, Duchess Langston,” There was strain in his voice, “Do you hear anything?”

Olive inhaled sharply then breathed out shakily.

“Cracks,” Her eyes opened, and the red was bright and glowing, matching the hypnotist’s, “Angry crowds, a-and whispers.”

As she said this, the sounds in question actualized, and I swore this room was not this dark at all.

“Try to think about Lady Dahlia,” He had a hand on one of his temples, struggling to maintain the speed of the pocket watch’s swing, “Doesn’t she feel good to be around?”

That was a grave miscalculation. Everything got darker, and–

“I-I don’t like this anymore, Doctor,” She let go of my hand to soothe whatever was going on in her thumb, “I don’t understand how this is helping me!”

Suddenly, the pocket watch exploded, and there was a sharp pain shooting in my temples.

I hold onto the chair Olive had suddenly stood up from, and I glance to find Adonias collapsed into Rigel–Felix’s—arms.

His thumb was glowing, and was groaning in obvious pain.

“Enough of this nonsense,” She said, eyes red and bloodshot, “Some Doctor you are!”

I weakly stand up, the pain still present.

“Olive, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

She turned to me, “What was? That ‘doctor’ was trying to make me do things I didn’t want to do!”

“We meant no harm, your Grace,” Felix joined the conversation, Adonias leaning on him semi-consciously, “The method was to make the flesh, er, more easily persuaded so we can get the disease out of the body! Or to identify it, in this case.”

She looked offended.

“See yourselves out, Mr. Scott.”

“But–”

“Permanently.”

I was then brought to shrieking, as Adonias forcefully covered Felix’s mouth in a smothering motion, another hand on the other’s throat.

He wouldn’t do that, and it was obvious to everyone else that he wasn’t in control.

I looked to see Olive’s eyes worsen, a determined grin with a hint of malice on her face.

“Olive, make him stop!”

Felix grunted as he let go of Adonias’s blind restraints, now struggling to fight him off.

“I said make him stop!”

She faced me.

“Don’t you see that these men deceived you? You’re my wife, I couldn’t let that continue. Never again!”

“They’ve done nothing wrong, Olive! A-And I’m not the one being deceived here. You are!”

“What are you talking about, Dahlia?”

I pulled her wrist to display her glowing thumb.

“This is what I’m talking about.”

Olive paused.

“W-What does this have to do with the Doctor?”

“The thing that gave you this is the source of the illness!”

I show my thumb, “I have it!”

I point at Adonias, clearly still under Olive’s influence, “He has it!”

“W-What?”

“And that means I know how you got it,” My brain felt tired of explaining the same story over and over again, “Rigel has the book of all the contracts. We were meaning to get rid of ours until—”

“You saw mine.”

“Yes, which was why we rushed here” I let go, “And we fear that if we don’t trace the person who has been making these deals everywhere, more people would be put in danger.”

Olive glanced at her hand, then at the two other men in the room.

“You can stop.”

Adonias breathed, as if life had come back to him. Felix quickly checked to make sure he was okay.

Olive turned back to me.

“What did you ask for?”

“To, er, save the poor Doctor. He almost died within his own deal, and I made a rather impulsive decision.”

Suddenly, Olive embraced me. And began crying.

“O-Olive?”

She sniffed as she let go of me, wiping away her tears.

"We're so stupid," She muttered out in teary delirium, "No responsible person would do the things we do."

I chuckle.

"But we clean up our own messes. Isn't that responsible enough?"

Olive sighed, smiling at me with now bluer eyes.

"I suppose I have to apologize, gentlemen," She then turned to my other companions, "My feelings clearly got in the way of your process."

"Nonsense, your Grace," Felix replied, arm now around Adonias, who seemed to be slowly recovering.

"Y-Yes," Adonias said, "quite frankly, your reaction is quite new. It would make a good clue to our, er, investigation."

"Let's save the dirty details for dinner," Olive raised a hand to them, "of which I would like to cordially invite you both, for lack of a better apology."

"We'd be delighted to."

Dinner was fruitful and hearty as always. Adonias got along swimmingly well with Olive, something I did not expect. I suppose that's what calculated minds do when in proximity with each other.

We had used the smaller, more intimate tables, despite the grandiose servings and courses we had, but the food was filling, especially that we had to keep moving.

In our attempts to learn more about the Cursed Spirit from Olive, we had discerned that:

• The Spirit has gained enough power to disguise itself as other people

• He no longer needs the Book to make deals, only some semblance of parchment

• The Spirit's influence not only can bring out the worst in others, but also literally manifest it magically

• We can feasibly diminish the Spirit's influence with the right conversation

I informed Olive that I intended to send the gentlemen out myself, of which she obliged. There are some things that are better off unexplained, at least for a while.

"I worry of the danger we might bump into at the next person we find," Felix said to me and Adonias, "The Duchess managed to reverse the hypnosis on you, Adonias."

"I'm still quite shaken by it, I won't lie," He replied, going through the notes I made at the dinner table, "But the concern you raised is legitimate. You said magic doesn't exist here, right, Rae—sorry, Dahlia?"

"Not in this book, no," I said, fidgeting with my pocket watch, "Not every world I walk into is fantastical."

"Yes, and as we've seen it, the Spirit can equip its victims to hinder us," Felix pulled out the Book of Curses, checking for new names.

"Are there any worlds where we can be equipped with some kind of magical defense of sorts?" Adonias asked, handing me back my sketchbook, "We could head there then be sent off to the next possible place we can find the Cursed Spirit."

I tried to think, and I then quickly figured out a good place to go next.

"There is one, actually," I said, which got their attention, "And it might just do the trick."

Felix readied his ring-pin, "Alright, tell us what we need to know."

"Well, here's what you guys need to know about the kingdom of Leodas…"

Chapter Text

"You haven't touched your meal,"

I snap into consciousness, overwhelmed by the smell of steamed vegetables, meaty gruel, and buttered bread.

"Emelia?"

Glancing at myself, I noticed that my hair was short and lavender dyed. I had a choker around my neck, and my ears were pierced with dangling golden crescents. My bag was hung on the side of my chair. I bent my toes, wrapped in nightly boots and socks.

"Clement!" I blinked, breaking a shy smile before blowing off the warm steam from a spoonful of gruel, "S-Sorry. I didn't mean to doze off like that."

Concern lined his violet eyes, "Are you well-rested?"

Clement Ashkettle was the White Owl Oracle, and for quite some time, he repeatedly used his power to ensure my survival and the peace of all in Leodas.

I remember him carrying me to my cabin by his treehouse, keeping me well-rested for a few days. He somehow knew just what I needed to recover as soon as possible.

When word of my actions had reached members of the Apothecary Guild, I had apparently gained a wide reputation for being a vagabond apothecary, the attractive kind, in the same way history draws out edgy revolutionaries. (And a part of me supposed that some very important people I met helped shape that image.) In that, it was as though most of the Guild was about to disband, especially now that all of its leaders were gone.

We had been sought out for political business by the King. Well, it was mostly Clem that the King wanted, pondering and pleading for knowledge that would help him make good decisions for the Kingdom. Clement has told me that the Royal Family not only has a poor understanding of the works of apothecaries, but also the works of the Temple of Beornric. I reckon having ambitious advisers makes it easy for one to close their minds and mouths so easily.

My influence on Clement had been significant, it had seemed, as apothecaries had gained freedom once more, a kind not seen since before the Omeras disaster. People will trust anything from an oracle (the King especially), and I suppose I now had an oracle who would trust anything from me.

Frankly, all this meant that I've succeeded in creating what I've wished for the apothecaries I knew—to be able to help others in one's own creative way, and not to be bound by rules that could be repurposed to create more harm than the help it was meant to. In this returned freedom, it seemed that some political tensions had lessened. Marlisle had been reborn.

But let's be realistic. Not all of that goes away, especially very quickly. The situations in other towns and kingdoms have mostly remained the same in response to the developments in Leodas—apprehensive.

"Is it the food? If it's not to your liking, I could—"

"It's nothing, r-really," I cut Clement off, "I was just…recollecting. Y'know, o-of when we stopped Charon."

Clement tensed slightly, like I said something he had been anticipating.

"It has been quite some time since then," He exhaled, "It also has been some time since my last, er… vision. My last grand need for one, anyway."

I adjust the beige cloak hanging over my purple clad person, "You'd tell me if you needed to make another, right?"

He gave me a look of surprise, like I prodded at something I wasn't supposed to know.

"When the time is right."

Clement then continued to finish his meal. I did too, curious at the oracle's sudden tenseness.

When lunch was over, Clement insisted that he clean up.

"I have a list of requests for you," Clement picked up the used mugs from the table, "a number are Royal commissions."

"Did you get the bottle sets I wanted?"

"Yes, all assorted. They are in your shed," He smiled faintly, "Forty-two from six boxes of seven, as per your request."

He seemed really keen on me leaving.

"Thanks Clement."

He chuckled as he entered the Kitchen space, "You know I'll do anything for you, Emmie."

The nickname made me freeze briefly.

That… has never made me uncomfortable before, so why is a part of me weirdly fighting that act of affection?

Taking my bag from the chair and my wide brimmed hat from the doorhooks of the tower entrance, I then proceeded to do the potions I needed to do.

I entered my shed to find a bundle of papers atop my multipurpose counter-table.

There was only one Royal Commission, and it was a large order of Deepsleep Potions. Clement stuck a note to the bottom:

For his Majesty's ease of mind. I find it amusingly curious that he has chosen to use my services this way.

He wrote nothing else. The thought of pacts comes to mind, but I immediately brush it away. Treasonous libel is the last thing I want to be guilty of, especially right now.

I checked the rest to find five anonymously requested recipes, all unnamed, with combinations I have never seen before. These had no date or indication of deadline, which was odd.

Weirdly enough, upon checking my potion stock, I had just enough to fulfill the Royal Commission, but not the rest. Considering I had to make about thirty-seven bottles, I can save the other requests for another day. No deadlines, am I right?

I then set to work, making the Deepsleep Potions in a variety of flavors, as indicated in the commission.

As I worked, I pressed my mind to recall what had happened so far in my journey with Felix and Adonias. We had come here to arm ourselves magically—bless Felix and his magic pin—so where in this world were my other companions?

I was halfway done when I decided to pause for a bit and get some air. I walked outside, brushing my hands against the crystal primrose meadows I remember lovingly arranging with Clem.

"Crap!”

I quickly drew away my hand, seeing the color flow in and out of my thumb.

The crystal primrose was able to detect the contract that I (or Rae, if it really was truly her) made with the Invisible Man. It was like when I first discovered the numerous pacts Clement had made with Beornric with these flowers.

If he knew I made a pact that was this grave, he would become very upset!

I mean, not that I don’t want to tell Clement, I really do, but he did so much for me here, and I would not like him to strain himself so much for things beyond this world.

I already have two guys with me, with one that I know who wants my affection, so could I really add one more?

"Want a little something that might help?" Clement called out, surprising me from my thoughts, waving at me. He had raised up what appeared to be two bottles of my hauling potions that I must’ve given him a few days back.

"Gimme!" I yelled back, arms outstretched.

He then threw the bottles at an unusual angle, but I thankfully caught them perfectly in each hand. I then used the potions to add ease into my work, lathering them on my palms like sanitizer as I went to continue.

I noticed that it took a while for Clement to leave. Was he trying to watch me finish?

I was almost done when I saw Oz fly from town, soaring above me as he began to perch onto Clement's shoulder. Perhaps Clem had been waiting for him.

They were whispering quietly, which ate at my curiosity.

We locked eyes, violet eyes towards...emerald ones! I know my eyes here are green as gardens should be.

Clement went back inside with Oz. I finished up the last of my potions, then I cleaned up and headed back inside Clement's tower.

"Clement?" I asked out loud, put off by the eerie emptiness as I walked inside. It didn't help that I got no response either.

I suddenly remembered that I overheard Clem sending Oz out the night before I went to bed, something about "keeping an eye out for any suspicious characters around Tate."

Now that the thought came to mind, what on Earth was he concerned about? I haven’t brought that bard up in conversation for quite some time, so perhaps he had a vision and didn’t want to involve me in it.

By the gods! We’re both keeping secrets from each other!

I decided to go upstairs, where I last saw him.

"...art thou certain? Even after what I have freely given thee, without trade?"

I was by the top of the stairs, pausing in shock. That was Beornric! This confirms that what Clement is decidingly hiding from me is a big deal.

"Do you fail to recognize how much I went through to even achieve this timeline at all? I will not risk losing this reality again. I refuse, Beornric."

"Let it be known that the weight of all these things is from thine choices, not mine. Thy apothecary knows this too."

"Don't use Emelia to move me!"

"The method is tried and true. Thou sought my help, and this is how I could help."

I crept to find the door slightly ajar, and I could see Clement, sitting on the floor with Oz on his shoulder, facing the glowing figure of the God of Fate, more manifested than reflected from the room windows.

“Besides, is it not because of her that I have been summoned before thee? Where is the brave soul from long ago? Where art thou, who bound the King of Leodas to me? Who art thou that sits before me, now no longer the oracle that I know?”

"Gods, I forgot how easy it is for you to test my patience!" I could see the worry in Clem's gestures.

“Thy patience?! Such audacity, Clement Ashkettle!”

Clement groaned, "Oz, what did you last see the two do with Tate Lain again?"

The owl hooted, "Drinking at the tavern the bard usually visits. There's no tournament this evening, and I heard gossip that Mr. Lain plans to use the lack of occasion to welcome the two with hospitality."

"That means they'll definitely be hungover in the morning, a-assuming all of them drink, or if they have no access to some sort of anti-hangover potion—"

"Thy mumbling is pathetic," Beornric spat. "Why not take action at this time?"

Clement repeated with gritted anger, "For the last time, I'm not making another pact with you. Don't even think of trying to drag Emelia into this."

That was when the headless figure turned directly at me.

“Fool, she is the one dragging you!"

Suddenly, the door was blown open, smacking against the wall, revealing me to all in the room.

"Emelia?!" Clement stood up immediately, "H-How long have you been listening?"

I straightened myself up, still flustered from being caught eavesdropping.

"I was looking for you, Clem, but i-it seems that you're, uh, apparently busy."

"Greetings, Apothecary," Beornric waved from behind Clement, "or should I call thee by thy true epithet—Traveler?"

"Beornric, please," Clem and I told him off at the same time.

The oracle faced back towards me, but he couldn’t look directly at me.

"We are to meet two strangers tomorrow, Emelia," He then said as he organized his thoughts, "and I have reason to believe that they might be dangerous."

I knew Clement was obviously talking about Felix and Adonias.

I thought about my reply. Do I question Clement's assumptions or not?

I choose not to do so.

"Beornric, what else do you have to say about these men? Clearly, you were informing Clement about all this."

Beornric guffawed, his cloak vibrating with his laughter.

"Out of all men,” If he had a face, he would surely be smiling amusingly, “must thou inquire at all, Traveler?"

Why must he be so annoying?

"This isn't about what I know, Beornric. You know that too."

"Emmie, what are you talking about?” Clement was confused.

"Doth thou desire for thy oracle to?"

"Damn it man," I pinched the bridge of my nose, "I know what you’re trying to do. This isn't the time to make silly drama out of this!"

Beornric dropped his air of amusement.

"Well, if the Princess of Time insists. Thou ought to converse with thy oracle amongst the meadow of weedy primrose."

The title made Clement look at me with crooked brows, clearly uncomfortable with not knowing me all of a sudden.

"That…doesn't sound too bad," I told the God of Fate.

“What did he mean by that?” Clement asked out loud.

I then turned to him, "Let's talk outside, yeah? You explained yourself, and it’s only fair that I do too."

“So…you do know these men?”

And there it is.

“I said outside, Clement.”

Clement calmed down a little but remained nonetheless tense, smiling faintly as he nodded. He took my hand and gestured for me to lead us out.

"Farewell, O Avatar of Stories," Beornric said to me before leaving, "and send my regards to your Master."

“I-Is that what Beornric meant when he called you ‘Traveler?’”

It had been painfully quiet when we descended. Beornric absolutely knew I needed the fresh air.

I crushed the crystal primrose Clement placed in my hand, "Pretty much."

He scratched the back of his neck, "So those men I've been seeing—"

"Companions of mine. One's from another world, the other's just like me. Well, somewhat like me."

It was good to know that Clement seemed more relieved than anything.

"Beornric told me of a danger beyond Leodas. I assume you must be familiar with it then?"

"The Cursed Spirit," I felt the crushed flower dissolve in my hand, "one of my companions knows it better than me and anyone else I know."

I let the wind take the powder from my hands.

"It preys on the vulnerable by locking them into deals—"

"Pacts?"

I paused.

"That is definitely a pact," Clement pointed at my open hand.

"Gods, you're right on that," I chuckle lightly then sigh, "The Cursed Spirit was said to be the manifestation of spite by a group of tortured witches, using their magic to make nightmares out of the desires of others."

"That must be quite a monster,"

"It is."

Clement, eyes purple and pleading, gently took my marked hand, brushing his thumb against mine.

"What did it offer you?"

I recoil from his touch.

"If you know the call you're offered by Beornric everyday, well… the Spirit offered me pretty much the same thing."

Clement reached for my hand again, "...for whom, then?"

"Clem—"

"I-I won't be mad, really!" He held on, firmer this time, "Frankly, I'm honored to be worthy of a hero's affection."

The way he said that made me blush, "Oh, stop that,"

"I mean it, shooting star. What matters to me is that you're alive and well."

I sigh.

"It was to save one of those companions you saw. He made a deal with the Cursed Spirit so he would be able to pursue me. Well, a version of me, and damn, did it work! S-sort of."

"He sounds like me."

"Eh, not quite."

Clement glanced up at the sky. It was dark, and the moon was rising. The flowers sparkled the darker it got.

“I admire the size of your heart, Emelia.”

His eyes looked like they were aglow.

I smile, “Well, I admire the sparkle of your eyes.”

He chuckled back, then placed a hand on my cheek.

“I must confess something.”

“What is it?”

“Remember when we defeated Charon together?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, Beornric had spoken to me the night I brought you back from the dryad’s hotel,” Clement began to pull me towards the lake by the front.

Where was this going? “What did he tell you?”

Clement paused, clearly trying to word what he wanted to say carefully.

“He said that I should pay attention to your eyes.”

He then gestured towards the lake’s reflection of us. My eyes were as bright and purple as his at that moment.

“They changed this morning. I didn’t understand it then, but everything had clicked itself together today.”

Oh my God, “C-Clem—”

"Anyways, it's getting late, Emelia,” He then gestured back towards our abode, “We should head inside and rest. You, especially, are going to need it.”

Chapter Text

Oz had woken me up before the sun had risen, rapping at my shed and yelling from outside.

I washed up and put on my usual wear from yesterday. I then looked through my potion stock. I still had a decent amount of various moon dews, imp dust, glacial frost, and fire rubies, but that was it.

"Hoot!" Oz began rapping at my door, "You must rise already, Emelia!"

"I'll be out in a bit!" I shouted back as I rummaged for literally anything else I could scavenge.

Everything else was all gone. All I had were plain foundational materials and nothing more.

After a brief period of frustration, I finally decided to head outside. Oz waited for me. 

"The guests will be arriving soon.”

“I know, Oz.”

Rising early likely meant that the rest of my party was going to show up in the latter part of the morning, which may explain why Clement, through Oz, was so quick to wake me.

In the wait, Clem and I began preparing a decent breakfast for five. Working with him in the kitchen area felt nice, and I was drawn to the domesticity of it all.

I had placed the last set of bowls when Oz came flying towards us.

“They’re here!” He repeated several times.

“Right on cue,” I remarked to Clement.

“You know I saw them coming, Emelia.”

We chuckled, then paused at the sound of footsteps nearing the tower.

“...I mean, not that I dislike Clement Ashkettle—by all means, he’s a very respectable man. I'd let him save me given the circumstances! I-It's just that I'm not fond of oracles and of priests, particularly the ones beholden by a particular god that I know makes dreadful use of them.”

As well as the loud, slightly careless chatter of one Tate Lain. 

"Never saw you as the irreligious kind, Mr. Lain."

That sounded like Adonias.

"I was almost forced to become one of those priests. If I had not chosen to become a bard, I could very well be the White Owl Oracle you and your very distant cousin are seeking at this moment, Tristan."

"Would you be more responsible than the Master of the Tower?"

I hear the sound of a door open.

Tate guffawed back, "Let's not wound the poor man, now,"

“It just dawned on me why you’re so tight-lipped about our dear Emma—er, Emelia,” and that was Felix.

“Well,” Tate sputtered, “w-we are but a crew of spurned lovers. Are we not, gentlemen?”

Felix tsked, "Very defeatist of you, my dear bard! I know I’m not spurned yet."

Adonias interrupted him, “Enough now. We’re already here!”

I glanced at Clement, who was presenting a very reserved demeanor.

“Emelia?” Tate caught us as he called out, “Oh, it has been too long!”

As I approached to greet the party, Tate quickly embraced me. 

By the gods, I have missed him so much.

He let go first, and quickly too, “I hope you and Clement don’t mind a surprise visit?”

“It’s not really a surprise,” Clement replied before I could, “well, except for those two new friends of yours in our company.”

Clem then turned to Felix and Adonias, who clearly trailed behind Tate, “Mind introducing yourselves? I-I’m glad to welcome any gentleman, especially if they have business with the White Owl Oracle.” 

“Mr. Lain told us as much,” Felix responded. 

Putting a hand to his chest, “I’m Waldo Wright. This other fellow here is Tristan Vossen.”

Adonias, or Tristan, nodded at Clement, “A good morning to you, sir.”

“Why don’t we discuss your troubles after breakfast?” I interrupted Clement, “After all, you three clearly came a long way, especially on foot.”

With that, all of us ate. It was simple and filling, with hash pockets and eggs by Clement, as I had done the morning meats and coffee.

The costume changes were a lot to take in once again. The wear of Waldo and Tristan made the two blend in with this world really well without compromising their unique styles. Waldo Wright had an eye-catching cloak, white and silvery, with the magic pin keeping it in place. It covered a nightly blue bodysuit paired with a silver corset, as well as matching earrings and matching boots, chains all over dangling and sparkly.

Tristan Vossen looked more familiar to me, the style of blouse identical with Adonias’ own in all but color, with black cotton over white silk. The vest was more like a sleeveless long coat with a hood at the back, dark maroon and plated with gold. The pocket watch I had from the last jump was chained onto his person. His pants and shoes matched the coat, and he had golden spats too. He also had makeup on, simple rouge around the eyes and cheeks to emphasize the sharpness of his eyeliner.

They get more and more stunning the further along we go.

Tate was loud, exaggerating some of what I knew were Waldo and Tristan’s stories. Descendants of a man from Omeras whose children left the area before dying in the disaster seeking family history isn’t too bad, to be fair.

As more interesting stories came out, it then occurred to me that what Tate had been saying about my off-world companions had some layer of truth. It made me wonder why Felix’s pin splits our party during travel.

It’s learning that Waldo Wright drinks a lot and is embarrassingly a flirty drunk to anyone, or that Tristan Vossen insisted to Tate Lain that a custom syringe was the perfect gift for him to give me.

“It’s really kind of you guys to go out of your way to give me gifts,” I said.

“We have gifts for Mr. Ashkettle as well,” Felix, as Waldo, responded, “if he is happy to receive them, of course.”

Clement cleared his throat, “O-of course, I am. I don’t get so many, anyway. Being a recluse will do that.”

I chuckle to fill the awkward air, “We’re excited to see them.”

When we had finished eating, Tate laid out the gifts, for he had been the one carrying them.

Apparently the three each had something for us.

I received the said syringe from Adonias, the sight of it making all of us laugh. It was made from exquisite glass and fortified gold alloys, the look elegant and expensive. He kept defending his choice to get it, since apparently getting any necessary samples was easier with one.

Felix got me a bag of link conches, very enamored by how they worked. The ones he got were dipped in crystalline dyes, all of them colorful and pleasing to the eye.

Tate had gotten me a published book he got written that detailed my journey in stopping Charon. It was a collection of varying perspectives, not just from involved parties but passing witnesses too! He said that he hopes it gets popular beyond the walls of Leodas. The cover also looks like the one listed in the Story Desk. How odd.

For Clement, Tate had gotten family jewelry for him to accept. Apparently Tate’s father used to serve at the temple and left many things for his son should he follow in his footsteps. Clement was thankful that Tate didn’t throw the trinkets away, that they would be put to good use.

Felix had gotten five of what a seller told him was a "Probability Present" or some quirky kind of mystery box. While those were obviously parlor toys for young children to waste their money on, Felix must've thought it would be clever and cheeky of him to give them to an oracle.

Adonias went for an Owl Grooming kit, curious upon hearing stories about Oz. Lanceno doesn't have talking animals unlike Leodas. It would be practical, of that he mused to Clement.

I loved the gifts, and Clement was pleased with them too.

"By the way," Clement said, "Tate, I must, er, speak with you privately."

"This should be interesting," The bard chuckled, "let's not bore our friends for too long, Clement."

The two began to go upstairs.

"You underestimate our Emmie's charms, and the cleverness of her friends…"

It then hit me that Clement did that so I can have alone time with Felix and Adonias.

"That Tate fellow can be quite overwhelming, I must confess," Adonias said to me once the two were no longer audible.

“The good kind of overwhelming!” Felix defended, "if he's that much fun alone, I can't imagine what he must be like while performing!"

I hold back a snicker, "You don't know?"

"Quite frankly, he seemed keen on avoiding the topic," Adonias said, "is he not actually a bard?"

"Oh, he definitely is. Just not a good one."

"He didn't seem to act wicked," Felix was in disbelief, "Why? Did he do something wrong to you, er…E-Emelia?"

"No no no," I chuckled as I corrected him, "He's a sweetheart, pathetic as he can be sometimes. He just has such a terrible voice. Like, a supernaturally terrible one."

"No need to exaggerate, Emelia."

“No, I genuinely mean it! There was that one time where we had to fight off a bunch of sirens—”

“Which he managed to defeat with the power of his voice,” Felix finished, “Yes, he told us that story.”

“Yeah,” I repeated, “the ‘power’ of his voice.”

"...oh." It then really hit him.

"I refuse to believe that you thought he was telling the truth," Adonias said to Felix, "like, you do know it was obvious from his speech that he was embellishing, right?"

Felix cupped his face, "Must you chastise my interest in this man?"

"I have no obligation to praise it."

"Do you guys bicker this much when I'm not around?" I interrupted.

Felix removed his hands from his face, giving me a look. 

"Like we didn't bicker before we properly knew each other, Emmie."

"Don't call me that!"

"Sorry, Emelia," He was taken aback by my outburst, "...but seriously—"

"I know what you mean. Sorry that I find waxing poetic during political volley to be annoying."

"Every journey we're in demands introspection. I stand by that."

"I like being philosophical too," Adonias spoke up, "but I agree with Emelia about that being annoying, especially when it's derailing the crisis at hand."

He then turned to me, "What have you gotten so far?"

"Well, Clement knows what's going on. Whether or not his skills will be useful is beyond me."

"You said you're an apothecary in this world," Adonias pressed further, "Do you have any potions that can help us? Recipes, even?"

"All I've done are Royal Commissions! Quite frankly, I don't think the King of Leodas has anything to do with this."

"Maybe we need to make the potions together," Felix said, "do you have ingredients with you?"

"Not enough," Cutting me off, Clement had just descended from upstairs. Tate was following close behind.

I smile at him cheekily, "Have you been eavesdropping on us?"

"Nope, we just came down."

"He says that one of you has a sketchbook," Tate tensely addressed Felix and Adonias while pointing a thumb at Clement, "One that contains some sort of puzzling poem?"

"By the gods!" I quickly went to check my purse, finding no sketchbook there, "I didn't think I'd be losing things too."

"I have it," said Adonias, pulling it out from within his long jacket, "I suppose Mr. Ashkettle has caught you up, then?"

"All up to date," He approached to get it, "now what parts do you gentlemen not understand?"

Clement then took me aside, taking me towards the gifts piled up in one corner. He took the jewelry and the owl grooming kit.

"The boxes are yours," He said, "What you'll need is in there."

I stared at the boxes, "Need?"

"What you need for the potions you came back here for," He pointed at them with his head, hands full, "I'm going to look for a place for these, then the rest of us will join you soon."

As Clement went back upstairs, I approached the box stack and opened one.

He was right.

Upon further inspection, the mystery recipes were just for me and my party.

The first I figured out was what I dubbed Linking Liquid.

I grinded all the link conches I had into powder with a mortar and pestle. I had to use waxing moon dew, which weirdly enough I had acquired a lot of from one too many mistakes at attempting to create full moon dew.

As I let the mixture simmer in my cauldron, I reread the recipe.

Length of the liquid's function lasts for twenty-four hours. DO NOT CONSUME ANOTHER DOSAGE WITHIN SAID TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. Liquid can be taken again after.

I nodded to myself as I watched the mixture begin to change color—a bright, brilliant blue.

I checked the paper again.

Create an incantation with your partner/s. That can be used to activate and deactivate the linking function within twenty-four hours. Say it once before and after drinking the potion.

Just in time, there was a knock on my door. Like Clement had said!

“Look, I only have one cauldron here,” I said to them, handing the four remaining papers, “So to speed things up, we should sort whatever we have by recipe.” 

Their help was invaluable. The fact that each paper was so detailed about each brew really intrigued me. It’s a miracle Clement got these at all without trade or compromise!

I named the succeeding recipes as follows: 

• Miasma Magnifier, a mist which widens the scope of a whiff of Black Miasma, as well as make it last longer

• Revealing Dust, which can either be rubbed on the eyes or sprinkled on a person or object to see through illusions or charms

• Projectile Potion, a liquid that can be used to create controlled attacks of plasma for as long as it can interact with solid metals

• And Beornric’s Clarity.

This last one stood out from the others, one of the reasons being that Clement insisted on this over Felix’s suggestion of “Rewinding Rigor.” The ingredients weirdly produced a solid cylinder of sorts. The paper indicates this to be a protective charm, so we couldn’t exactly test this one the same way we did the previous ones.

It was still in the cauldron when we figured out what to do with it.

“Let me try something,” or rather, when Tate figured out what to do with it.

He removed one of the ties that styled his hair and carefully reached into the cauldron to tie it around the cylinder.

“What are you trying to do?” Clement asked.

“Oh!” Felix answered for Tate, “You’ve figured out the purpose of the cylinder!”

“Correct.”

“It's a little unsanitary to use one of your own hair ties, don’t you think?” Adonias voiced out.

“I bathe every day, Tristan!” Tate replied, offended as he pulled himself away from the cauldron, “Do you think it’s unsanitary, Emelia?”

Tate had the cylinder properly dangling from the hair tie like a makeshift necklace.

The thought counts, “I have nothing to worry about if it’s gifts from you, Tate.”

He hands the charm to Clement, “Will you do the honors?”

Clement showed surprise briefly, shocked that Tate didn't use the opportunity to make the gesture himself, before nodding curtly and gently placing the charm around my neck.

It…was quite ugly, but my companions and I knew it had to work.

“I suppose this means you have to leave?” Tate then asked me and my off-book companions.

“We did spend more than a day here,” Adonias said, “and more danger will arise the longer we delay.”

“There aren’t any new names yet,” Felix joined in, showing us the Book of Curses unchanged, “which is a good thing.”

“We’re thankful for the help you guys gave us,” I said, “even if you couldn’t properly decode the poem.”

"It's no problem," Tate replied, smiling at us.

“Emelia,” Clement took my hands.

“Yeah?”

“I really want to come with you, you know?”

It would be really good if Clement did come, "I'd like that."

“Aren’t you under the King’s service?” Tate quipped at him, interrupting Clement.

“Y-Yes, which unfortunately is why I can’t come, no matter how much I want to.”

I glance at Felix and Adonias. Felix seemed as disheartened as I was, while I couldn’t get a read on Adnonias and his seemingly pensive expression.

“Your skill would be very useful to us, Mr. Ashkettle!” Felix protested, “Surely you can find a way to make arrangements?”

“You severely overestimate the power I have, Waldo.”

Adonias snapped his fingers, an idea lighting up his eyes, “Your owl, Oz! He speaks for you, does he not?”

Clement immediately understood what Adonias was suggesting, whatever that was, “Oh, Fate really is mysterious!”

Before I could ask, Clement rushed back to his tower, calling for Oz.

I turned to Adonias, giving him a look that begged for an explanation.

“Remember the first potion you made? That Linking Potion?”

“Linking Liquid,” I corrected, “...ah! That’s really clever!”

“It solves the issue regarding Mr. Ashkettle, does it not?” Adonias sounded proud of himself.

“This isn’t an excuse to get that owl all for yourself, right?” Felix teased, making us all laugh.

With Oz joining my party on Clement’s behalf, I think we’ll be ready for the next thing the Cursed Spirit is going to throw at us.

Chapter Text

"HOOT! HOOT!"

The feeling of splattered blood on my face woke me.

"WALDO, WATCH OUT!"

My eyes opened to a hissing shadowy figure, adrenaline fueling my blood and body to dodge an incoming attack.

My name is Felix Bailey, and I'm a Traveler. Currently, I seem to be in a dark alley.

The creature smacked its head against a wall, the one I was probably leaning on, and drew back dazed and in pain.

I clutched my magic pin that takes me through stories and time, the feel of its magic and power helping me ground myself faster. It glimmered as Oz hooted and yelled, fighting against the monster that must’ve tried to attack me while I was passed out.

Oz went in for the jugular before it could recover, his talons moist and dripping with its blood.

"STAY AWAY, FOUL CREATURE!" He squawked, scratching out the creature's eyes before it could fall and tumble.

I took a breath as I watched it collapse, before darting my eyes to the talking owl that bodied it.

"You look energized," I quipped at the bird.

"I HAVE BEEN FIGHTING OFF THESE BASTARDS FOR THE PAST THIRTY MINUTES!" Oz said, heaving in exhaustion, "Did you enjoy your beauty sleep?!"

"You know, jumping this much is quite exhausting, Oz," I told him, holding an arm out for him to perch on.

He got the memo and landed on my arm, "You could've died if not for my intervention, Mr. Wright."

"My hero," I said, feigning a damsel in distress.

The owl rolled its eyes, "We must find Seward Inn. Clement said that some important people we have to meet will be there."

“Important people?”

“A doctor, a trader, a poet, and a painter. I doubt we'll meet them all tonight, but we'll have to meet them all eventually."

"He briefed you well before our departure."

"It's standard practice for me, Waldo," He then pointed with his eyes to the satchel-bag at my side, "Also, everything valuable to the party is in that bag."

I took a peek inside and found that Oz was right. 

"Amazing how this bag appears bigger on the inside!" Included are some other valuables for me and Oz, “Here’s the Book of Curses, Stella Hoffmann's sketchbook, and Emelia Farrow's prepared potion stock…”

“And a silver dagger.”

“There’s no silver dagger in here, Oz.”

He leapt up, flying to my other side to inspect the bag himself, “Clement mentioned a silver dagger.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“It’s designed to repel creatures called vampires,” The owl said matter-of-factly, “Well, whatever those are. Never heard of such a creature in Leodas, or Draken, or any other kingdom, really!”

“Yeah,” I offer him my arm again, “I reckon those creatures that attacked us earlier might’ve been those vampires.”

Oz looked at me with alert eyes, “Why don’t we have the dagger?!”

I tried my best to stay calm, “Have you considered that maybe it’s with the missing half of our crew? It would make sense, don’t you think?”

The owl calmed down a bit, perching on my arm again.

“I suppose you have a point,” He replied, after which he proceeded to adjust the now-black cloak resting on his person. It made him look like a little monk.

“Did Clement give you any visual hints for Seward Inn?” I asked Oz, my eyes now towards the dark and foggy streets we were in.

“He mentioned an Eastern District of sorts, but frankly, I have no idea where we are.”

I nudged Oz to move on my shoulder as I began to move. This feels like London, a place I’ve been to many times. The grit of our location brings to mind my favorite Rembrandts. 

Judging by the cut of my new wear, the time period was definitely Late Victorian. 1870s to 1880s perhaps, one can never be too sure when it comes to these things. Not to mention that creatures of the night like vampires certainly didn’t exist. (Well, literal ones anyway.)

“Where’s the rest of us?” I thought out loud, startling Oz. I couldn't help my rather mild frustration.

“They should be looking for us soon,” The owl replied, “The men we need to meet will help us get to them as quickly as possible.”

We managed to remove ourselves from the alley, entering a very empty street devoid of people. The lamplights were mildly lit and flickering, the sound of crickets and ravens the only audible thing in the air.

“You think it’s a good idea to ask around?” I asked Oz, quieter this time.

“I pray the cops in these parts aren’t dangerous.”

In looking for a policeman, I caught instead the silhouette of a stranger entering another alley.

Oz caught him too not long after, flying after the stranger when he sensed my need to pursue this person.

I ran quietly as Oz flew over the stranger, so as to not startle them.

When I was close enough, I then called out to them, feigning an accent of particular distinction to sell the act of what I like to describe as “an Englishman who lived far too long in France and was therefore unable to speak English the right and proper British way again.”

“Excuse me? Can you help a poor traveler out in the middle of the night?”

This thankfully got their attention, the silhouette pausing to take a look at me.

“Odd time to be in London, sir,” The stranger was clearly male, “I assume you haven’t been here in a long time. It’s not very safe.”

We both began to approach each other. I could see Oz perched atop one of the buildings that formed the alley the stranger was in.

“A rather embarrassing situation had me leaving Normandy far earlier than I liked,” I said to him, “If you know any respectable inns, I would be happy to book myself a stay for the night.”

The stranger became clearer to me, the image of a blonde man around my age or younger formed before my eyes. He had a long brown coat on, as well as a beautifully-knitted scarf, clearly a man of middle class sensibility.

“You could’ve stopped at Brighton, sir. Why stop all the way here?”

“I intend to meet companions dear to me here in London,” As I said this, Oz flew down to perch on my shoulder.

“Ah, there you are!” I said to the bird, very much in character.

“I’m guessing no one in Brighton could accommodate your pet?”

Oz showed visible offense to the stranger’s remark, but the stranger remained amused anyway.

I decided to play on that, “That too, especially on such short notice. This is Oz, whom I purchased for the companions I was supposed to meet.”

“Excuse me?!” The owl squawked, but the stranger didn’t understand him at all. How odd.

The stranger tilted his head, curious at the owl’s feather coloring, “Where did you get him?”

I feign a haughty chuckle, emphasizing an attitude only attributable to a man familiar with aristocrats, “I found this beauty in the hands of a Monsieur Clement… Levoyant! A very prized and exquisite creature, this one!”

Oz then caught onto what I was doing and calmed himself, ruffling his feathers in continued but now mild offense.

“Let me guess—aristocrats?”

I nodded, “You know how they can be.”

The stranger looked around before putting a hand on my free shoulder.

“You’re lucky you found me and haven’t been attacked yet."

"I think I was, sir."

"You were?"

"Sickly-looking folk," I remove the stranger's hand from my person, "I think looking the slightest bit like a man of means has made me a target for the peasantry of this place."

He had a grim look in his countenance, "To be honest? The real reason is far more gruesome."

Oz nudged at me, communicating the fear in his eyes.

"And I'm sure you can help us avoid the gruesome nature of London, right?" I faced the stranger again.

"Well, I am headed to a meeting amongst friends of my own in an inn that can accommodate you.”

“That sounds delightful, sir!”

The stranger pursed his lips, “It’s unfortunately down the Eastern District, one of the most dangerous parts of this place. You're likely to get attacked again, sir."

“At this point, I’m no stranger to danger. I am quite determined to survive 'til tomorrow. Surely you'll grant a poor eccentric like myself that, er, Mister…?”

“Oh!” He drew himself back, “Where are my manners?”

He held out his hand, “Doctor Edward Grey.”

I shook on it, the new name forming on my lips in an instant.

“Archie Mayweather.”

It turned out that Dr. Grey was a doctor of medicine, and he had come from a long day of treating patients from a strange disease plaguing London.

Apparently the symptoms of this disease makes the infected resemble and behave like a certain creature of the night, hence the sudden uptick of discussions of horror. He frequently asserted to me that the disease has nothing to do with vampirism. In my mind, there was a 50/50 chance that Doctor Grey was either completely wrong or completely right.

I wish Emma, or whatever her name here was, could be with us to clarify, assuming she knows herself, of course. She enamors me, especially with how alike we are. When shall she stop obsessing over "matters of importance?" Where was her childlike wonder that I was told fueled every traveler to keep on moving?

As I walked behind Dr. Grey, I dragged Oz's hood up more to better shield him. He seemed to be pleased at this gesture.

"Who is this person you intend to meet, Mr. Mayweather?" Dr. Grey asked, "If you don't mind me asking, of course."

Oz chirped before I could reply, "Quentin Curtis! We're meeting Quentin Curtis!"

"Oz!" I reprimanded the owl.

Dr. Grey turned to face us, mildly chuckling, "It's a shame he isn't one of those talking birds."

It only then registered properly in mine and Oz's brains that Oz was incomprehensible to anyone else but myself.

"Mr. Mayweather?"

I blinked, "Only parrots can do that, Doctor Grey."

"Really?"

"Well, the smartest ones do," I watched Grey turn around and continue leading the way, "You can find many of them in Africa!"

"Is that so, Mr. Mayweather?"

"Many of them are more colorful than this bird, that's for sure," Oz then pecked at my shoulder for that.

"Such is the nature of an exotic place," mused the Doctor, "but, er, to repeat my question, Mr. Mayweather—For whom did you come to London for? As a doctor, I've come to know many people from all walks of life. Perhaps I know this person too."

"Are you then familiar with a Mr. Curtis, then, Doctor?"

"Hm, Curtis…?"

"Quentin Curtis?" I repeated, wondering the significance of the name Mr. Ashkettle passed onto Oz.

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that name." 

Before I could ask him more questions, he stopped me, the action making me anxious suddenly.

“Are we about to be attacked, Doctor?”

He looked around before answering. We had arrived by a dark cranny that had a small door lit with several melting candles. The sight had quite the touch of tenebrism, reminding me of the more haunting works of that bastard Caravaggio.

"No," 

He then did a series of syncopated knocks—slap, knock-knock, slap-slap, knock-knock-knock—the door immediately rattling unlocked after.

He turned to me as the door opened, "we're here."

Before I could follow him inside, Oz pecked at my shoulder, pointing me to blinking eyes I wasn't sure was watching us the whole time.

Doctor Grey redirected me to the innkeeper then left me to proceed to this meeting he mentioned.

The innkeeper was called Madame Betina, a middle-aged woman with a stern disposition. She named the place Seward Inn after the man who gave her a chance to start over with the business in question. She was quite chatty, giving me the impression that she was quite the hotbed of information.

"You sound French," She mused bluntly, "are you French? Far too many have come here, you know? The ones with their… European vices, anyway."

"I spent many years as a boy in Paris before moving back to Britain," I replied, swallowing my discomfort, "As far as I know, such men shouldn't cause you too much trouble."

"That much is true," she then stopped us at a room, dropping a key in my hand, "assuming you're a man of means, I've given a room most appropriate for you… and your pet owl."

"I'm grateful, Madame," I gave her a polite smile, "I shall compensate you properly in the morning."

She nodded, "If you're starving, we can prepare supper for you. Pardon the rendezvous happening in the bar should you decide to come over, sir."

With that, the Madame left Oz and I to our own devices.

The room itself was at least livable, curtains and carpeting maintaining an air of class possible for this inn to muster. I've survived through worse.

Once I locked the door behind me, Oz left my shoulder hooting, as though frustrated from keeping himself quiet. I immediately disrobe my coat.

"I was warned that I would be upset, but that was nothing like what I expected!" He exclaimed.

"What? That you'd immediately be robbed of your personhood?" I snarked at the owl, "I was under the impression you'd already be familiar with that."

"Just because I don't question my role as accessory to the Avatar of the Fate God Beornric? By that logic, any man with a job has no apparent personhood!"

I quickly realized that there was no use arguing, "Alright, I apologize. Let's just make this place a little more comfortable."

"Okay," Oz replied, "at least we found our Doctor."

"One down, three more to go!"

Oz had decided to stay in the room when I offered to go and get ourselves dinner. I was worried for his safety, but then he reminded me just how many vampires he knocked out to protect me. 

If he insists.

I followed the directions given to me by Madame Betina to the door to the bar, of which was a sliding slab of wood littered in ukiyo-e posters. It was so thin that I could see the people inside. The rendezvous the innkeeper mentioned was still ongoing, it had seemed. From the sound alone, I can make out a small union of men, mostly English with a few that sounded Scottish and German.

As I tried to slide in quietly, I eavesdropped a little.

"You're really confident with that Third Party theory you have, Eddie."

"It’s basic science, Ben! It’s better than any of our other theories that aren’t founded on reason.”

"Reason or none, we can't blame the doctor for having no Christian bone in his body."

"Healing people is my Christian duty, Charlie!"

Uninterested in swallowing that tension (as well as figuring out where that guy tied religion into all that), I looked for and finally eyed the barkeep. He apparently serves the food too, as I caught him trying to spoon feed some warm soup to a drunk.

He caught me as I approached, dropping the spoon in his hand with a splash.

"Are you here for a drink, sir?"

"A meal, actually. Madame Betina said there's still supper left."

"It's just our specialty hangover soup, mate."

"Anything to fill the stomach will do."

With a hmph, the barkeep went to get me the soup.

I glanced at the drunk, whose right side I decided to sit by. He was as sickly and raggedy as everyone in this district, almost dead if it weren't for his silent heaving.

I then drifted my attention back to the rendezvous, the tension seemingly subsided.

"...given the news about Professor Voss, cannot it be considered?"

"It is intriguing, but it is terrifying, Eddie. Biological warfare, how immoral! Godless! Such mad science should not be in the hands of someone so careless!"

"In better, more capable hands, that innovation would help man properly eradicate those monsters! Resistance isn't enough, and from Voss's work, hard to perfect."

“It’s still a fairly new science, gentlemen. We know the ancient Greeks didn’t get it right the first time, don’t we, Ben?”

“It’s hard to be forgiving when the consequences are this dire.”

Biological warfare? Hm, perhaps I have fallen into a cesspit of literary Gothic Horror. The environment does read like Stoker's Dracula crossed with Shelley's Frankenstein.

I wonder what prompts Emma to literally try everything? What's next after this?

"Soup," the barkeep came back, getting my attention.

I thanked him, nodding. The barkeep then went back to tending to the drunk, quieter this time, probably in acknowledgment of my presence.

The Hangover Soup was a bit too salty for my taste, but the flavors were quite enjoyable. It tasted like some sort of minestrone-curry, the profile betraying its rather unappetizing grayish hue.

I tried to leave a sizable amount for Oz, taking an empty bottle from my bag that I brought with me to the bar, pouring the contents of the leftover soup into it.

I fished out a small tip from the magic of my coat and left it on the table once I needed to leave for my room.

A feeling of discomfort began to overwhelm me as I walked back, the suggestive moaning and aggressive yelling from the rooms I passed by suddenly a lot harder to ignore.

I knew I had left the light in the room on, so why was I seeing shadowy silhouettes on the ground, just leaking out from under the door with moonlight rather than the shine of gas lamps?

I inhaled, bracing myself, and opened the door.

And there, cutting conversation, were the same eyes I saw before I entered the inn looking back at me, the hint of red telling me everything. The silhouette of a man was by the windowsill, and Oz was perched on his extended arm, his feathers bright under the lunar glow.

For reasons I still couldn't explain, I shut the door immediately.

I blinked, immediately realized that was an incredibly foolish action, and then opened the door again.

It was just Oz on the windowsill now, a confused look in his eyes.

I walked in, locking the door behind me, "I brought you some soup."

Once he saw me, the owl flew up in a frantic panic.

"By the gods, someone was in here! A-And—"

"Slowly, Oz," I extended my arm, should he want to perch.

“I felt overwhelmed by some sort of magic, Waldo!” He flapped his wings faster, “It’s worse than getting turned into wood, it’s disgusting!”

“I—what…?”

Oz made a noise of frustration, “I’ll tell you on another day. All I know is that one of those creatures came in here and overwhelmed me with their power!”

I looked around, feeling the off vibes in the air that Oz had been alluding to, but I could not see a single thing.

“And where are they now, exactly?” I pulled out the bottle with the soup, “I do think something’s wrong, but I don’t want to rule out the possibility that you’re probably just starving.”

I watched Oz lift a saucer that must’ve been left in the room, placing it down the bedside table. As he did so, I placed the bag on the foot of the bed.

He gestured with a talon for me to pour, “I don’t know, but you’re right. I am indeed hungry.”

I slowly poured out the soup, the aroma clearly making the bird excited.

“I’m surprised you’re not disuaded by its appearance, Oz.”

“If you ate it, I can too.”

Once I got all the contents out, I closed the bottle and—

My bag! Where did it go?!

“Oz—” I looked back to find him gone too, quietly just like that.

“Oz?”

“It’s rather peculiar for a man to speak to birds.”

I turned to the source of the new voice in the room—it was the man! And he clearly hadn’t left the room.

Upon closer inspection, the man had brown bob-like hair, of which was slightly disheveled from travel, as well as pale skin. His suit was in many blues, not unlike my own, but of a faded navy hue rather than the night-like shade of mine.

Oz was perched on his arm, his eyes now clearly blanked out like he was hypnotized.

And the bastard had my bag! 

“You make a peculiar thief yourself, sir.”

His red eyes flew towards my pin, which I then noticed was shimmering from the light entering the room.

“What are you here for, stranger?” He asked me with an iciness in his voice, the inconsistencies in his impressive British accent taking me back to that time I briefly visited Renaissance Romania to get a grasp of its architecture, “No human should have survived that many attacks in the middle of the night.”

“If you know that, then you should know why I’m here,” I straightened up my position to feign confidence and courage, “Hell, from that alone, you would've known that I’m not exactly the quietest man.”

“Oz, is it?” He addressed the bird, of whom absent-mindedly nodded back at him, “Right.”

He faced me again, the grip on my bag tighter now, “He’s quite the repository of information, much of which has brought you into my deepest concern.”

“Sir,” If he really wanted me gone, he would have tried to fight me in the alleyways much earlier, “I can assure you that I’m no threat. Not to you, nor do I have any interest in interfering with whatever it is you’re up to.”

“You spoke with the Doctor, which is interference enough.”

"Ah?" I raised a brow curiously, “I suppose you both have a rather intense rivalry, then? The hunter and hunted? Predator and prey?”

He looked impressed at my deduction, “Something like that.”

“I see.”

The red in his eyes intensified, his fangs growing visible, “Do tell me more about your business here. The owl told me you were seeking a doctor, a trader, an artist, and—”

“You’re the poet!” It clicked in my brain, and I sighed in relief, baffled as to how short the web's strings have become, “We seek a Quentin Curtis. Perhaps you know of him?”

He was taken aback by my sudden change in demeanor, “I don’t know such a name. Did you ask the Doctor?”

“I did, and unfortunately he doesn’t know him either,” I fidgeted with the bottle in my hands, “Maybe our trader and our artist might.”

“Do you know who he is?” Asked the vampire.

“He…” I began to think. Why would Mr. Ashkettle drop this name but not the names of the four that would lead to him?

“He what?”

Right! We needed to complete the party! This was Adonias!

“He’s a dear friend of mine,” I replied, “He’s not from London either. Last time we corresponded with each other, he insisted that we meet here in London. He means to bring a Lady with him too.”

The vampire loosened the grip on my bag, “You haven’t seen him in a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I exaggerate my sorrow, “I miss him very dearly.”

Feigning the emotion clearly made the vampire loosen up around me, his sympathy softening the sharpness of his eyes.

“We all have friends we miss dearly,” He then handed me back my bag, “What’s your name?”

“I wish to be called Archie,” I took it from his hand, “Archie Mayweather.”

“...Bence Rimmer,” he relaxed his stance and demeanor, “All the owl has told me is that you’re his temporary caretaker, as well as the fact that the both of you are travelers seeking particular company.”

“That’s correct,” I pulled out the sketchbook from the bag, “We need to meet Mr. Curtis and his Lady, as our combined skills and intelligence are integral to the defeat of an enemy of ours.”

Mr. Rimmer was seized with curiosity once he saw what I had pulled out, and soon we were both sitting on the bed examining the poem that left me and the rest of the crew stumped.

“This poem was left by our enemy, who has been leading us on quite the wild goose chase.”

“Why exactly are you chasing this man, Mr. Mayweather?”

“Curtis calls him the Cursed Spirit. It’s an awful specter, an invisible man, said to have been conjured by witches to fool unsuspecting men into experiencing the same betrayal they felt by every other cruel mortal who came upon them.”

“They make terrible pacts, hoot!” Oz spoke up, and I then remembered he was under the vampire’s influence, his eyes still dazed over. I thought about asking the creature of the night to free the poor bird, but then I thought that the panic the bird would get into would not be helpful at that moment. Perhaps after.

“Pacts?” Asked the vampire, “Like, that of holy covenants?”

“Yes. They’re magical binding ones,” I said, “Mr. Curtis made pacts with this Spirit for reasons I wouldn't disclose even if I knew them. We want to make sure no else does, lest these potential victims suffer their fate too.”

Concern lined his countenance, “What are they subject to?”

“A loss of one’s own soul?” I drag a finger across the paper, unable to produce a clearer answer, “That’s how I understood it. If Mr. Curtis was here, he’d explain it better.”

“And they sought your help because you possess a particular magic of your own?” He pointed at my pin.

“P-Pretty much," I drew away from him, seized by the instinct to protect my family heirloom, "we've met many in our journey, you and the Doctor now joining that number."

"Hm," The poet then made Oz perch on the bedside table, "may I have a closer look at that?"

“Of course,” I handed him the sketchbook, "your help here is most appreciated, being a poet and all."

I caught him raising a brow as he inspected the poem.

"Mr. Curtis deduced that the poem is a road map for the Spirit's next victims, “ I continued, “So far, it seems rather accurate given our last encounter with the villain.”

“And where was that last?” His eyes were glued to the paper, as though he saw something in the paper that I wasn’t supposed to possess.

“That would be what the first line was alluding to.”

Bence shook his head, then looked at me.

“‘Shadows that spill ichor…’” He handed the sketchbook back to me, “Archie, London might be it.”

I blinked.

“We’re a bunch of fools,” I muttered out.

“L-Look,” He got up, “I don’t understand what I have to do with you or your friend Mr. Curtis. I’m glad I got to help you there, but I’m afraid this is the most that I can do. I have my own business to fuss about too, you kno—”

He stopped mid-conversation, his ears perking up.

“Is someone coming?” I asked

He zoomed towards the window far too fast for me to comprehend the action, “I need to go, Mr. Mayweather.”

And then immediately, he was gone.

I turned back to find Oz passed out on the bed, flat on his back and drooling. He must've been under Mr. Rimmer's influence for far too long.

As I put the sketchbook back into the bag, the anticipated knock came.

I opened the door to find Dr. Grey, clearly worn from arguing.

“Evening Doctor,” I greeted, “Do you need anything?”

He caught Oz passed out on the bed, “Is your bird alright?”

“He’s exhausted from our trek,” I maintain a polite demeanor, “and from the looks of it, you are too.”

He calmly laughed it away, “I’m grateful for your concern, Mr. Mayweather.”

Grey cleared his throat, “I, uh, just wondered if you have any weapons on you? My friends and I downstairs are trying to fortify ours for our protection, and I would personally like to extend my generosity to you. You may need it.”

I peeked into the bag and found no proper weapon outside of the ones within the potion stock.

“Would a syringe suffice?” I pulled out Adonias’s gift from the bag, the look of it getting the Doctor’s attention.

He blinked at it, “What on Earth do you ever need that for?”

“Feeding,” I panicked out, “Oz can, er, from what I was told, get really troublesome sometimes. The owl has been an angel, but M. Levoyant insisted that I carry it anyway!”

“May I?”

“Of course,” I handed the syringe to him.

The Doctor inspected the instrument closely, “At least the important part’s made of silver.”

“Argentum is indeed a very strong metal, Doctor.”

"Not the only reason, sir." 

The memory of a doctor I heard about in my travels came to mind as I watched Grey examine the syringe. Dr. Jenner was his name, and he was the reason that the world as we know it had vaccines. He was mentioned a number of times during my few and lucky conversations with William Godwin.

“Are you free to come with me?” Dr. Grey snapped me out of my thoughts, “I think Father would appreciate your presence during the consecration. O-Of your syringe. If we have spares, we can lend some to you as well.”

I sling my bag onto my person and walk out the room, locking the door.

“Ah, quick to the upkeep.”

"Well, there are vampires abound! Surely he won’t mind my rather rusty practice of the Faith,”

“God is forgiving, Mr. Mayweather.”

We both chuckled at that as we both headed back to the bar.

Chapter Text

The hoot of a train horn woke me up.

This felt familiar, that I knew, as I put a hand down to support myself as I sat up.

I find myself dressed in a black gown, the embroidery of roses adding charm to my noble costume.

With a glance at the window to my left, I see my hair coiffured, black hat pinned down, with my hands gloved in black lace.

My eyes are purple still, but wisps of red shine through as the apparent train I was in passes through a shadowy tunnel.

That was when I caught the shine of the charm I had made from a potion, around my neck resting. I placed a hand on it, trying to remember what I needed to do.

My name is Caroline Rayes, that I remembered, and—

“Ugh…”

I turned to the source to find Adonias sat across from me in the same compartment, dressed like a proper Victorian gentleman. His suit was all black, the metal pins and plating all exquisite gold, the chain of my pocket watch dangling from one of his coat pockets.

It was also apparently just the two of us in here, plus a bunch of suitcases.

“Are you feeling alright, Adonias?”

He looked up at me, an eyebrow raised, “As alright as I can be when we’re traveling.”

He straightened himself into a more comfortable sitting position, eyes on one of the suitcases, “And to whom do I owe the pleasure this time?”

I smirk, “Miss Caroline Rayes, sir.”

He picked up the suitcase he eyed, “I’m honored, my lady.”

I notice his movements, “Quick to action now, are we?”

He managed to open it, the click of the lock audible to us.

“Doesn’t hurt to be careful, Miss Rayes.”

Adonias gave me a brief smile before opening the suitcase.

“What’s in there?” I asked.

“...robes? Exquisite looking ones, from the looks of it,” He then pulled out an envelope from it.

“This looks like it’s for you.”

I took the envelope.

I opened it to find four papers inside, realizing immediately just who sent that first letter.

It reads:

Dear Traveler,

 

You can’t go fighting that pesky villain without this! Elegant and Noble, a five-star set befitting of a traveler of your disposition. If I were you, I’d put it on when it’s time!

 

Isabel

Oddly short. The next paper states that the outfit in the suitcase is called Main Character.

“What does that say?” Adonias asked me.

“It’s just information about the robes in the suitcase,” I replied, hiding the discomfort I had when I internalized the name of the outfit, “Can you try opening the other suitcases?”

“Of course,”

As he went to open up the other suitcases, I read the third letter:

My dear Caroline,

 

I hope you are in a state of good health as I send my condolences. While I have rather complicated feelings regarding your Aunt Petit, loss like that is unimaginable. May the words I could provide in this letter bring you some kind of comfort.

 

Much has passed since we had last spoken. I sorely missed your company, especially with how soon you have left the confines of this dreaded place I feel ashamed to call home. Many more have fallen for the disease called Vampirism, regardless of social status, and it is far more common to hear rumors as truth and chaos as normal every single day. 

 

In addition to these daily sorrows, I have been betrothed and married to a man I don’t even know! The chaos from the plague has convinced my parents to find me a husband as soon as possible. While I'd rather be a spinster than some gilded caged canary, I suppose I am lucky that he is not very demanding nor too restricting of me. We got married in a basilica in Lyon in the dark of the fall, moving into his rather humble estate not long after.

 

His name is Camille Desrosier, a French trader and businessman who happens to have some ties to some very important people in the French ton, of which my parents and Violet Petit are included. He doesn’t look as old as I expected, but he is certainly eccentric, as far as foreigners go, anyway. He is kind and rather passive, and he seems happy to indulge my hunger for literature. He doesn’t like me discussing politics though, which while I understand to be reasonably dreadful and quite tiresome when done frequently, it, in my opinion, requires some daily dosage! I live on gossip for that nowadays, and this reality draws out an image of myself I promised I would never become. O, how Life is so unfair!

 

If I were you, I’d keep that new money you’re getting into in your hands and your hands alone. If you cannot help but marry, I pray that this man is no scoundrel. It is an unfortunate truth that money provides. Not happiness, no, but every other basic need. I’m no hero, as you know, but I am hungry. Everybody is, and it would do us all good if we didn’t begin to starve. In a better world, so many of us would not need to.

 

I’m running out of parchment, unfortunately, but I intend to meet you on the day of your arrival back here in London. Camille will be coming too, if you won’t mind it. Safety and all that, you know? I just can’t wait to see a familiar face again!  We have so much to discuss.

 

Please write to me as soon as you can.

 

Your dearest friend,

 

Priscilla Desrosier

The memories came back as I read Priscilla’s letter, the choice of leaving on that train that day suddenly put into question.

I definitely replied, telling her I’d be coming back… today! Today of all days! The timing was horrendous to register.

Not ready to keep processing that yet, I quickly went for the last paper:

• LOOK FOR ARCHIE MAYWEATHER. HE IS LOOKING FOR YOU. MANY PEOPLE ARE, BUT HE’S THE MOST IMPORTANT ONE TO FIND.
  

• DO NOT DRINK THE LINKING LIQUID UNTIL THE PARTY IS COMPLETE.

• RINSE THE SYRINGE AFTER EVERY USE. DO NOT LET ANY RESIDUE MIX TOGETHER. (Looking at you, Emelia)

• BJL QLZULR JXKYWK XTLHVVFZ IELGY WKA XLWC / BJL ARASBSIIFL CW BTBGK, PG KCVA KA KVTN / SWES VOS TPCPBJ YWPQB, EKAVFCV MOZT / QY HYM GSRVZ, DSCFLA, ZVRTN MOCT HVF KPG ZDVTN
  
  

 

C. ASHKETTLE

That last bullet was incomprehensible. Perhaps there was a code? The ink for that line was producing purple wisps, so that’s definitely important.

“It’s just clothes and other utilities, Miss Rayes,” Adonias said to me, getting my attention, “Looks like the rest of our important valuables are with Mr. Bailey.”

“If he’s just with Oz, he might as well need it.”

Adonias looked at me, detecting my dumbfoundment, “Did you discover anything else important in those letters there?”

“I have some reminders from Clement. It has codes I think you might be able to decipher," I handed the paper in question to him, "...and a letter from another companion." 

The truth of Aunt Petit’s death and Priscilla’s apparent marriage began to sink in.

“Another companion?” He took the letter I was handing him.

“From this world,” I clarify quickly, “Her name is Priscilla, and I think she means to meet us once we reach our destination.”

“How did you two meet?” He asked, sitting back in earnest interest.

Thus, I had to explain my choices here, dodging and diving into the Shadows of London.

"Have you thought of a name yet?"

"I have two names in mind, but I'm not sure which one to pick."

Adonias and I just got off the train. Everything around us felt clouded in a suffocating fog. Our bags were in tow, and we were strolling off briskly to wherever the exit of the station was.

"I'm going with either Oliver or Quentin. What do you think?"

The first name brought a familiar face back into my mind, of the poet whose verse led me to reflections and discoveries of my own creative tastes. 

I'm not ready to confuse myself.

"Go with Quentin," I tell him, "It sounds more dignified."

"Alright, Quentin it is," Adonias hummed to himself cheerily, "...is Curtis good too?"

"For another choice of first name?"

"No, a last name."

I smile at him, "You're more meticulous about this than usual."

"If I'm meticulous, then you should've been there when Felix and I were choosing our last set of aliases!"

We both laughed at that.

"I don't even want to ask further," I remarked, "I knew of a Curtis family in Hampshire. They never spoke much with the other aristocrats unless it really concerned them."

"Then I chose right," He replied, "Our family would behave similarly."

He then frowned, "Well, that was before everything happened anyway."

Rae's memories blended with Caroline's, making me remind myself of my status as a traveler.

"You said the Book's power overwhelmed your parents too," I asked, our brisk pace slowing to a pause, "How did you find out?"

Adonias clutched his hand, facing away from me as his eyes became slightly bloodshot.

"You know Lanceno, Rae. You know very well that the town is not for men of high blood, hidden behind mountains and all that. Most nobles like myself are expected to be educated in the nearest prestigious university."

"And that's far away,"

"Exactly," Those eyes that had the audacity to cage me turned back to face mine, "I left home in my youth, and I made many friends outside. It's through them that my love for books and puzzles intensified." 

He sighed, "While I received an education befitting of a gentleman, none of that prepared me for when I had to return. O-Of what I had returned to."

He kept going, "I-I…"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"...okay."

I hissed as sudden pain shot into my thumb, and Adonias seemed affected too.

"This hadn't hurt that much in a while," I quipped.

He chuckled back at that darkly, betraying the genuine smile on his face, "We're lucky. It's yet to properly paralyze us."

I punched his shoulder playfully, "Say that again, and you might as well manifest it!"

He laughed back at that before quickly calming down.

"When we meet with Felix, I'll ask him to open the page in the Book. There shall be no further explanation once you see it."

I nodded back in silence. It only then became clear that our train arrived at sundown once I took a brief glimpse of the night sky.

I then took his hand in mine, not questioning the tickle in my thumb as I did so.

"When this is all over, once we get rid of that bastard for good," I said to him, " w-we should start over."

"S-Start over?"

"Curse that wretched altar to a terrible past! Me, you, Zacharias, and Coiseam—imagine all us truly escaping that? Together!"

He breathed, the discoloration in his eyes dimming.

"Yes," He let go, filled with a newfound confidence, "Once this is all over."

By then, we had finally exited the station, and the reality of the situation set in.

"Oh God," I said out loud, "I need an explanation for your company."

Adonias put a hand to his chin, immediately thinking of a solution.

"Are you married?" He asked me, "I-In this world, I mean?"

Before I could respond, a familiar voice called out.

"Mistress Rayes! Mistress Rayes!"

"Anna!" I returned back, catching her running towards us.

I mouth back a no to Adonias briefly before properly facing my old and familiar ladies maid.

Quite instantly, I noticed how different her clothes were, her workwear clearly of a different cut and design.

"I'm glad to be able to see you again, my Lady," She smiled cordially, then quickly bowing towards Adonias upon seeing him, "and my gratitude for being able to accompany my mistress, sir."

"My pleasure as a gentleman," This was now Quentin Curtis in action, leaving me amazed and mildly horrified at how good an actor my companion could be.

We then all began to walk towards where the carriage for us was.

"I hope the brief absence of a Lady wasn't too hard for you and the rest of the servants," I decided to make small chat with Anna.

"No need to make a fuss, mistress! It was manageable. Mr. Erskine, Doctor Grey, and Lady Desrosier have been sending us aid to make your return here much easier."

"Is that so?"

She nodded back, "Your timing is excellent, too, Mistress! Lord and Lady Desrosier arrived in London just two days ago, and Lady Desrosier is most eager to see you too."

I smiled at the idea as we arrived by the carriage, knowing that one of the few bearable ladies in this place was at least happy to see me.

Home looked the same, but the air of everything was so different.

When Quentin—Adonias—and I dropped out of the carriage, another carriage was just outside Aunt Petit's old residence.

By it stood a man who looked not much older than myself, despite the gray streaks that betrayed that. He was incredibly well-dressed and of obvious wealthy sensibility. Despite his vividly tan skin, he still looked rather gaunt, the shine of the moonlight paling what should be the red flush of skin.

He carried himself like an old man, a burdened grimace lining his countenance upon seeing me and Quentin.

"Good evening," He had a thick accent, "I see you must be the Miss Rayes my wife has told me so much about."

I caught him pocket a piece of paper, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir. You must be Mister Desrosier."

His gaze was not steady, "Indeed. And your companion?"

I gesture to Adonias, "Mr. Quentin Curtis. A friend from my hometown. He means to meet with a colleague here in London, and, well…I couldn't travel alone, considering the times we're in."

He nodded to Mr. Desrosier, "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir."

"I am as well, Mr. Curtis," He then gestured towards the door, "Priscilla is inside. If it wasn't so dangerous to be out right now, her stubbornness would have left her waiting beside me."

As we walked inside, the familiar sight of my old London home kept clashing with this new image of Priscilla in my head. I couldn't believe she was married!

And there was the fact that the disease got worse! And apparently, conflated with Vampirism? The last time I was here, it was clear to me that the disease and the presence of vampires were completely different things.

I sighed loudly and absent-mindedly, accidentally getting the attention of the men with me.

"It must be a lot to take in, Miss Rayes," said Mister Desrosier.

"E-erm…yes. It is."

We arrived at the living area to find servants at work. The same servants who took mine and Quentin's luggage were there, and I couldn't help but be impressed by their speed.

"Miss Rayes!" Anna greeted, then nodded at the men with me, "Mister Desrosier, and Mister Curtis."

I nodded back in acknowledgment.

"Mrs. Desrosier is in the dining room with the kitchen staff," She continued, "She informed us to make preparations for your arrival today."

I sorely missed my friend, but I have business here I do not want her involved in.

Do I wait here with Mister Desrosier and Quentin or do I go and speak with Priscila? 

I decide to see Priscila.

"Lead me to the dining area. I might as well get a good look at this house again now that it's legally mine."

I turn to the gentlemen, "Will you two be alright?"

"Of course, Lady Caroline," replied Quentin.

"We'll leave you ladies to your work," remarked Mister Desrosier, "don't mind us."

With Anna's company, I headed to the dining area.

For all that changed, I was glad that I could still recognize my friend.

Priscila was right there in the flesh, and she was getting the cooks to plate the finished meals for supper.

Her wear was still in gloomy blacks, but the accents of purple had been replaced with mint green and periwinkle, colors found in Mr. Desrosier's suit.

She caught me and Anna in her peripherals, “C-Caroline!” 

“Priscilla!”

We ran into an embrace, the hold and the comfort of everything overwhelming.

Everything from seeing Priscilla again up until settling for dinner had gone by in a blur. Memories resurfaced in my brain as we caught up with each other, her adventures in Lyon exchanged with mine in Hampshire. 

For all her disdain about etiquette lessons, Priscilla admitted finding comfort in running a mansion. I suppose it may have been the trauma from the Scarlet Rose Club talking to some degree.

The men clearly kept to themselves the whole time she rambled about a squabble with a few dressmakers. After fishing out a few anecdotes from Camille about some businessmen, lawyers, and doctors he exchanged services with, he, along with Adonias, excused themselves from the table early to smoke some brand new cigarettes by the porch.

Left alone with about a fourth of every dish left on the table, Priscilla reclined back into her chair, loosening a few buttons and ribbons to her comfort.

“I don’t know if this is appropriate to mention so early, Caroline,”

“What is it?” I asked back, getting what was left of the wine served at the table.

“It’s…” She paused, suddenly reaching for the bottle in my hands, “give me the rest of that first.”

“If it’s so bad as to require us both to drink, we should call for another bottle.”

Are we really so grown now?

Priscilla snickered at that, “You go call Anna, then.”

I then called Anna to hand us another bottle. She gets us one quickly. I took initiative and served myself and Priscilla. I may have just come from Hampshire, but I am the mistress of the house now. It’s my right to treat my best friend as a distinguished guest.

“What did you want to talk about?” I then asked, settled after a sip.

She fiddled with her glass, “Well, I’m sure you’re aware about the rapid spread of the disease in the past year, yeah?”

Ah. This was it, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Just making sure you’re up to date,” She took a sip, “Camille’s discussed with me certain ideas about the disease, connecting the whole affair with… w-with the vampires in London.”

My thumb began to sting a little suddenly, and I tried my best to hide my discomfort.

“As far as I know, Doctor Grey says that these things have no connection."

"Camille got word from one of his doctor friends in Paris, about an Austrian scientist—Professor Rafael Voss, I think. Rumor has it that he has ties to the also growing group of vampire hunters here in London. He’s apparently made attempts to fight vampirism using his own talents in a private laboratory which is in Paris as well. The attempts have resulted in a large fire that spread to a few nearby apartments."

"How terrible!" What on Earth was I hearing? 

"Yeah, Camille heard that his methods were rather… unethical. While he survived the fire, there had been a warrant for his arrest drafted upon investigation."

"What did they find?"

"They found not only proof that he was last sighted in London directly before the start of the most recent epidemic, but that he had test subjects who dubiously consented to his experimenting."

"Did any of them survive the fire?!" Priscilla's rather casual tone in her discussion disturbed me, but I was too flabbergasted to voice this.

"I don't believe so," She brushed a strand of her hair, "I think they were declared dead or missing."

I breathe, "I see."

"My detective friend believes Voss caused the one that happened in the past year, but not the one thirteen years ago," She sipped some more, "speaking of which, I've penned him to meet us soon. The last time I spoke with him was… well, not too long before you left London. Our absence from this wretched place has certainly severed certain connections, has it not?"

"Cleary. But, erm, how soon are we to meet this detective?" I asked, still making sense of this mad science, "I made arrangements with Mister Curtis for tomorrow, so I hope it's not too soon."

She raised a brow at me, "You're really concerned about this Quentin Curtis. What's so special about the companion he said he was meeting? Do you fancy him?"

“It’s not that!” I chuckled anxiously, mostly because it was somewhat true, "I just wanted to extend my courtesy by using this house, really! He did accompany me back to London safely, after all."

"That is true," Priscilla then chugged her glass, placing it down with a quiet thud, "but the date indicated in my letter is tomorrow!"

"Oh, this will be quite complicated," I drank as well, "I've got my work ahead of me."

Priscilla shook her head, "Indeed. This is why I'm grateful for your return."

"I feel the same way."

She then rose from her chair, "Let's rest, Caroline."

"And the men?"

"They'll know what to do."

Whistling. I could hear whistling, a familiar melody hitting my ears.

I think I’m walking in the shoes of another, walking into an inn in a dark alleyway. Slap, knock-knock, slap-slap, knock-knock-knock—and the door before me had opened.

The doorman was obscured by the shadow, his nodding of acknowledgment a mere vibration in darkness. Sounds of men chattering increased in volume as I walked down a corridor, stopping at a bunch of sliding blinds covered in Japanese posters.

Entering was a gathering of mostly working class men and men from the middle class. There were about a few nobles there too, as well as a few clearly poor.

Wait, is that—

“Roy!” Doctor Grey?! “What’s gotten you this late for this meeting?”

"A small skirmish with a friend gone unreasonable," This Roy sounded Scottish, "and I also needed to send a quick letter to another."

"Well, Father Caleb is here now, and he's consecrating the newest instruments."

"Those silversmiths we befriended are very generous, are they not?"

"Absolutely."

Walking as this Roy, I saw the men showing off and fiddling with their weapons of consecrated silver. There were guns, knives, and swords even!

We were nearing Father Caleb, a rather stocky old priest, finishing a prayer.

"Is that the last one, Father?" Edward asked.

"For the night, yes," It's the syringe! The one Adonias got for me!

"Is that one of your instruments, Doctor?" Roy chuckled out in amusement.

"Unfortunately not, Mr. Flanagan." Edward replied, taking it from Father Caleb, "it belongs to a foreigner that I happened upon before coming here. Poor fellow survived an attack and I considered giving him assistance."

"I reckon the braggart’s still here then?"

"Mr. Mayweather should be done relieving himself," remarked Father Caleb, "Doctor, would you check on him, please?"

"Yes, Father," the Doctor then left.

“I’m getting word that the Elder has returned,” Roy said, “the creatures barely hide their fangs now that their leader is present to protect them.”

Father Caleb hummed grimly, “Providence is angry with us. I fear succumbing to… desperate measures.”

“Desperate? Are you considering witchcraft, Father?”

“The devil’s temptations are strong, Roy.”

“It’s the same stuff that killed Father Isaac—”

“And made twice an orphan of dear Edward, I’m aware. The dear Doctor has also informed me of a certain scientist’s arrest.”

“I had no idea Voss was kidnapping people! He deceived me into thinking he was honest.”

“Of which I do not hold against you,” Father sighed, “no matter how sinful you’ve been, you are nonetheless helpful to our cause.”

Roy’s vision shifts to the window, focusing on the increasing amount of crows outside visible from where he was standing.

“Does Edward know?”

“All he knows are Professor Voss’s access to Isaac’s own research and his ties to our group. I’ve omitted your communication with him. That’s for you to tell him, Mr. Flanagan.”

“I thank your discretion, Father,” Roy briefly cleared his throat, “I know you’re a man of God, but if you need my assistance should you attempt the counter, I’ll try my best.”

Father Caleb chuckled darkly, “You never volunteered for things this grand before. Have you finally realized these vampires cannot simply be reasoned with?”

“On the contrary, Father,” I watched Roy crack his knuckles, “I’ve discovered—”

A gunshot rang out, followed by the crying of crows, interrupting conversation.

I muffled my own screaming as I woke from my bed.

Immediately glancing around my room informed me that it was 3 in the morning.

My thumb was stinging, and stinging bad. It continued to do so as I went to wash my face in my bedroom’s bathroom.

Realizing that I hadn’t changed out of my dress from travel, I immediately went to my suitcases.

Curious to try out the new wear, I opened the suitcase holding the exquisite robes.

Pulling it out made me discover that it was rather flexible, making a serviceable nightgown, evening cloak, and… 

There was something macabre in its aesthetic, bringing to my mind the sight of witches and vampires. It reflected me in these facets, that I realized, seeing the multi-colored embroidery in the silk-velvet of the robes clearly characterized by a darker form of magic.

I slipped out of my old dress and slipped into this new one. It was a brownish black two-piece, the velvety furs on the edges a metallic gold color. The top had a hood, and playing around with it made my hair grow voluminous and wavy, producing colors one finds in an aurora borealis.

Once I had both pieces on, my hands and feet were enveloped with haze and color, clearing gloves and socks to provide them warmth. I then rummaged the luggage bag again to find matching boots, a necklace, and some sort of face beauty pad. I put on the boots, attached Beornric’s Clarity onto the necklace then wore it, and inspected the face beauty pad.

Labeled was “Turn the Tables” and a tag with instructions on how to put it on. I did so in the bathroom and briefly did my face glow with color before disappearing. Perhaps this was some enchanted makeup. Isabel really stepped up her game with this outfit!

I struggled to clean up as my thumb stung once more. An inkling feeling in my gut made me want to look around the house tonight, hopefully striking a conversation with Adonias.

As I walked down the corridors with a gas lamp in hand, I tried to make sense of my dream. Clearly I have connections to someone who was a part of the vampire hunters Edward happens to be amongst. That someone knew my parents, and he clearly knows much of what is going on right now. Roy Flanagan, I will find you!

Archie Mayweather has to be Felix. Clement said to find that name, and Felix has the rest of our stuff. He apparently met Edward before I could. I wonder if he’s going to be as smitten as I was with the good doctor.

The sound of mild ceramic clatter broke my train of thought. I was near the kitchen already, and so I traced the noise down.

“I can do this all night,” That sounded like Adonias.

“So can I,” and apparently, Monsieur Desrosier.

I blew out the gas lamp as I approached, peaking to see what the moonlight would reveal and so I wouldn't interrupt the men in their suspicious activity.

To my shock, I found them in some sort of standstill. Adonias had my silver dagger, which I only then realized must’ve been in the luggage when he scoured through them. He was holding it close to Camille Desrosier’s neck threateningly.

But this murderous stance wasn’t what got my attention, no. It was the red in Camille’s eyes, sharp ears poking through disheveled hair.

I dropped the gas lamp in my hands.

Chapter Text

"What on Earth?!"

The sound of shattered glass shattered my concentration, my sights at Rae, dressed in her new robes, by the kitchen entrance.

Perhaps it was luck that kept Desrosier from booking it right away, the nearest window locked tightly enough for him to thump his head against the glass.

"Oh no, you don't!" I exclaimed, using the opportunity to tackle him down and immobilize him, keeping the silver dagger close to his neck.

Camille Desrosier was a deceiver! It was one thing for him to spill the tea about the facets of this London's underbelly, but to reveal (albeit accidentally) that he was part of the most dangerous group was something else! Never had I been more relieved to take Rae's—or Caroline's, as she called herself here—silver dagger from the suitcase. (I mean, I didn’t intend to make thievery out of it, but something about its make grabbed my attention. I had to be armed in order to protect Rae, after all.)

I heard Rae run and approach us. Desrosier was clearly trying to hide his monstrous appearance from her.

She inhaled, "One of you must explain. Right now."

I made Desrosier face Rae, both of us appearing unmoved at the sight of his fangs and bright red eyes, "He should go first."

She crossed her arms, "How long?"

"What do you mean by 'how long?'"

"Were you turned before or after you married Priscilla?"

The monster became less tense, "Before. She does not know."

"Why marry her?" Rae raised her voice, "Were you planning to make a prey out of her later?!"

"No!" His panicked tone sounded sincere, "I would never put my wife in harm's way. Not purposefully."

Rae huffed, "Have you consumed human blood recently?"

"I have not. Honestly, I've been living on mostly unseasoned carpaccio and black pudding. It’s bloody enough, even if it leaves me weaker than before."

Dinner did include carpaccio, and now that Desrosier brought it up, he did eat most of the carpaccio earlier.

"L-Look, Miss Rayes," He sounded nervous, "I'm not amongst those wretched fools prowling within London's shadows. I forsook the Vampire Elder and his servants a long time ago, and I will never return to that life. Never again!"

Something he said caught her attention, "You used to work for the Elder?"

"I did. It was very difficult to resist his influence. I lost my best friend somewhere along the way."

"I'm guessing you started over in France, then?"

"Not without assistance. All I do nowadays is get news through letters, just so I know I'm not in danger."

Rae paused. We were all quiet, the only sound audible to us being the crickets outside.

"Ad—" Rae paused, "Let him go, Mr. Curtis."

What? "A-Are you sure, Ms. Rayes?"

She then grabbed the dagger off my hand, abruptly enough that Desrosier flinched. 

"Let him go."

I did as she asked, keeping a wary distance from the apparent vampire.

"Never take this from me without asking, alright?" She said to me, gesturing with the weapon, "It belonged to my Father, and I'm not keen on losing any of my inheritance."

"Understood, Miss Rayes."

"Your father was a hunter, Miss Rayes?" Desrosier asked her, staring at the weapon in her hand.

"I'm not sure. I don't know much about him besides the things he…he—"

As Rae struggled to continue, I felt my thumb sting intensely… I’m not going to think too hard about that, actually.

She breathed, "...the things he had to do with this dagger. My theory is that he knew of a hunter or was perhaps friends with one."

"A regular civilian should not be able to possess that, Miss Rayes," Desrosier said, "Come to think of it, you even heard of the Elder…"

"Yeah, you're not the first vampire I've met," she said, "I met one much like you in the last social season, before the disease worsened here in London."

"Then this person either has been torn up by the Blood Clan, by the Hunters, or has left London by now,” The monster replied darkly, “I mean, I personally only planned to stay for a week here! That’s how dangerous it is."

A sad look graced Rae's countenance, "I hope he's okay, wherever he may be. He had quite the fondness for poetry."

“Funny,” He chuckled, “my best friend was fond of poetry too.”

“I see.”

“Hm,” Desrosier then began to study Rae, clearly trying to drill his image of her into his head, “someone of your brand of neutrality in this horrid divide would get attention by now, Miss Rayes.”

She paled, her eyes of amethyst showing red impurities, “I just want my friends and family safe and happy, Monsieur Desrosier. Vampire or not, I intend only to support those willing to be kind and compromise.”

He was surprised at her seemingly bold statement, “A dangerous but noble position, Madame. I should take you to meet with another friend of mine. He is aligned with you, known to deal information to both members of the Blood Clan and the Hunters of London.”

“I should figure out this scheduling,” Rae then gestured to me, “since I must take care of some affairs with Mister Curtis and with one of your wife’s own friends. I hope it’s not too much to have three meetings in one day.”

“That’s for you to decide, Madame,” Desrosier then raised a brow, reclining on a counter, “also, Priscilla doesn’t have friends. Well, none besides you.”

As the air seemed to relax, Rae proceeded to get the kettle, most likely for tea.

“She mentioned having contact with a detective. They haven’t spoken since the last season, and she’s been meaning to have us meet.”

“Before we married,”

“Yeah.”

I took initiative and went to look for a broom.

I could hear Rae get water into the kettle, “Tell me more about your friends, Monsieur.”

“Hm,” The simultaneous sound of chinaware told me that Desrosier decided to help her prepare the tea, “I suppose I could speak of the one I’d like you to meet very soon.”

There! The broom!

The sound of fire being lit could be heard, “Do tell.”

I took the broom out of the cranny I found it in, setting myself to clean up the mess Rae made by the kitchen entrance.

“He’s human like you. I first met him around thirteen years ago, not long after escaping a big attack on the Blood Clan.”

“Attack?”

“Yes, Miss Rayes. I was told that the Hunters at the time resorted to unorthodox methods to get rid of the Blood Clan. The Fire of Silverstone Chapel was a terrible event, one that the few involved wanted to forget,” Desrosier sighed glumly, “The Hunters present at the time invoked ancient magic, using a liturgical service as a disguise. They got people willing to bait Blood Clan leaders desperate for prey, leading many, vampire and human, to their demise.”

I finished my cleaning up as he paused, and I found Rae looking at the vampire with an intense expression.

“Ancient magic?” I asked, fidgeting with the broom in my hands, “Like, invoking a curse?”

Desrosier smirked at me briefly, fangs still visible, “It wasn’t quite what the Hunters intended, but it was certainly what they did. A rather vague curse it probably was. The friend that I speak about knew people involved in the event, claiming that the curse was designed to ‘eradicate those who thirsted for blood.’”

“And it took the form of a fire?” I continued.

“I suppose so,” Desrosier, heavy-faced, went to look for the tea containers within the kitchen, “One could easily think that the fire was connected to the casted curse. The vampires in the building died not too long after or were rendered significantly weak… and so did a number of humans present as well.

“The curse affected humans as well?!” Rae raised her voice in alarm, “I…how?”

“Ancient magic!” I couldn’t help but blurt out my thoughts, my mind racing at the implications of magic in this world, so similar to the one in mine, “H-Have you lived long enough to see magic done by better hands, Mister Desrosier?”

“I wish!” He guffawed at me, the casual, languid attitude he had with me earlier in the night slowly returning, “That’s something we don’t mess with, a boundary we do not cross. We already take blood, after all! Is that not trouble enough?”

“Magic is frowned upon amongst vampires?”

“Oui, and it backfires on everyone except those who ‘have a foot in every door,’” He placed down a container of black tea leaves, “Halflings of any kind, really. Demigods of myth, changeling children, angels in disguise—those people, perhaps, would be able to handle such magic, wherever they are.”

Rae fidgeted, glancing nervously at the kettle, “Were you not affected at all, Monsieur?”

“I had escaped my Master’s clutches then, mostly with my human friend’s help. He went to the chapel to get my best friend, a vampire who was in the same position I was in. We needed him away where our same Master wouldn’t notice. It was difficult enough to orchestrate my own fake death, that’s for one.”

“How did that go?” I asked.

“Oh, we should save that for another time, Mister Curtis.”

“Your human friend sounds very brave and kind,” Rae remarked, the red in her eyes intensifying to match the color of Desrosier’s own.

“He is,” Desrosier scratched the back of his neck, becoming somber again, “he told me he got my best friend out, but he had lost him in the ensuing crossfire between the Hunters and the Blood Clan members present. He’s convinced that we’d never see him again.”

“Ah,” Rae could only mouth out, saddened, “that fire…do you think it had something to do with the outbreak thirteen years ago?”

“My friend thinks the fire directly caused it, given the cases started popping up the day after. I wasn’t inclined to believe him, up until the latest outbreak anyway.”

“The one caused by Voss…” At this, the kettle began to whistle and steam, interrupting our thoughts.

“Looks like the water’s ready,” I remarked, nearing the counter where the two were by.

“I didn’t realize you kept up with news about the Sciences, Miss Rayes,” said Desrosier.

“On the contrary,” Rae picked up the kettle with a cloth towel and set it down the counter, “Priscilla was happy to inform me of what you told her. Her detective friend claimed something similar.”

“A detective! Why, I ought to know this person,” He hummed with irritation, “Knowledge of the Hunters and their connections wouldn’t and shouldn’t be this common.”

“That’s why I want to meet this detective too,” Rae said, “and your friend, of course. What’s his name, so I don’t forget?”

“Flanagan, Roy Flanagan,” I caught the faintest hint of recognition in Rae’s eyes, which held my curiosity, “he’s quite old-looking, though not too old. At least, not too old for you humans anyway. He’s a Scottish artist who tends to make a nomad of himself. He’s been in London for the past year, and we exchange letters frequently.”

Rae merely blinked, unresponsive.

“Rae–Rayes! Miss Rayes?” I snap my fingers by her ear, which does the trick. I backed away as she made sense of her surroundings.

“S-Sorry!” She blinked, her eyes even redder now, “It’s just quite a picture you painted there, Monsieur Desrosier.”

He raised a brow at that, “Don’t tell me you’ve already met the man! I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case, but—”

“I haven’t, I…” She trailed off, appearing unsure about what to say next.

I reached for the kettle and one of the empty teacup-saucers, watching the two still so focused in their conversation.

Rae sighed, “Oh, Monsieur. I don’t know if you should know what I know.”

“I’ve said things about myself now, Miss Rayes,” He growled, suddenly wanting to coax the information out of her, “What is it that you know?” 

He neared her menacingly and quickly, almost tempting me to restrain him if not for Rae’s lack of fear or flinching.

“I-It’s about Roy Flanagan,” She said, “I think I dreamt of him, and that has me concerned about what he knows.”

Desrosier backed away, shocked, “Dreamt of him?! Doing what?”

“I dreamt of sights in his view,” She continued, “of entering a secret place where the Hunters were.”

At this, Desrosier immediately pulled out a piece of paper from his pockets, unfolding it for himself to reread.

“Is that a letter?” I asked, reaching for the tea leaves on the counter.

“Roy’s latest letter to me, before I went ahead to this house,” He told us, folding the paper closed, “He said he would attend the Hunter’s meeting in the Eastern District earlier tonight.”

“What are you implying, Monsieur?” Rae asked in a shaky voice.

“What else did you see?” Desrosier asked back, “I don’t know how, but you clearly have ties to him. He’s been involved in enough of this hullabaloo to be his own force of nature at this point.”

“In that case,” I began preparing tea for Rae, who replied, “I suspect that he may have known my parents.”

“Is that so?”

“He whistled this melody that sounded just like a lullaby my mother would always sing to me,” She continued, “I haven’t heard it from anywhere else.”

Desrosier was pensive, “He loves theater and opera, concertos he could afford to see a part of his fancy. Tastes like that would make one sing unique melodies.”

By this point, I gave Rae the tea I made for her, who nodded at me in thanks.

“My mother was an actress,” She said meekly, glancing at the cup in her hands,  “perhaps this friend of yours truly was a friend of hers too.”

“An actress?” Desrosier struggled to restrain his judgment, “Roy wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t what, Monsieur?”

The vampire’s eyes widened, giving Rae a once over before abruptly nearing her.

She almost dropped the tea, “W-What are you doing?”

He began to sniff around her, the action certainly arousing my need to protect my beloved.

He backed away just as abruptly, making me pause in my own tracks.

“A halfling before me!” Desrosier exclaimed, “Could you not have the courtesy to tell me how dulled my senses have become, Madame Rayes?”

“I wasn’t exactly sure if you should be privy to that information about me, Monsieur Desrosier.”

“Neither was Monsieur Curtis?”

At that, Rae—nay, Caroline—looked at me, our eyes bloodshot in manners different.

And monstrous.

“I…” She took a quick sip of her tea, “I overlooked that.”

“Hampshire clearly hides better than London,” I remarked, rubbing away the sting that sparked in my thumb once again, “I’ll bring this to the grave with me, if you desire it, Miss Rayes.”

She huffed, amused at the absurdity of her situation, “We all have much to bury.”

“Indeed,” it did not slip past me how baffled Desrosier was at my more tame reaction to Rae’s revelation. To think that in this world, she possessed such unholy blood!

She then turned to Desrosier, “How did you figure it out?!”

“Monsieur Flanagan frequented the acts in the Eastern District. The really popular ones were headed by a few actors who were vampires in disguise.”

Out of courtesy, I began to prepare tea for Desrosier as well.

“One of them got his attention enough that he fell in love with her,” He said, “but Roy told me his attempts were in vain, for she had targeted an equally inspired gentleman of much more noble breeding. "

I glanced at Caroline as I stirred the tea I was making for Desrosier. I could hear the cogs working in her brain from where I stood.

"He remained friends with the couple nonetheless, until the poor lady was found out and 'disappeared' along with her lover," The vampire ended with air quotes, "Imagine a pair like that as an introduction to vampirism!"

"Did everyone know that about him?" She asked, "Is that why he has such a reputation?"

"It's silently agreed upon by those who were a witness to that trio," Desrosier sighed again, more hopelessly now, "Like two human men would willingly pine for a vampiress so soon once again…"

That remark amused Caroline, her smile sending me reminders of why I was here with her at all.

"They say history repeats itself, but I'm more inclined to believe that it rhymes.”

The gathering of the Vampire Hunters of London, legally (and quietly) recognized as the Harker Society of Vampire Hunters, was a quaint group that acquired a rather grand reputation since what Doctor Grey called the “Scarlet Rose Splatter.” 

Further elaborated on by Father Jacob, the current head of the organization, this uptick in cult-esque groups were the means by the vampiric Blood Clan to gather more victims at this time. It was to their discovery and investigation that the disease may have been traced to a tragic fire by that of a mad scientist named Rafael Voss.

Grand as this new knowledge was, it irked me to find that Doctor Grey showed strong interest in the syringe in my possession. I gave my permission for them to bless it, the process longer than I would have expected. It was long enough that I had to excuse myself to take a piss.

Hearing strange noises after, I went out instead of back into the gathering upon which I found Mister Rimmer once more. It then hit me that those crows from outside the window were literally his eyes, because he started asking questions about my interactions with Doctor Grey. I was frank and honest, but he didn’t seem to believe me, paranoia clearly marking a good many of his gestures and demeanor.

To make matters far worse, the good Doctor went looking for me and found me and my coat collar in the vampire’s hands, clearly interpreting our interaction as an attack. As Doctor Grey pulled out his pistol, I was thrown to the ground and forced to watch him and the bloody poet circle each other tensely. 

They kept taunting each other, throwing vague threats that escalated towards discussion of some lady named Caroline Rayes. If not for the constant mention of her, I would have thought the two men were secretly in love with each other, but a man of my very queer sensibilities can only fantasize so much, alas.

This dragged on long enough that another random vampire showed up, to which the Doctor shot down immediately using his consecrated weapon. Mr. Rimmer’s flock of crows circled around the poor thing, speeding up its quick disintegration into dust. It was such an absurd and horrid sight that it could easily pass for a scene in a German expressionist film.

At that point, I slowly got up to try and leave, only to be stopped by yet another person—a lean man clearly in his mid-fifties, auburn streaking his clouded gray hair and beard. He wore a large but tattered olive colored coat of which covered his incredibly informal shirt-kilt style. His boots were muddied and his shirt was covered in paints, the mess trailing onto the suspenders that kept his kilt up. Paint (or was it blood?) had marked his exposed skin too, upon observing his rather buoyant stride.

“What’s the trouble, Mr. Flanagan?” Voices from inside the inn had called out to the new stranger, his graying eyes scanning and finding me.

“Nothing to worry about,” His accent was Scottish, the volume getting Grey’s and Rimmer’s attention, “the good Doctor is simply showing off to our foreign guest, right?"

"Of course," Grey played along.

Relief and chuckling responded back, up until the quick, following quiet informed us four that we were properly alone.

“Alright,” this Flanagan had then addressed us, “What happened here?”

Grey had turned back to the Scot, sounding like a tattle-tale child, “Mr. Flanagan, I caught this vampire being aggressive with this man, a poor civilian.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed,” He then faced again towards the vampire, “I was just taking care of the bastard.”

“Again," The vampire in question was as tense and angry as the doctor threatening him, "I have not betrayed your trust beyond that all!”

“I was under good faith you were one of the good ones, Mr. Saville!”

Throughout their bickering, the good doctor had been calling the poet by the name Saville. Clearly their rivalry went on for sometime. I wonder if Saville was the poet's pen name, if that was how he was known to the human public.

“Now hold on there, you lot,” Flanagan told the two off then turned to me, “Is any of this true, poor civilian?”

“I-I'm honestly lost!” I blurted out, “I just wanted to ask questions about companions I seek, a-and then I’m immediately rendered suspicious by the people I was making inquiries to.”

Flanagan had eyed Saville, clearly aware of the poet’s inhuman nature, “You asked a vampire for help?”

“Well, he didn’t attack me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I replied, “Unlike the other bastard bloodsuckers who attacked me on sight, he simply interrogated me aggressively, which in defense of Mister Rimmer,—or Saville, if the good Doctor here is honest—is a lot more polite in my opinion.”

“Rimmer?” The Doctor and the Scotsman were both surprised at the name.

“You have quarrel with the Bence Rimmer?” Flanagan asked Grey.

“I guess this would be before he went by that new alias, Mr. Flanagan.”

“And it’s been since then since we’ve spoken this way,” Saville added, “If you asked any member of the ton about a ‘Vincent Saville,’ you’ll find stories of a promising youth gone too soon.”

“Bloody hell, Edward! I would’ve told your arse off if it weren’t for whatever it is you two have going on,” Flanagan groaned, pinching his nose bridge, "I was planning a proposal to have our motley crew of hunters make communications with Mr. Rimmer. Little did I know, you already knew him!”

At that, Grey faced Saville again, “I’m getting the idea that you’ve been busy.”

“I have,” At this, the poet removed his gloves to crack his knuckles, my eyes not missing his sharpened and clean claw-nails.

The vampire breathed before speaking, “I…I-I was once a slave to the Blood Clan, but I made significant efforts to free myself. With the return of the disease, as well the unfortunate escalations from the Scarlet Rose Splatter, I think it’s fair for those forcefully turned by the Clan’s many, many members to be guided into a life involving the least amount of harm done.”

Grey was surprised, “...how noble, sir.”

“It’s not much nobler than your work, Doctor.”

“But it’s enough to make our work easier,” Flanagan joined in, “Finally, I’ve gotten to meet you Mister Rimmer.”

“You too, Mr. Flanagan,” The poet reached out to the Scotsman to shake his hand, “I didn’t think you of all people would get word of my recent efforts. Clearly, I’m not being discreet enough.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on London for a while now, sir,” Flanagan replied, “at least, when I get too bored of painting. My sharp sights should not dissuade your caution nonetheless.”

Painting?

“E-Excuse me,” I interjected after quietly listening to their conversation, “Mister Flanagan, you’re a painter?”

“I am…er, Mister—”

“Mayweather, sir,” I couldn’t believe it, “Archie Mayweather. I just—”

“Need to find an artist?” Rimmer cut me off, “Fate’s been very kind to you lately, Mr. Mayweather.”

“Whatever would you need my skills for, Mr. Mayweather?”

“Oh, where do I begin?”

At that, I explained my circumstances, making the doctor and the apparent painter as informed as the poet. I then snuck the vampire into my room as the other two went on to tell the rest of the hunters the plan to establish proper and official communications with him. Rimmer then made light conversation with me, and before I knew it, I was telling him bits and pieces of "my last meeting with Quentin Curtis." Much of the talking concerned the adventure in the last jump, which I framed as a "grand old time in France." There was that incredibly handsome Spanish performer with the terrible singing voice, the Frenchman M. Levoyant who had a fascination for seances and spiritualism, as well as that catty seller who sold me gifts I gave to friends. Of course, I had to pepper in those nasty threats the Spirit threw at us so far, like mysterious poems and shady deals we had “witnessed in the quiet, dark corners of France.”

Once all of us were in my bedroom, we were suddenly passing around a bottle from the bar that Mr. Flanagan got for us. This was when I learned that the old artist knew much of what was going on in London, which was a lot , especially compared to the knowledge of most human civilians. Clarifying details of my story to Flanagan, Saville interjected, clearly remembering to ask about the poem again.

“For the little you could give me when I asked earlier, you seem rather obsessed with this poem,” I said to him, pulling out the sketchbook.

“I just needed to make sure I wasn’t going mad,” He replied coldly.

I flipped to the page and showed it to the two men, and I noticed the Doctor’s eyes widen.

“What is it, Doctor?” asked Mr. Flanagan.

Grey didn’t answer him and looked straight at me, “Who wrote this?”

“Indeed, Mr. Mayweather,” Saville joined in, “Who wrote the poem down? It can’t possibly be you.”

“Well, yes. I didn’t write this down.” 

“Then who did?”

That was when it hit me. They recognized the handwriting.

They knew Emma, or rather, who she was here.

“One of the friends I have yet to meet,” I replied, trying to remain calm in my realizations, “Mr. Curtis intends to bring with him a friend of the fairer sex. I was told by him to pass on a few things of hers, considering that I had picked them up from a friend in France who found the things initially. Anyways, the fuss about a lady’s things is a rather inappropriate matter, isn’t it? Let me be polite to this lady, and Quentin too.”

The doctor and the poet looked at each other briefly, thoughts in their heads formulating before facing me again.

“You don’t know who she is?” Asked Grey.

“No, and it’s rather rude of Quentin to keep me in surprise,” I chuckled nervously, “Then again, I was going to surprise him with a pet owl.”

Flanagan had caught a lull in our conversation and used the opportunity to speak, “Look, if you lads are so curious about Mister Curtis and his mystery lass, why don’t you ask Mister Mayweather to join their meeting?”

At that suggestion, the two then looked at me.

“If it will satisfy your needs, gentlemen,” I replied, “I don’t mind the company.”

The three then nodded and cheered at that, and we all drank a little more.

“This unusual gathering we have right now makes me miss Miss Rayes,” Grey slurred out, “...lovely girl, that one, Mister Mayweather.”

“R-Rayes…?” Flanagan mumbled.

Mister Saville wagged a finger at me, “You two have something in common, I can feel it.”

I raised my eyebrows at him, “Oh? What is it then, sir?”

Vincent stared daggers into my pin, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything somehow.

“Mate, come on—”

The vampire abruptly shhhhed the Doctor, “I’m too inebriated to explain this properly, but know that most humans don’t understand their pet birds, Mayweather!”

Before I could quell that dig into my actual identity, the artist suddenly got up and began pacing around the room, chuckling madly to himself.

“Oh, it was a girl! It was a girl and she lived!” He had cried out, rousing concern between me and the other two men.

“You lads weren’t around when it all happened,” Mr. Flanagan had begun hugging the bottle close to his person, “I was young and ambitious, eager to find a muse…”

And he spoke of a pretty actress, a woman he called Lavinia. He had first met her during a run of Othello about more than a decade ago, noting how well she acted out Desdemona. (Good to know Shakespeare is relevant here as well!) He fell for her so intensely that he started to follow her around wherever he could find her acting, his heart and mind compelling him to immortalize her likeness. (The painting, the painter noted, was given by him to the man running the theater that hosted the particular show of Othello prior to when he decided to briefly leave Britain.)

Apparently it was difficult, and when he did find her, she had already been taken by the young noble known as Cyril Rayes, who courted her with a stubborn kindness he realized he couldn’t match.

“Oh, it must have been quite the sight when you found them together,” I said.

“Yes, I walked in on them in a rather compromising position,”

“Good heavens, Mr. Flanagan!” The Doctor exclaimed, drunk but scandalized.

“Not that kind!” The artist laughed back in response, “I saw her bloody ears and fangs instantly! Frankly, I was shocked to see Cyril unharmed at all.”

The poet snapped his fingers, “And I’m guessing you three were very close from that point on, yes?”

“Indeed,” Roy drank, “if I couldn’t love Lavinia, I could keep her family alive, make their beliefs as immortal as you bloodsucking lot.”

Saville continued his questioning, “Was she working independently, or did she ever mention working within the Blood Clan?”

“You aren’t familiar with her, Mr. Saville?”

His pointed ears drooped a little, “I believe I was under servitude during that time. I went by a different name, a-and I did the bidding of more powerful vampires.”

He clearly didn’t like talking about it.

“But, that time has long passed,” Saville finished, “I did what I had to do to leave.”

“I can tell,” Flanagan replied, “When I thought I lost the poor couple, I started helping out other lost ones like them. In fact, I think I caught one of those like  you, Mr. Saville. He wanted to flee out of guilt for being a monster, or servant to one, if we’re being precise here. I got him out after the Great Fire and escaped to France with him. I hear the community in Paris is far less insidious as the one here in London.”

“The Hunters there frequently negotiate with vampires all the time,” Grey added, “At least, that’s what Father Isaac has told me.”

“Bloody hell,” Remarked the artist, “have I been so left out of the loop about the ton that I had no idea the Rayes child survived?! I need to find her, find some way to speak with her.”

As if fate had dictated it, Oz jolted awake with a squawk, his talons suddenly piercing through the cotton of my blouse.

“DETECTIVE! DETECTIVE!” Oz began screaming out, to which I tried to quiet him.

“Your bird is agitated, Mr. Mayweather,” said Mr. Flanagan.

“The Detective! The Detective is dead!” He flew off my hands and kept repeating the sentence, almost like… information!

“Do you know any detectives, Mr. Mayweather?” Saville asked me, eyes on Oz in his manic flight.

“N-No?!” I was still startled by Oz’s sudden squawking.

“Well, I know one,” Flanagan, slurring, answered instead, “A Mr. Elias Sydney! He used to work with the coppers, but then one day, he left to deal with justice in his own way. Of the many folks as nosy as myself, I’m baffled he hasn’t bit the bullet yet. Stubborn bastard, that one.”

“Ah, ‘yet,’” The poet commented darkly. Asking further, “When did you last see him?”

“Earlier today, actually! Man wasn’t himself though. It was like he was spotty and forgetting things I told him already.”

“Things like what?” The Doctor then joined this new interrogation.

“Like the latest Elder sightings, Blood Clan activity. He knows about as much as I do, well, minus whatever I had going on with Lavinia and Cyril, but I digress.”

“Hm,” The vampire then called out to the owl, “How did the detective die, Oz?”

“Wait,” Despite being inebriated, the painter’s observation skill remained sharp, “you can understand the—”

“Murder! Murder!” 

My eyes widened at that, and I could tell that Vincent’s did as well, the red darkening.

“Murder?!” The vampire exclaimed.

“Oh,” Doctor Grey came to the same realization too, “I think he can, Mr. Flanagan.”

“The Cursed Spirit pretends under its veil, the masquerade of trust, he does it well!”

“W-What?” was all I could mouth out before the vampire slammed the poor bird against the wall.

“‘A-Anything for answers,’ the Detective had cried! That’s what he cried before he died!”

“Silence, bird!” Vincent raised his voice at Oz, before the poor thing…

...turned into wood?!

The vampire froze, his sharp clawed-hands brought to trembling as he took in the sight of what happened. In incredible shock, he let the wooden owl fall onto the floor, the grip in his fingers suddenly gone.

“How on Earth did you do that?!” Grey exclaimed, white with fear.

“I-I can’t turn birds into whittling craft, I don’t—” Vincent backed away from Oz, shaken like the rest of us.

“Mr. Mayweather, did you really get that exotic owl from France?” The Doctor then turned to me, his tense but level-headed tone adding to my own shock and confusion.

“I… O-Oh my God,” I was still processing the new information, taking the poor, wooden Oz into my arms again, “T-The Cursed Spirit…”

“Isn’t that the same Cursed Spirit you mentioned earlier, lad?” asked Flanagan.

“Yes, that’s the one…” I quickly placed Oz on my bed and I rushed to get the Book of Curses out of my bag. Vincent hissed at the sight of it, sensing the danger the item possessed.

“Mr. Mayweather?”

“Just a minute, Doctor,” I quickly flipped to the latest page, and found a new name, to my horror.

“Detective Inspector Elias Sydney,” I laid the book out in a way where everyone could see the inside of it, “of course, of course… the Spirit’s gotten busy!”

As I sat on the same bed Oz was on, the men gathered before me began to discuss the implications of what was written in that accursed tome, my brain too shaken to comprehend what they were saying.

“I wouldn’t want to touch that,” Vincent warned the other men, “I sense a great evil in it.”

“I don’t even want to,” Grey shared the sentiment, “I can’t imagine what doing that will do to me.”

“Accursed book of devil-magic,” Flanagan murmured out, “I’ll do most of the inspecting. Pray for me, lads.”

I immediately tried to stop Mr. Flanagan, but he already made contact with the Book. His sudden pause in action roused concern.

“Mr. Flanagan?” The Doctor took a hold of the painter’s shoulder, “Are you alright?!”

“Fight it, sir,” I said, “It takes strong will to handle the Book of Curses!”

“A-Aye,” He blinked and shook his head, clearly recovered from being in a daze, “How the hell were you handling this thing, Mayweather?!”

“Using will that is apparently as strong as yours,” I sighed, tiredness coming earlier than usual, “...as well as protection that made Mr. Curtis contact me in the first place.”

Roy Flanagan made a hmph and pulled the book closer for his inspection.

“So that’s his name, some strange transcription, and a thumbprint?” The painter asked aloud.

“That transcription would be a wish, or a desire,” I said.

“Ah, one of those things,” Flanagan was trying to feel in the Book’s paper, “It’s like bargaining with the fae but with extra steps.”

“‘I desire to be a key, to be a lit path,’” Grey peaked at the Book’s text from where he was positioned, “If it’s like bargaining with the fae, someone didn’t tell Detective Sydney not to be flowery around them.”

“‘...to know the Blood Clan’s interests in our sorry city, to possess knowledge of the Elder’s desires,’” Mister Saville continued reading aloud, speaking out the parts he deemed important, “‘Make me a vessel, make me a tool, to be truth bearer, to be great aid.’”

“‘Anything, really, anything,’” Flanagan finished the reading, “‘anything for answers.’ Oh, Elias, you finally did it, you reckless bastard!”

“To think this would prompt Sydney’s death,” Grey said, “a wish unfulfilled.”

“No,” I replied, terrified at the implications of the poor Detective’s death, “he got his wish. I just think one shouldn’t be so dumb as to ask for simply, a-and so finally, for ‘anything.’”

Mr. Flanagan closed the tome and handed it back to me, “I think it’s about time we discuss this with your friend, Mr. Curtis.”

“You’re right,” I glanced at the clock in the bedroom to find that it was slightly past 3 am, “it’s getting rather late too. We must rest.”

My body was not used to all-nighters anymore. Of course, the Spirit deigned to ruin slumber as well! I thanked the servant who woke me after informing me of breakfast awaiting downstairs.

Yawning, I stretched within the confines of the wonderfully comfortable guest bedroom Rae had her servants set up for me. In this strange but familiar world, she was part of the nobility like I am, and the sight of her in such aristocratic fashion felt like fantasies made reality. 

I always dreamed of seeing her dressed that way, running the House rather than being run by it. In the freedom we were willing to fight for together, I could see us quietly drumming up stories that brought joy to those who needed it. Maybe I could throw more money at Rae’s old home and perhaps finally set to work like I was supposed to. 

Like I had planned to before I lost everything.

As I went to freshen myself and dress up, I began to wonder what became of Felix Bailey. The time I spent with him alone was certainly interesting, to say the least.

Waking to find ourselves in an inn sharing a large bed in brand new costumes was a surprise, but even bigger was the amount of whimsy and magic that graced that past world. Marlisle was far more magical than Lanceno, what with the potion use I caught left and right.

Felix, despite clearly having not been in a world with any sliver of magic since meeting me, had excitedly tried to get me up and ready to start exploring. His behavior was no different than when we found ourselves in Leto suddenly within the waiting shed lines for the Royal Carriages. He had been quick to ask questions, eager to socialize, suddenly pulling me into one of the carriages.

In Marlisle, I had quickly taken notice of the fact that we had a good lot of Rae’s things. By some miracle, Felix got to pull money out of her big purse, and was able to pay for both our stay in the inn and the breakfast we had right after. In our attempts to navigate the place with the information Rae granted us, our sojourn to the home of the White Owl Oracle had been filled with much inquiry and relative confusion. We had intended to get there by evening, but we had tired ourselves far too much and stopped at the Nightingale Tavern, which was being mastered at the time by the infamous bard Tate Lain. 

Thanks to Felix’s rather forward behavior towards the said bard that evening, that man’s name is not leaving my head. (Like, I get that you think he’s handsome, but he’s also distracting! And not in a good way.) Despite Rae’s clarification and apparent friendship with Mr. Lain, I still had little confidence in the goodness of his talent as a musician. To think I was convinced that Mr. Bailey had some semblance of taste! Well, I’m grateful for the bard’s aid, I guess. I pray that Mr. Bailey’s current absence is because of something beneficial to our cause, rather than something of his own failing.

Once I was satisfied with my appearance, I went to the dining area, and I was already missing out on much conversation.

“Awake at last, Mister Curtis,” Greeted Desrosier, chasing his last bite of black pudding with a cup of coffee.

“I hope you’re well rested,” Rae added, adding sugar to her cup of coffee, “we have much to do today.”

I sat down, “I’m much more surprised that neither of you two slept in like I did.”

“If it makes you feel better, Caroline did trip on her way to the table,” commented Mrs. Desrosier.

“Priscilla!” Rae was flustered, “You didn’t need to tell him that!”

She only laughed back wickedly, reclining back into her chair. I shook my head, eager to eat.

What was left for me was some sausages and toasted bread. I took my fill and slathered on the bread the remaining bit of butter and jam on the table. Enjoying the tea from last night, I was eager to see if the coffee lived up to my expectations. (Which it did!)

“So, when do you intend to meet your friend, Mr. Curtis?” Mrs. Desrosier turned to me, “If it’s not early, we could have you accompany us to meet with Detective Sydney, a friend of mine that Caroline and, erm, and my husband are curious to meet.”

I could tell the Desrosiers were clearly married in a rush. I’ve met many similar pairs growing up, from aunts and uncles to friends and partners of my parents. Marriage produces such interesting portraits of couples, with or without the love one usually has in them.

If things go right, Rae and I will have a pretty one, even if it’s not from a fairytale.

I paused to sip from my cup, the sudden thumb sting that followed giving me unease from the proposal.

“Unfortunately, it is an early affair. Well, i-it’s around midday—luncheon!” I shakily but quietly put my cup back down the table, “The time is not right for us to meet.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Desrosier pursed her lips, her expressive eyes communicating her feelings well, “what a shame.”

Rae’s eyes darted towards me this time, bright purple with hints of red brightening in surprise with my refusal.

“Indeed,” As she feigned cordial delight, her eyes continued to redden, “Our meeting with our dear detective friend might go past that time.”

“Then,” I again took my cup, “let my friend’s presence here upon your return be reparations, Miss Rayes. If you’ll allow it, of course.”

She smirked, “Make your preparations, Mister Curtis, and we’ll make ours.”

With much haste, we all made our preparations immediately after breakfast. I was fortunate to find that the lavatory that came with my guest bedroom was well-supplied. I combed my hair, brushed my teeth, and cut my nails, finishing with another brush of eyeliner. I was curious to find that it only seemed present in the Womens’ kit there, making me realize the trend of “eye-sharpening” amongst nobles of my generation was restricted only to Lanceno. It’s quite the miracle that it hasn’t yet been commented on by the people of this world. How interesting London is!

I had entered the foyer just as the three were about to leave.

“Just in time!” Rae said, her wear just like last night’s except with her colorful hair coiffured, “We’re about to take a carriage to Detective Sydney’s place.”

“Do you want us to fetch you one too?” asked Mrs. Desrosier, “Caroline has told me about your friendship with her, Mr. Curtis. Let another friend of hers do you kindly by letting us borrow our carriage.”

“It’s mostly because Ms. Rayes insisted we ride one of hers,” snarked her husband jokingly, a piece of paper in hand. 

“If you like,” Rae continued, “you can order the carriage to pick up your friend and bring them to meet you here. I have everything arranged.”

I couldn’t resist smiling at how she carried herself right in front of me.

“I appreciate the generosity, Ms. Rayes.”