26 March 1686 of the 6th Era, Passiflora Road, East District

  Antony pulled up the collar of his coat, trying to protect his face and ears from the sharp northern wind. This was definitely not the right weather to go for a stroll. But, perhaps, the right weather for what they were about to do, as it drastically reduced the amount of pedestrians in the streets.

  “Good to have a mage capable of teleporting to wherever they please,” Charlotte, on the contrary, seemed completely unbothered by the cold or the wind. She was steadily walking next to him, turning her head from side to side with genuine curiosity.

  And there was indeed a lot to take in. The East district was reserved strictly for nobility, with the streets closest to the West district being occupied by the rich upper class. Tacky decorations and overly pretentious designs of new money were at this point well behind them, and they were walking along one of the more dignified alleys. Charlotte approved of the neat hedges and the meticulous tree and shrub arrangements in the gardens they were passing by. The architecture, on the other hand, interested her very little, if at all.

  “It’s too much of a distance to cover by foot in a reasonable amount of time. It was that or take a cab. You seem to like gardening?”

  “It used to be a hobby of mine. I don’t have much time for it nowadays, and I live in a flat, not a house. The most I can do is plant something in the pots on my balcony come spring.”

  “I thought you,” Antony paused, his expression becoming rather lost and somewhat worried.

  “I’m not short on funds,” she decided to save him the embarrassment. “I simply prefer that lifestyle. According to Lundhaven’s laws, I’m a commoner, Mr Levy. That title in front of my name is there just to allow me to feel special. And for those coming from the actual working class to… Someone I knew would say ‘to know their place’, but I strongly disagree with that idea. I treat it as a useful tool, if you will, as it opens many a noble’s door. Such as that of Lord Simon Welz.”

  “You found a way to meet him?”

  “Thanks to Cardinal Whitesand, yes. He mentioned that his noble friend, who also happens to be an exorcist and a private detective, is visiting Ledavia on some matter connected to the Church. To Bernard’s surprise, Lord Welz immediately requested to meet me in connection to his father’s demise.”

  “That…”

  “Sounds awfully suspicious, yes. However, I got what I wanted,” she tucked an unruly curl behind her ear only for the wind to instantly blow it back into her face. “We’ll see why he wants to meet me.”

  “Perhaps it has to do with the missing necklace?”

  “That is my thought as well, but who knows. Maybe Mr Brook managed to somehow offend him, and he will demand I prove the man’s guilt.”

  They turned the corner and finally arrived at their destination. Antony looked up, making sure that none of the lights in the house were burning, then soundlessly weaved a concealment spell. He then proceeded to carefully push the metal gate open, and the two of them stepped onto the gravel road leading towards the manor.

  During the day, and especially in warmer weather, the garden was probably a treat to see. Carefully trimmed trees loomed over the walkway, providing shade from the sun, and Charlotte noticed decorative borders lining the path, indicating that it was most likely adorned by flowerbeds on both sides. Right now, however, the view was less than welcoming. Snow was piling in the shaded areas of the territory, the lawn sticking from it was covered in yellowed grass, with patches of frozen dirt in between, and more readily resembled a swamp. Welz’s gardener seemed to despise evergreens. Even the thicket adorning the premises looked like it came from an illustration in a children’s book about the evil fey who stole everyone’s Solstice presents.

  The house itself was large, too large for Charlotte’s tastes, and disappointingly bland.

  “I expected gargoyles,” she murmured, making her companion chuckle.

  “Just Enuan architecture. Well, that of the Western part of the country, at least,” he examined the building and had to agree that a pair of gargoyles on the roof would have indeed been very suitable. “Stolberg is different, though having seen Lindau, I doubt you’d like it.”

  “How come?”

  “Pompous and pretentious,” he made a lofty gesture. “Spires and towers all the way.”

  “Now I want to see it.”

  “Not today, maybe, but I can arrange a trip. If you’re being serious right now, of course.”

  “I am,” Charlotte covered her face with her palm, trying to hide a sheepish smile.

  They briskly walked towards the front door, but then stopped on the porch. Antony slightly tilted his head to the side and listened. He looked at Charlotte and put a finger to his lips, and she nodded in understanding. While no one would be able to see them, the same couldn’t be said about not being able to hear them.

  He touched the brass lion-shaped handle, and the large and heavy front door silently opened in front of them, then just as quietly closed once they were inside. Antony thought for a moment, drawing something resembling a floor plan in the air, then led Charlotte towards the winding oak staircase leading to the first floor. They turned right and walked past several doors, until Antony raised his hand, indicating that they were in the right place.

  His eyes narrowed for a moment, as if he saw something rather unpleasant, then made a curt gesture and entered the room, beckoning her to follow.

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  Whatever it was that upset Antony, at least they were where they needed to be. The study was rather spacious, which was hardly surprising considering the overall size of the house. The walls were hidden behind large bookcases that stretched from floor to ceiling, with the few empty spaces decorated with so many paintings that the ornament painted on the wall wasn’t even visible beneath them. In the middle of the room lay a large woolen carpet, dyed a deep and rather pleasant purple. Thankfully it didn’t cover the entire room, leaving some space for them to stand. Charlotte squinted a bit, trying to see if there were still any traces of the tragedy left, but it seemed that the maids did a fairly good job cleaning the mess. The writing desk, too, was in perfect order, and the same was true for the safe in the far corner of the room.

  Antony waited for her to finish, then pointed towards a corner closest to the door.

  “You might want to close your eyes,” he whispered, firmly holding both of her hands. “Greg at least claims it’s a very unpleasant sensation, and can be quite nauseating. Ready?”

  She nodded, and the next moment, the world rapidly turned into a black-and-white mess. It was as if they were both drowning and breathing freely at the same time, were cold and insufferably hot. Figures, items, everything was spinning around them at a speed where the brain couldn’t follow the motion, just knew there was motion. She quickly realised that the advice was very sound, grasping Antony’s arm.

  Then, she felt something slam into her. A… memory? Something that she should have known, something that she had forgotten. It was calling to her. Calling her name. Crying out and tearing at her. Trying to drag her somewhere. Her whole body felt weak against the force, and her fingers fumbled, refusing to listen. A moment, and she would be gone, lost forever in this weird sea of time and space. Thankfully, Antony’s grip on her remained strong, and she felt something, a shield spell, most likely, appearing around them, forcing the terrifying creature to retreat.

  Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped, and she once again felt the wooden floors under her feet. She slowly opened her eyes and saw Antony’s mortified face.

  “That… That wasn’t normal, was it?” a shiver ran down her back at the realisation.

  “No,” he whispered, trying, but failing, to give her a reassuring smile. “I’ve no idea what it was, and I hope we won’t encounter it on our way back. Either way, this is not the time. We’re when we need to be.”

  She nodded and carefully turned around, observing the changes in the environment. Before she could take another step, however, Antony gently tugged on her hand, pointing towards the carpet. There was a large smear at the very edge that she would have inevitably stepped into had he not stopped her.

  She frowned. The body was lying square in the middle of the room, stomach down, already missing its head. Charlotte leaned forward slightly, hearing Antony’s exasperated sigh as she did so.

  “No magic, I remember,” she whispered, staring at the dead man’s back. The wound indeed looked very clean. A puncture, even the morning coat seemed to have a perfectly round hole with no threads or torn edges. “So he was wearing the thing.”

  She continued to look around. The room was in a state of disarray, as if someone had been hastily searching for something, but it wasn’t exactly chaotic, with mostly the area near the writing desk and the safe being affected.

  This didn’t resemble a hasty search, either. Or, at least, the killer believed they had enough time to return some books back to the shelves, and thoroughly go through the contents of some of the drawers, piling things up carefully instead of just scattering them.

  She strained to see the area behind the writing desk, but realised that from where she was standing, that was impossible, and she dared not move to get a better angle, hearing Antony’s somewhat disgruntled mumbling.

  “What is it?”

  “Can you see anything behind the desk?”

  He shook his head, “It’s too far away, I am afraid. I can see some papers scattered on the floor, some arranged in a neat pile, and a bunch of quills. Ugh... Don’t worry, I’m fine,” he hurried to assure her. “The quality of those things… It’s not very good, to put it mildly. The paper, too, is on the cheaper end, considering its colour.”

  “Could it be just for taking notes?”

  “Possible,” he found the explanation agreeable. “However, there are no quills for making notes, if you get what I mean. Poor Mr Brook probably struggled with his work because of it.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I can also see the safe from here. It’s completely empty. Almost empty, rather. There’s a candle inside. Come to think of it, aren’t there way too many candles strewn across the desk, too?”

  “You’re right,” she counted them, but quickly gave up. “A dozen or so. Used recently, but I doubt Mr Brook required this much light to write his letters.”

  “No,” Antony agreed after a few seconds. “There’s an oil lamp on the floor, so he was probably using that as a light source, if he even needed a light source. Uhm… The letters…”

  He looked around, until he finally caught a glimpse of an envelope lying behind the desk.

  “At least that bit of the story seems to be adding up,” he pointed at it with a satisfied nod.

  Charlotte nodded, but without much enthusiasm. She was already thinking of something else. It was a silly idea, based only on a few things she saw in the room, and yet… She examined the interior more thoroughly, finding more and more evidence to support the observation, until she was all but certain in her theory. For now, however, she knew not what to do with this newfound knowledge.

  Instead, Charlotte turned her attention back to the corpse and the blood stains covering the carpet. A single wound, no visible signs of a fight having taken place, just as Mr Placek and Agnes claimed. And yet, the body had been moved for some reason and placed on its stomach. Were they making a statement? Trying to hide something?

  Besides, the wound itself… Charlotte closed her eyes, searching her memory for a hint of recognition. Somewhere, years ago, she had seen this, or was she shown this? A quick puncture wound right through the heart. Victim… Wait, the one thing that bothered her in that report and the very reason she wanted to see the body to begin with. The very claim that the man seemed to be in slightly poorer shape than during his last scheduled visit to his physician.

  She scanned the body for the right signs, instantly finding them. There was no certainty, of course, and she would need to scour the archives for a confirmation, but she was right to have a bad feeling about this case. Agnes did make a mistake.

  As she stood there, shocked at the revelation, she caught sight of a book lying right next to Lord Welz’s hand. A rather familiar tome, she acknowledged. Was this something that was discarded by the killer when he was conducting this search? Or was this something Lord Welz was holding at the time of his death? Her gaze shifted towards his hand, and she finally noticed the weird position his fingers were in.

  “I hate to say it, but we’re running out of time. That thing drained my mana reserves way more than I anticipated, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologise. We can go back, I think I saw everything I could see,” she whispered, one last time looking at the ceiling and then at the window and the bookshelves in case something else would catch her attention.

  Antony nodded, and the very next second they both disappeared from the room, leaving no trace behind.