The first thing we did was call Moody, but the solicitor had spent the entire night at the police station, trying to get Simon released. Meanwhile, we were sipping our morning tea and sorting through the tangled schemes of our enemies, almost sending the Sparrow brothers to Bremshire. That was, until de Camp himself called, personally instructing us not to do anything stupid and to receive the inspection properly, as was appropriate. It was nice to know we still had allies in high places keeping an eye on us.

  The rest of the morning descended into chaos, with everyone rushing around the house like headless chickens. Even Sunset wasn’t spared—he ended up with a broom and his own share of cleaning duties. However, no amount of dusting could hide the bullet holes, the cracks in the walls, or the other scars left by our recent battles. To cover those up, Harry resorted to layering the house with illusion seals that blurred and diverted attention away from the damage.

  He wasn’t exactly an expert in this type of magic—in his own words, he wasn’t much of an expert at all—but the nearby ether source helped immensely. The lack of carefully balanced spellwork was offset by the constant power supply. Still, after all the “cosmetic fixes,” the flow density at the place of power dropped by half.

  The delegation arrived in due course. Four constables from the Fourth Precinct came clad in enchanted vests and draped with amulets, looking like walking Christmas trees. The plump, balding, and profusely sweating caretaker from the orphanage glowed just as much, while the stern woman with a clipboard and the grim man with a cane opted for plain everyday charms. Perhaps they disregarded Harry’s reputation, doubted any real danger here, or simply believed that their status as representatives of a government body—and a court order—offered better protection than any amulet. And to be fair, they weren’t entirely wrong.

  This group showed more sense than most, stopping at the gate. One warning was enough for them: a faint lightning spell on the handle of the small gate. But they weren’t content to just stand around and wait. The man with the cane tapped the wrought-iron bars with it. The gesture was unnecessary, as Cap, freshly groomed, washed, and dressed in his best house clothes, was already hurrying to open it. Harry deactivated some of the trap seals along the path leading to the house and lamented that he’d forgotten to deal with the weeds, having focused all his efforts on the building itself.

  Cap escorted the entire delegation to the manor, though, according to Harry, the plump man had suggested grabbing the boy immediately and taking him back to the orphanage. Nathan, however, stood his ground in a way that left Harry laughing until tears rolled down his cheeks. He later relayed the exchange to me.

  “Just you try, fatso!”

  “You little brat! Do you even realize who you’re talking to? Just wait until we’re back at the orphanage.”

  “You can go back there yourself! And if you so much as lay a finger on me, Sir Harry will sic his ghosts on you!”

  The fat man didn’t get a chance to respond—Inspector Rogers cut him off with a curt command to stay quiet. Harry immediately pointed out to me how the caretaker didn’t dare contradict her, even though she had behaved quite amicably when asking Nathan to lead them to Sir Harry. Her questions, however, bore a striking resemblance to the ones Moody had asked when he first met the boy.

  We met the delegation on the porch. I recognized a few familiar faces under cork helmets and gave the constables a friendly nod. However, the man in charge of them was none other than the sergeant I’d clashed with during my first visit to the police station. He didn’t look thrilled to see me, tensing visibly, while the rest of the officers appeared more relaxed.

  The middle-aged woman in a severe navy dress introduced herself as Kerry Rogers, an inspector from the City Welfare Department. And she wasn’t just called a lady out of courtesy—she was a Knight of the Empire, which formally put her on the same social footing as Harry. The man with the cane was introduced as Sam Elmore, her assistant, though his official position wasn’t disclosed, which was mildly unsettling. The plump man, as we already knew, was Tom Fisher, a caretaker from the orphanage. The whole situation had him visibly on edge, and he was sweating profusely.

  Once the introductions were done, the delegates were invited into the only presentable sitting room for tea—without the constables.

  “How can this be?” the caretaker protested, shooting Harry a nervous glance, dabbing his shiny scalp with a handkerchief, and squeaking, “He could do anything to us in there!”

  Harry lowered his voice to a spectral whisper and promised, “And I will… I’ll serve you tea…”

  Lady Kerry discreetly covered her mouth with her hand and let out a soft giggle. Even Sam, her assistant, allowed himself a faint smile at the quip.

  “In truth,” Harry admitted, “the constables carry far too many enchantments, which might interfere with the house’s wards. You’re already wearing quite a few charms, but I can manage with just one or two people to monitor.”

  Harry was lying, of course; he just wanted the constables to stay outside. But I hadn’t forgotten about them.

  “Gentlemen, how about some tea and biscuits?” I offered.

  “On duty,” the sergeant declined stiffly, as if I’d offered him whiskey, then barked at his men, “Don’t let your guard down!”

  “Please,” Harry said, opening the door for Lady Kerry.

  “Thank you,” she replied primly, but she paused briefly to address Fisher less politely, without even turning to look at him. “If you wish to remain outside, Mr. Fisher, the committee will exclude the orphanage’s opinion from this matter.”

  Fisher wiped his brow again, muttering curses under his breath, before reluctantly following the others inside.

  The table in the sitting room had been set by Knuckles. Meanwhile, Cap, taking a roundabout route through the trees and weeds, escorted Sunset out of the house. The detective had an amulet that allowed him to pass safely along the path, but navigating the park required him to see the fine magical details. Wards weren’t just on the ground; they were woven into the trees and hung in the very air itself.

  Knuckles bowed to the guests as was proper, but when he straightened up and saw the fat man, his expression changed, and he suddenly looked like a bristling alley cat. Fisher recognized him too, baring a sly, unpleasant grin.

  “Everything all right?” Harry asked.

  “Just fine, sir,” Knuckles managed, but Lady Kerry’s curiosity was piqued by his reaction.

  “You know Mr. Fisher, young man?”

  “Better than I’d like to.”

  “And why so much anger in your voice?”

  “Am I supposed to like him? He whipped me nearly every day!”

  The woman turned her gaze to the caretaker.

  “For good reason! The boy was uncontrollable!”

  “That’s odd,” Harry interjected. “I’ve found Clint to be a diligent and well-behaved young man.”

  “Well, you have your own methods for ensuring obedience…” the fat man blurted and immediately regretted it.

  Harry didn’t even have time to retort.

  “Shut your mouth,” Knuckles advised. “And don’t try to act like some kind of lord—you’re not in the orphanage anymore.”

  “When we get back,” Fisher promised, “we’ll have a very long talk…”

  “Yeah, right. You’re really scaring me here…” Knuckles sneered. “I grew up in the slums, fought vampires, and I’m far from the kid who could be scared by some fat, old pervert.”

  “See? See?” Fisher began jabbing his finger at Knuckles. “These kids need a lesson in proper manners!”

  “So do you!” Harry barked. “How dare you walk into my house, accuse me, threaten my wards, and lecture anyone on manners?”

  “We have a court order!” the fat man squealed, looking desperately to Lady Kerry for support.

  “The court order requires us to assess the situation, not accuse Sir Harry,” she replied coolly. “I’m afraid I must note a certain bias on your part, Mr. Fisher—both toward the children and Sir Harry. Would you care to explain?”

  I’d never seen someone sweat so much while simply standing still.

  “But… but…”

  “I can offer an unofficial version,” I said. “Not for the record.”

  “I must decline,” Lady Kerry replied. “Anything said in the presence of others will be taken into account and included in the report. Whether you speak or not is entirely up to you.”

  The fat caretaker exhaled in relief. Too bad—I’d been about to drop a hint about the Fairburns.

  “Oh, to hell with it!” Harry declared. “This man”—he jabbed a finger at Fisher—“and his superiors have been bought and paid for by Fairburn. He’s scared I’ll ruin his business, so he’s trying to take my apprentice. Go ahead, write it down wherever you like! With all due respect, my lady.”

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  “Apprentice?” Kerry asked, glancing at me. Right, Cap had gone off to fetch John, so Harry had introduced only me earlier.

  “Nathan,” Harry clarified. “Please, have a seat.”

  He personally pulled out a chair for Lady Kerry and waited for her to sit before gesturing for the others to take their places. Knuckles began pouring tea.

  “Thank you,” Kerry said. Once seated, she opened her folder and jotted down a few quick notes on a blank page. “Is there a formal apprenticeship contract?”

  “I took the boys off the streets,” Harry said. “Who was I supposed to sign one with?”

  “And what about the expenses? Surely training a wizard isn’t cheap.”

  “My lady, just behind that wall is an ether place of power. I’m more than capable of supporting two apprentices.”

  “So Lord Loxlin is also studying with you for free?”

  “My relationship with Lord Loxlin’s family and clan is built on longstanding business and personal ties. The lion’s share of my current income comes from Bremor. Charging them for training would be extremely impolite.”

  "If Nathan Sparrow is your apprentice, then who is Clint?" Lady Kerry asked, turning her attention to Knuckles, who was calmly pouring tea. "Don’t answer that. With your permission, I’d like the young man to speak for himself."

  "I'm a driver," Clint replied proudly.

  "Do you have a license, young man?" Elmore suddenly asked.

  "Well, I’m not a cabman," the boy said, clearly puzzled.

  "The mandatory driving exam law was passed two years ago," Sam informed us. "The police haven’t started enforcing it yet, but they say the rules will tighten soon. Better get one if you plan to keep driving."

  "Thank you, sir," Knuckles said seriously.

  "Is that all you do?" Lady Kerry asked.

  "Why just that? I also take care of the cars, clean, chop wood, carry water... I can do a lot, and if I can’t, I learn quickly—well, unless it’s math."

  "And what does math have to do with anything?"

  "Well, sir Harry hired a tutor for me. We study with the kid..."

  "And why does a driver need math?" Lady Kerry asked, tilting her head.

  "Well, because… How else am I supposed to get into college without math?"

  Fisher nearly choked on his tea.

  "You’re planning to go to college, young man?" Lady Kerry asked, pointedly disregarding Fisher’s reaction.

  Knuckles nodded hesitantly.

  "And what will you study?"

  "Engineering. I’m going to build cars!"

  Fisher let out a derisive chuckle, mocking Knuckles’ proud declaration, and the boy’s face started to redden.

  "A very commendable goal!" the woman said sternly, shooting a pointed look at the caretaker. "And where do you plan to get the money for your studies?"

  "I’ve already done the math. A year of college costs ￡82. Sir Harry pays me ￡1 a week, that’s ￡52 a year plus. I don’t need to worry about food or clothes."

  "Your math really sucks! Do you think that’ll be enough for your studies?" Fisher asked mockingly. "What about the fact that you won’t be able to work while attending classes?"

  "In three years, I’ll be nineteen," Clint replied firmly. "Mr. Moody says I can sue the orphanage and reclaim the money it received from selling my parents’ house. That’ll definitely cover tuition and living expenses."

  The smirk vanished from Fisher’s face.

  "And who is this Moody?" he demanded.

  "Mr. Harold Moody?" Kerry asked, raising her eyebrows. "Does he even take new clients?"

  "Duncan convinced him," Clint said.

  "Then you’ve got every chance, young man," the woman said with a nod. "I saw his son-in-law at court—a truly talented young man."

  The statement caught Fisher off guard.

  "Nonsense!" he blurted out.

  "Are you saying the orphanage intends to keep the brothers’ inheritance for itself?"

  "What? Well—uh—the boys have a relative, and they’ll be sent to him immediately from the orphanage," Fisher stammered, dodging the question. "We won’t stand in the way of a family reunion."

  "And this relative has promised to donate the boys’ inheritance to the orphanage as soon as he becomes their guardian?" I asked. "A rather irresponsible move on his part, don’t you think? Not to mention, as Mr. Moody told me, it’s against the law."

  "Mr. Wimbush is a wealthy man and can afford—"

  "I’ve heard he’s having financial difficulties," I interrupted.

  "Gentlemen," Lady Kerry interjected, raising a hand. "Two questions. Mr. Fisher, did Mr. Wimbush indeed promise to make any kind of donation to the orphanage?"

  Fisher wiped his brow with a handkerchief, but it was already soaked through, merely smearing the sweat across his skin.

  "He didn’t specifically mention the inheritance..."

  "I see."

  "Lord Loxlin, where did you get your information about Mr. Wimbush’s financial situation?"

  "Private channels," I said.

  "I see. The information hasn’t been verified."

  "But it might be worth looking into," I suggested.

  "Certainly," she agreed.

  "Children should be with their family!" Fisher protested.

  "I’ve never even seen this so-called relative," Clint objected, while Lady Kerry took an even firmer stance.

  "Children should be where they’re cared for. Can their uncle provide the same opportunities they have here? Things like learning the magical arts or access to tutors? I highly doubt the orphanage can offer anything comparable."

  "We have our own educational program, approved by the Department of Education!" Fisher interjected.

  "This isn’t about a program—it’s about the environment for the children’s development. Their future should be the priority in this matter."

  I like her. Honestly, I do. I get that first impressions can be deceiving and that she might just be playing a role de Camp assigned her, but still—I like her! It’s nice to believe there are still people who care. And there are: Harry, John, my family, after all.

  "Thank you, Clint. Now, if you’d be so kind, please bring your brother."

  Nathan was nervous, but he didn’t look away. The fight with the ghost and Harry’s subsequent praise had boosted his confidence to unprecedented heights. He stood tall, trying to live up to the example Harry had set for him.

  "Do you want to live with your uncle, Nathan?" Kerry asked.

  "No," the boy answered firmly.

  "Why not?"

  "I don’t know him."

  "And at the orphanage?"

  "You’re joking, right? I’d rather go back to the slums."

  "Boy," Fisher said irritably, "you’re far too young to understand you’re talking to someone who will decide your fate…"

  "Everyone decides their own fate," Cap interrupted, correcting him. He lit an ether flame on his palm, and I nearly choked on my tea, staring indignantly at Harry. When had he learned such tricks? And why hadn’t I been taught? Meanwhile, Nathan proudly continued, "My fate is to become a wizard."

  "Impressive!" Kerry said, adding a few lines to her notes. "Sir Harry, could you prepare an estimate of the resources already spent on the boy’s training?"

  "That will be difficult," Harry replied. "Nathan freely draws ether from the place of power and charges the reservoirs himself. That’s the main expense."

  "Do your best," Kerry insisted. "If the boy stays with you as an apprentice, the Department will require a formal apprenticeship contract, with us acting as guarantors."

  "There’s no way around it?" Harry asked with a grimace.

  "I’m afraid not. Unless, of course, you adopt the boys."

  "Hmm..." Harry looked genuinely surprised. "That’s a significant responsibility," he said.

  I understood where Harry was coming from. With his philosophy, a father’s responsibility for his children lasts until the grave.

  "You’re seriously considering…" Fisher began, but then trailed off. "But he—"

  "If you’re referring to compulsion," Elmore suddenly interjected, "there are no symptoms of deep conditioning in the boys. Typically, compulsion creates either a servant or a soldier. In the former case, all aggression is completely removed—it’s unavoidable."

  "And the latter?" Fisher asked cautiously.

  "The second case affects abstract thinking. Those under such conditioning don’t dream of becoming wizards or engineers. However, there are still possibilities for targeted influences. For example: Harry is good, Uncle Wimbush is bad."

  "Sam…" Harry said, narrowing his eyes. "Sir Samuel Elmore, baronet, professor of psychology at the Royal College of Exeter!"

  "Surprised and flattered," Sam replied. "Familiar with my work?"

  Harry nodded.

  “The Influence of Human Temperament on the Formation of a Werewolf’s Personality Post-Transformation.’ You’ll have to forgive me… I disagree with much of it."

  "We must discuss that at length," Elmore said, "but for now, I’d like to examine the boys. You don’t mind, do you?"

  Harry did mind, but refusing wasn’t an option. Our clever plan involving an independent specialist was rapidly going up in smoke. It was unclear who this man truly answered to, and any interference from Harry would only look suspicious. Still, he managed to ask one question:

  "Do you have any dealings with the Fairburns?"

  "No."

  "Then I have no objections."

  "I think it’s best to conduct this outside, in the presence of the police," Elmore suggested.

  Harry clenched his teeth, forced a polite smile, and nodded.

  The examination took about fifteen minutes. Elmore used a set of amulets that Harry had initially mistaken for everyday charms. He arranged them into something like a circlet, placed it on the boys’ heads, and asked them a couple of dozen seemingly random and unrelated questions.

  "Your verdict, sir?" Lady Kerry asked.

  "There are signs of some lingering psychological trauma... but no evidence of mental interference," Elmore announced. We collectively exhaled in relief, while Fisher gulped air as though he’d just been struck in the chest. The professor continued, "Moreover, the younger boy is showing signs of psychological stabilization. I didn’t probe too deeply, but it seems he was previously quite timid and withdrawn. This environment is having a positive effect on him, and I would strongly recommend against subjecting the child to the stress of a change in circumstances."

  "Well, we’re done here," Lady Kerry said. "All the best, gentlemen."

  "If I may," Sir Samuel said, "I’d like to stay and discuss the work Sir Harry disagrees with. After all, he has extensive experience with werewolves."

  The delegation left—all except Sir Samuel. Knuckles had to sprint off to fetch a bottle of fine Scotch so the gentlemen wouldn’t be forced to settle for tea.

  We’d won the first round, but the Welfare Department committee didn’t make binding decisions. They could only issue recommendations, and the ultimate verdict would rest with the court. Unfortunately, our standing there wasn’t as promising. Even Moody didn’t manage to get Kettle released from custody until nearly lunchtime.

  On the bright side, Nina had woken up. She called just as Harry and Samuel were halfway through their bottle of Scotch. I’d have to keep an eye on them to ensure they didn’t go too far.

  "What’s this business with some Wimbush?" the vampire asked.