Harold Moody stayed with us a bit longer than he had initially planned. He started with Cap while Harry and I were descending, easing into his questioning of the lad about the jar with the spark. Later, I asked Harry if it really was an ant’s ghost, to which the wizard only raised an eyebrow sceptically. But the boy believed it, and that was enough. It was clear that the lawyer wasn’t interested in the jar itself – he was merely trying to win the boy’s trust, as a lad brought up in the slums wouldn’t open up to a stranger so easily. Moody also questioned Harry and me, but we managed to keep quiet about half of what had happened concerning the arrival of the street kids at the house. The Lindemanns I had killed weren’t exactly a secret.

  “Gentlemen,” Harold said, noticing our omissions, “a lawyer is much like a doctor. Without knowing all the symptoms, I cannot make a diagnosis.”

  By then, I’d had enough of all this dodging and skirting around the truth, and I lost my temper a little. Not enough to reveal the full extent of Lindemann’s schemes and Simon Feron’s involvement, but enough to give him a bit more than I’d intended.

  “The Fairburns tried to blow up the manor, sending me with a bomb that was supposed to activate on-site and later poison the nascent place of power with death. What more do you need to understand?”

  “When you decided to assist Detective Sunset, I ran a background check. Clint Sparrow’s name appears in the files on Noah Valentine’s case.”

  “Bloody hell!” I swore. Damn it, John had been right: it wasn’t a police force, it was a gossip mill! “There’s no point giving the lads different names, is there?”

  “None,” Moody agreed. “You’d be caught in a lie soon enough, and possibly for forgery as well. I don’t know how far you’ve taken this.”

  The solicitor bombarded us with another dozen uncomfortable questions, managing to get answers to a few of them. Then he sent me out of the parlour to make some phone calls. It took me four numbers to get through to anyone. My uncles weren’t home, not even my cousin Evan was around, but I eventually found him at Sally’s house. Evan was babysitting his grandson. According to Sally, the young grandfather was causing more chaos than the child and exhausting everyone far more.

  The battle-hardened warlock took a while to switch back to business mode after all the “coochy-coos” and “goo-goos.” For a good three minutes, he had no idea what I was asking of him, but he eventually wrote down Moody’s phone number and promised to handle the matter by the end of the day. I returned to the solicitor empty-handed, but he didn’t seem to have expected an immediate resolution anyway. Taking advantage of the fact that he and Harry had finished their conversation, I burdened him with another problem: land issues.

  “Just buy it?” Harold didn’t quite understand.

  “Acquire it in Smuggler’s Bay slums,” I clarified. “Most of that land is divided between His Worship and the Duke. Only small patches remain in private hands.”

  “I take it the value of that land is likely to rise soon?” Harold probed.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I see no other reason for you to want to buy it.”

  “Well… Yes,” I admitted, “but the timing of this ‘soon’ is highly uncertain.”

  “I’d delegate this matter to my daughter. She’s good with paperwork, and that’s exactly what you need, isn’t it? To locate the owners and offer them the lowest possible price?”

  I nodded.

  “What sort of finances are you working with?”

  “Right now – just over two thousand pounds.”

  Moody raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “Not much for any serious dealings, even considering the cheapness of contaminated land.”

  I hurried to add, “I’ll be receiving another fifteen hundred soon, and I’ll gain access to a bank account inherited from my grandfather. Unfortunately, I forgot to ask how much was in it…”

  At the time, Simon had been of far greater interest to me.

  “That was rather careless of you,” Moody remarked. “I’ll have my daughter research the prices and begin the search. But you must understand, free land in a city is practically unheard of. In the City proper, a couple of business towers stand on the Duke’s land. The owners are merely leasing it for a hundred years. The slums are far from the City, but don’t expect owners to sell their land for pennies. As for our fee, we’ll set a fixed rate per acre instead of a percentage of the purchase price. Does that work for you?”

  “Well, it depends on the fee,” I said.

  “We’ll determine that after assessing the market and your available finances. Good day, gentlemen.”

  Harry and I hadn’t even had time to exchange thoughts before new guests arrived. Flower showed up, and he’d dragged Sheridan along with him. We greeted them at the door.

  “He’s going to pin everything on me again,” I muttered to Harry, and I was right. The blind face of the sorcerer, now up close, expressed nothing short of extreme irritation.

  “Oh, don’t even start!” I barked first, hoping Harry wouldn’t let him fry me on the spot. “I didn’t know the girls would be at the Tear!”

  “The fact that you were there was enough to send everything to hell!”

  “And whom do you see in me?” I shot back.

  “What?” James frowned in confusion.

  “You clearly think I remind you of someone – someone who’s really pissed you off. Do we have the same name? Where does this bias come from?”

  James fell silent. Strangely enough, for the first time, he didn’t know what to say. I’d actually managed to shut him up! But not for long.

  “You’re spouting nonsense!” Flower snapped back after a brief pause.

  “He’s got a point,” Sheridan rumbled in his deep, measured voice.

  “Hal, not you too! Fine, let’s set aside emotions and stick to the cold facts,” James said, though each word dripped with bile. “Think about it: he met the girls, and they went off hunting vampires. He went to the Golden Tear with Finella – roadside shootout. He moved into our neighborhood – vampire attack. Went back to the Tear – fight, and the girls nearly got hurt.”

  “Oh, I’m just a bloody menace, aren’t I? And what exactly were our lovely ladies doing at the Tear?”

  “Having fun,” James replied sourly. “What else would those steel-headed fools have on their minds these days?”

  “Sitting at the same table as Kate Lindemann?” I asked.

  James opened his mouth and then shut it again.

  “Now, that’s something I’d like to hear more about,” Hal interjected. “Because we had a vampire lurking around the district all day until I yanked out his fangs. Tough bastard, didn’t say a word.”

  “A man?” I asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course, it does. Kate only keeps women in her nest. If it was a man, then the bloodsucker must have been from Gratch’s nest.”

  “Or,” Harry added, “the Valentines are back in the game.”

  “Let’s hope not. I think Kate’s just trying to secure her position.”

  “I don’t follow,” James admitted.

  “She’s trying to show she’s on good terms with anyone of note, so Nina doesn’t crush her nest.”

  “What exactly do those two airheads bring to the table?” Flower retorted, more to show his attitude than out of genuine curiosity. I didn’t even need to correct him – Sheridan handled it himself.

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  “Nothing. But one of them has a brother who helped wipe out another nest. And I, despite my peaceful profession, have a bit of a reputation myself. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Ah, my poor daughter, my belt is crying for you.”

  “Shall we step inside and discuss this over tea?” Harry suggested.

  Thanks to Hal, the conversation remained civil, though I suspect it will have unpleasant consequences for the girls. Hal even openly suggested James should finally give his sister a good thrashing since no other method seemed to work. He regretted sparing Ellie, he said, and now he regrets it even more.

  I spent the rest of the evening on the phone. Harry’s long-distance bill will likely be miles long, but at least I managed to track down Logan. I gave him the code to Granddad’s safe and told him to wire me whatever cash was left inside. The bank account, however, proved to be much trickier. It turned out I hadn’t even formally claimed my inheritance yet, and to do that, I’d have to visit the Royal Bank of Avoc in person. That meant tracking Logan down again and ordering him to check the safe for any relevant documents. Surely there must be something there.

  Harry, meanwhile, spent his time more productively, devising a scheme to examine Simon’s subtle body. Still, he didn’t consider his knowledge absolute and wasn’t above using physical diagnostic methods. Why waste a ton of energy when the baronet had a broken fang? It might’ve been worth nudging Sunset to get a dentist involved, but the bloodsuckers had already been checked, and a renewed interest might tip someone off. We already knew the precinct leaked like a sieve, so any element of surprise would have been lost.

  That’s when I remembered that Sheridan was also rather skilled with teeth – he could restrain a patient with one hand and, if necessary, snap their neck with it too. Hopefully, the baronet’s honour wouldn’t suffer too much from being examined by a vet, especially since Sheridan agreed to it with great enthusiasm, particularly after learning that the fight at the Golden Tear had been the ‘patient’s’ fault.

  In the morning, we startled Sunset by showing up unannounced at the station. Clean-shaven, freshly scrubbed, but still gloomy and clearly not well-rested, the detective immediately straightened up and tensed. We hadn’t warned him, after all. Leaving Sheridan in the hallway, we locked ourselves in his office and dumped a pile of information on him – first about the arch and the cultist theory, then about the magical-dental plan for inspection. Upon hearing that we’d made progress on the arch, John was ready to let the baronet be a test subject, let alone have his teeth checked.

  The problem, however, was that Kettle wasn’t being held at the percinct; he was at the Special Squad’s facility in Castle Rock. The conditions there were better suited for containing gifted criminals: thicker bars, stronger spells, and an entire building full of sharp-toothed guards. Literally sharp-toothed, considering how many shifters worked there. Still, it wasn’t an issue; the detective had been granted broad authority for this case.

  We were quickly given an empty interrogation room with a metal chair bolted to the floor. With its abundance of straps and restraints, you could conduct surgery without anaesthesia in it, never mind an inspection. I made this observation to one of the constables assigned to accompany us.

  “Come now, my lord!” the constable exclaimed in indignation. “Next you’ll say we beat people here! It’s all for show. Suspects get so frightened they spill all their secrets straight away. We don’t lay a finger on them.”

  Harry approved of the room, but some of the restraints had to be removed because they were enchanted for durability and could interfere with the examination spells. While the constables worked, we waited in the hallway. When they were done, they brought in the baronet.

  Despite looking like a raccoon – thanks to two purplish shiners under his eyes and a swollen nose – Kettle hadn’t lost his spirit, even if his speech was nasal and slurred.

  “Gentlemen!” he greeted us thickly. “How on earth did you end up here?” The constable opened the door for him, and Kettle caught sight of the chair. “Not again!” he shouted, planting a foot against the doorframe. “I’ve already confessed everything yesterday!”

  The second constable gave Simon a gentle tap in the kidneys and dragged him into the room.

  “You said you don’t beat people?” I asked the first constable.

  “Perish the thought,” he replied indignantly. “It’s against the law!”

  I glanced at Sunset, but his expression gave nothing away. It seemed such minor details didn’t concern him.

  Once the baronet had been secured, we entered the interrogation room, which was now so crowded it felt claustrophobic. Sheridan set his bag of tools on the floor, pulled out a pair of thick leather gloves, and slipped them on.

  “Is this really necessary?” Simon asked nervously. “I swear, I’ve already confessed everything!”

  “Don’t worry, young man. I’m not going to hurt you,” Hal said, pulling out a pair of pliers big enough to pull a bear’s teeth. "Let’s have a look inside, shall we?"

  “Mm-mm!” Simon shook his head furiously, but Sheridan had his own opinion on the matter. He gripped Simon’s jaw firmly and pressed his thumb beneath the ear. The baronet’s mouth opened involuntarily, and the vet promptly stuck the pliers inside. I’d thought they were for teeth, but Hal grabbed Simon’s tongue instead and yanked it out. I’d never realised it was that long! Nor did I know that sorcerers could channel their element through it. Simon’s tongue sparked and crackled, and the pliers were clearly under some kind of current, but Hal’s thick gloves kept him well protected.

  “So he doesn’t bite,” Sheridan explained. However, he didn’t actually use his hands to inspect the teeth. Instead, he pulled out a small mirror on a bent handle and slipped it into Simon’s mouth.

  “Sir Harry, if you’d be so kind as to provide some light.”

  Harry quickly traced a rune of light in the air, infused it with energy, and sent it floating towards the vet.

  “Thank you... Ah, yes... Mhm...” Sheridan turned the mirror, tapping it against the teeth with the handle before putting it aside and lifting Simon’s upper lip. “Ordinary human teeth. In good condition, as far as I can tell. No chips or cracks in the canines. Shall we let him go?”

  Harry nodded. Sheridan released Simon’s lip and tongue, and the baronet immediately yanked his "flapper" back in and attempted to swear. It came out emotional but utterly unintelligible.

  “Am I done here?” Sheridan asked. “I’ve got a cat castration scheduled in half an hour.”

  Whatever Simon had been planning to say, he swallowed it, clamping his legs together instinctively.

  “We won’t keep you, Mr. Sheridan,” Harry said, shaking the vet’s hand, though a constable interjected.

  “Do you charge much for that? We’ve occasionally got a few stray toms ourselves…” He glanced sideways at Simon. “We can discuss it outside.”

  Sheridan left the room with the constable. Sunset sent the other copper packing as well, then positioned himself in the corner behind Harry. I took the other corner. Once we were in place, Harry retrieved his spellbook. The diagram he copied from its pages was clearly inspired by the Archmaker. At least in form. The entirely ethereal arch also featured a ring studded with runes from various elements. A second ring, distinct from the arch itself, hovered over Simon’s head, while a third, simpler arch without figures – just a dozen runes – appeared in front of him.

  “Um… Gentlemen, what exactly is happening?” the baronet asked, eyeing the magical figures nervously. Naturally, no one answered him.

  The arches didn’t cost Harry much, thanks to his personal ether place of power, but the ring above Simon’s head – infused with various elements – drained a significant portion of his reservoir stones. If Harry had been billing Sunset for the effort, the police department would surely have declined the service. Fortunately, Harry had taken on the task under different terms, and his scientific curiosity was piqued.

  Following the wizard’s gestures, the ring above Simon’s head began to spin, glowing brighter and brighter with every rotation. The baronet glanced up nervously and made another futile attempt to test the restraints. Sparks flew from the chair, but Harry ignored them, extending his right hand to focus on the second ring behind Simon. That ring also began to spin, its runes blurring into luminous lines. Soon, the two rings matched speeds, and Harry clenched his left hand into a fist. A column of multicoloured light shot down from the top ring. Simon jerked and tensed. Harry clenched his right fist, and a burst of ethereal light bloomed behind the baronet, illuminating his form down to the bones.

  Harry’s arch shimmered, and then the image of a human on the chair was replaced by a vivid picture of his subtle body.

  I could have seen something similar with my third eye if I’d simply focused. Harry, however, could perceive far more, though even gifted individuals of his calibre could easily mask their true nature. Take Flower, for example. In the subtle planes, he looked only slightly stronger than his sister, but in reality, he was a fire-breathing monster. The ritual Harry had initiated left no room for such deceptions.

  “Well?” Sunset finally broke the silence.

  “I’m curious too,” Simon added nervously.

  The image was remarkably clear: torn patches of aura typical of a reckless drinker, a faint layer of grime, a dense violet orb in the elemental source, and matching channels running through the subtle body. His spiritual heart was completely sealed, and a blue spark of ether glimmered in his third eye.

  Unable to hold back, Sunset stepped closer and pointed at the patch of grime.

  “Is that it?”

  “No. He just needs to stop sleeping with vampires,” Harry replied. “The grime is superficial. If it were the kind of darkness we discussed, it would be embedded deep within the body, like these channels.”

  “For goodness’ sake, would someone tell me what’s going on?!” the baronet snapped, his perspective clearly offering him a very different view.

  “I’ll call a constable,” Sunset threatened. “He’ll explain it to you – and it won’t be pleasant.”

  The baronet fell silent, and Sunset sighed, visibly disappointed.

  “Another dead end…”

  Harry dispelled the magic. After the vivid illuminations, the room plunged into near darkness.

  “What’s the matter with you?” I asked John. “You didn’t believe he was the killer anyway.”

  “Well, now we’ve got proof. We’ll have to let him go. Moody’s been banging his hoof and head against high office doors since yesterday.”

  “What are you waiting for, then?” Simon grumbled. “Take off the cuffs!”

  “I might just call the constables again!” Sunset repeated his threat.

  “You’ve still got vampires to deal with,” I reminded him.

  “I don’t have any vampires left,” Sunset muttered. “Would you believe it – they have no complaints. The owner of the Tear has no complaints. And this one…” He gestured at Simon. “None. Bolaji suddenly ‘no under stand Duthigh’ well enough, and his solicitor claims his client got upset due to a language barrier. The patrons saw nothing. Only me and the PSS guys are making claims!”

  “Claims?!” Simon protested. “Who’s got claims after last night’s brawl, exactly?”

  “Constables!” Sunset barked calling.

  “I was joking!” Simon backtracked immediately.

  “This one…” John trailed off and sighed. “Let him go.”