It was a strange conversation, teetering on the edge of truth and half-truths, politeness and disdain. Yet there was no shortage of frankness.

  "Lord Loxlin," the lawyer asked, "why are you so biased against my client? He’s not a bad person – he’s never wronged anyone maliciously, and when he’s caused harm, it’s mostly to himself."

  "I don’t like the way he acts," I admitted, leaving out the part about how his appearance and even his name irritated me. Another Simon to deal with – just my luck.

  "Yesterday, you behaved with prejudice, but before that, you’d only met him once. Doesn’t that seem strange to you? Put yourself in his shoes for a moment."

  "I wouldn’t have ended up in his… shoes." Flower! Does he think I remind him of some scoundrel too? I’ll have to ask him about that sometime.

  "I see you’ve grasped the point," Harold nodded, as if catching my moment of clarity.

  But was I really as prejudiced as he claimed? What had I seen? A drunk who consorted with vampires, a man whose behavior shifted erratically. And the positives? Well, there was the fact that he didn’t like the Fairburns – but even that he’d expressed in the crudest way possible.

  "Mr. Moody, I haven’t set out to understand your client, but his behavior has been appalling. We’ve met twice. The first time, he was drunk; the second, he was hungover, bragging about sleeping with a vampire. Do you still think I’m being biased?"

  "Simon’s behavior is the result of a difficult childhood and a lack of parental love," Harold said, shaking his head. "You’re young and too categorical."

  "And you’re not entirely honest," I shot back, gesturing toward the contract.

  "I’m a lawyer," Moody said. "I’ve dealt with lies my entire life. But since you’re so fond of honesty... what if I make you an offer? Don’t rush to refuse! No contracts, just your word that you won’t act rashly. And if evidence against my client is found, you’ll verify it thoroughly."

  "Why me, and not Sunset? Don’t you trust his integrity?"

  "The inspector might use it in court if he deems it necessary. Besides, Mister Sunset…" Harold grimaced, "has a complicated history with the Chapmans. The Chief Justice let a killer go a few times – someone whose guilt no one doubted. And he was within his rights – constables had botched the evidence. The killer got tired of Sunset’s attention and nearly sent the detective to the grave."

  "And how does this concern me?"

  "We’re all human. Emotions often overshadow reason. Evidence against Simon would damage the judge’s reputation if Sunset… I’m not saying he’d seek revenge, just that he might not examine things carefully enough. And Chapman won’t go easy on Simon. How much do you know about the victims?" The lawyer’s tone lingered, as though he were debating whether to let me in on a secret.

  "You’re hinting at an illegitimate son?" I asked. "What was his name? Everyone keeps dancing around this story without giving me the full picture."

  "Gregor."

  Same as my grandfather. Oddly enough, I hadn’t come across the name since his passing, though it wasn’t exactly rare.

  "Chapman had a relationship with a girl from a poor family. He left her to marry Simon’s mother – or rather, to marry into the opportunities her father, the old Chief Justice, could provide. Love wasn’t part of the equation. The old Baronet Kettle cared far too much about public opinion. Simon, on the other hand, is the complete opposite of his grandfather in that regard."

  "So, Simon and Gregor were the same age?"

  "Just a few months apart. Chapman only learned of Gregor’s existence when the boy turned sixteen. By then, Gregor had gone astray – caught for robbery – and his mother went to the Chapman’s father for help. She wasn’t allowed into court or the judge’s house, so she had no choice. That was the first instance I know of where this Chief Justice openly used his connections. The sudden appearance of a son had a profound effect on him. He even wanted to acknowledge Gregor officially, but Lady Kettle refused. That decision irreparably damaged their relationship. Still, she didn’t object to him supporting the boy. Gregor even moved nearby, under the supervision of His Honor’s father, the professor. The old man took charge of his education and upbringing.

  "Later,” Moody continued, “Gregor’s mother passed away, and Simon tried to build a relationship with his half-brother. But it only made things worse. They got into a fight, and since Gregor wasn’t gifted, he ended up far more injured."

  It was Harold’s turn to wet his throat while I tried to poke holes in his story. Was it true? Why would Simon even bother with this relationship if there wasn’t a single drop of shared blood between them? Fine, let’s do as Harold suggested and put myself in Simon’s shoes. What would I have done? I didn’t know.

  My grandfather had been married twice, and Evan and I had different grandmothers, but I’d never noticed that it mattered to anyone. We Kinkaids are family, and that’s all there is to it. Maybe Simon also wanted a family? Maybe he pitied the boy, or maybe he even gloated. But to gloat like that… you’d have to be, sorry to say, a complete bastard. Not even Feron would stoop that low… or would he?

  Focus. Let’s listen to what the lawyer has to say next.

  “Then there was a major falling out between the Chapmans and the Kettles. The judge even left his home and moved in with his father and son. Lady Kettle’s sudden death brought the families to some degree of reconciliation, but after the son’s disappearance, Clive quarreled with his stepson again – and, for some reason, blamed him. If the Chief Justice comes to believe, even slightly, in Simon’s guilt, the gallows will be unavoidable.”

  “Does the law even allow a man to judge his own kin?” I objected. “Officially, he’s his son.”

  “Does it matter who sits in judgment? All the judges are under Clive’s thumb.”

  “God, what a family – a nest of vipers.”

  “You’re being overly categorical again,” the lawyer said, shaking his head.

  “Am I? It all started with the treachery of the older generation, and now the younger is paying the price. Lady Kettle could have pretended to be a widow and moved to a village or gone abroad. There was a widow like that under Avoc, and she ended up marrying Thomas Bailey a year after arriving. They had three kids. And the judge? He traded a woman for political gain and then expected to have a normal family? Don’t lecture me about youth, inexperience, and being categorical! In my short life, I’ve already made decisions whose consequences I’ll carry to the grave.”

  “Sometimes circumstances are stronger than we are.”

  “Oh, really? And what circumstances make Simon drink himself sick and jump into bed with bloodsuckers?”

  “A lack of a clear moral compass.”

  That caught me off guard. I didn’t think the question could even be answered. But then again, what was I expecting? Of course he’d have a response – convincing people is half of his job. What a fool I was, arguing with someone on their own turf and by their own rules. If this continued, Harold might actually convince me that Simon was an innocent lamb.

  “Apologies, Mr. Moody, but I consider this conversation pointless.”

  Now it was his turn to be surprised, though Harold quickly mastered his emotions and made a decision.

  “It’s a shame, my lord. Apologies for taking up your time. I hope you won’t refuse this.”

  Harold stood, walked to the desk, took a business card from a small holder, and handed it to me.

  “Reach out if you change your mind…”

  Smart devil. He kept his dignity, preserved the relationship, and boxed me into a corner. Refuse, and I’d insult him. Accept, and I’d show I might reconsider. Damn it, I had to take it. I extended my hand.

  “I won’t act rashly,” I said. “You can be sure of that. I want to sleep soundly at night. But that doesn’t mean I’ll hesitate or feed you information from Sunset. Furthermore, the detective will definitely hear about your request.”

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  “Wouldn’t it be better to keep it discreet?”

  “No.”

  “Well then,” Harold smiled, “I suppose I have no choice. Reach out if you ever need anything.”

  I already did. Can I trust you? If only I could dump the whole mess – the boys, Fairburns, and the land – on him! Damn it, this question needs serious thought and discussion.

  “May I make a call?”

  “Of course!”

  I called the precinct, hoping Sunset had returned from headquarters, but the sergeant said the detective was out on a call. My second call was home, to find out whether Harry had left for the library. Cap said he had – but not to the library. He’d gone to a crime scene at Sunset’s request and even gave me the address, effectively deciding my next move for me.

  The address was in Castle Rock, which, if I wasn’t mistaken, was under another precinct’s jurisdiction. Sunset must have gone there because of the Archmaker.

  Castle Rock, also known as the district of the Duke’s Castle, was the oldest part of Farnell. Long ago, it was Farnell, while the docks, bays, and Greenhouse were separate nearby villages. Accordingly, the roads here were paved with old cobblestones, the streets were narrow, and the buildings were packed tightly together like an anthill – spreading out only closer to the fortress wall, which now served purely decorative purposes. Still, land here cost no less than in Shiny or the City districts, if only because some families had lived here for centuries, and the community was considered prestigious.

  The house where Sunset’s car had half-parked on the sidewalk wasn’t particularly impressive, but a patrol car with crown crests on its doors and a city morgue van were parked alongside it. A typical old three-story building, wedged between equally old neighbors. Knuckles had to park the Cooper farther down the road, while I stepped out directly into the arms of two burly constables from the First Precinct.

  “Hold on a moment, sir – do you live here?”

  “No, I’ve come for my teacher. Duncan Kinkaid, the baron, gentlemen. I think Inspector Sunset will let me in if you ask him.”

  The constables frowned. As if it wasn’t bad enough that an outsider detective was stomping on their turf and had brought along a civilian wizard, now some random young upstart with a title had shown up. I could almost see them brainstorming how to politely send me packing when one of their eyebrows shot up to the sky.

  “You’re the Loxlin? The one who chased Master Vampire Valentine across half the city?”

  I nodded.

  “Gentlemen, I had no choice. There was a warlock with the vampire who tried to kill me…”

  The constable who had started the conversation cut me off. “Right outside the Fourth Precinct, wasn’t it?” he said. “That’s what you claimed during the arrest. And your teacher… he’s Harry Sledgehammer?”

  I nodded again. The constables exchanged glances and gave me a new, almost respectful look.

  “I’ll go ask,” the talkative one said, while the other stayed behind, scrutinizing me like I was some exotic animal. Strange reaction.

  “Come on in, my lord – the detectives are waiting,” the first constable said when he returned.

  The detectives were seated in a tiny living room and rose in unison when I entered. Sunset did so lazily, out of obligation – if his colleague hadn’t been present, he probably would’ve just nodded. The other detective, however, was much more energetic. Green plaid suit, slight stoop, and an unshaven, familiar face.

  “Pleased to meet you, my lord,” he said, extending his hand. “Rupert Fogan.”

  “You were at the arrest after the chase,” I recalled. “Arguing with the other detectives over who got me.”

  “Quite the mess you stirred up that time,” Fogan chuckled, gesturing to an empty chair. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Sit,” John said. “Harry kicked us out. He’s performing some complicated ritual – maybe this time he’ll actually figure something out. So, what brings you here?”

  I glanced at Rupert.

  “One of us,” John reassured me. “He’s got connections in New Freeland. Right, Fogan?”

  “And why would you need my connections?”

  “Well, don’t you want to hear what new information I’ve dug up on the Archmaker?”

  “Technically, you’re supposed to share the results of your investigation with your colleagues,” Fogan said with a playful tone.

  “Technically, I could invoke investigative secrecy,” Sunset countered.

  “And I could spread the word that Johnny has completely lost his grip and doesn’t respect his colleagues.”

  "And I could tell Pumpkin that you’re the one who blew his stakeout on Harrison."

  “Hey, that was an accident!”

  Sunset looked as smug as a cat after a bowl of cream. But Fogan wasn’t about to back down either. They started throwing around names of cases, places, and people I didn’t recognize, along with threats involving some lady or another. It went on until they’d completely aired their lists of dirt on each other and finally began negotiating.

  Fogan was the first to take a step toward peace.

  “So, what do you need in Freeland? Bear in mind, I only have one contact there, and I’ve never even seen his face. Just a fellow detective I helped with a request.”

  "You know Harry’s having trouble with the Fairburns?"

  "Like he’s had with so many others, I’m surprised, though, that he hasn’t punched one of them in the face yet."

  "The baron had brought two newcomers into the city. One was a warlock of African descent – straightforward enough, an enforcer. The other was more complicated – a non-gifted individual and a Knight of the Order of Merit."

  “Find out who he is and what he’s about?”

  Sunset nodded.

  “And track his movements in case he’s not who he claims to be. Getting a photograph would be ideal.”

  “You’re pushing it with the photograph, but I’ll handle the rest,” Fogan agreed. “So, what about the Archmaker?”

  Sunset recounted the connection between the latest victim and Baronet Kettle, Nina Gratch, and Kate Lindemann, not forgetting to mention the assassination attempt on me. He laid it all out as if confessing to a priest. I was a bit surprised at such openness from someone who had warned me against unnecessary chatter, but he probably knew best who, what, and how much to share.

  What surprised me even more was the look on Sunset’s face when he mentioned how I’d broken a vampire’s fang. And Fogan’s reaction to that detail was just as curious. He tensed, like a hunting dog catching the scent of prey.

  “Well, well, what a picture this paints.”

  “If we’re in the mood for revelations,” I said, “maybe you could share what I don’t know yet? Your reactions to this conversation are quite… intriguing.”

  “Up there,” Sunset pointed to the ceiling, “are three bodies and an arch. A perfectly normal one, the kind we’re used to seeing. As for the bodies… The man was stabbed through the heart, the girl’s neck was broken, and the woman was drained of blood.”

  “And the wound on her neck? Does it indicate the vampire had a broken fang?”

  “The coroner will say more, but from my non-professional assessment – yes. The fang wounds are different. So, this was either a simulation or the Archmaker himself paid you a visit.”

  “So he just changed districts and did his dirty work here?”

  “Your house, if I’m not mistaken,” Fogan added, “is seven blocks from here – practically a straight shot. That’s nothing for a vampire, but he was injured, frightened, spent a lot of energy regenerating, and likely went all out, driving himself mad with thirst.”

  “A theory,” Sunset nodded. “But why didn’t he leave after quenching it? Why stay and paint the arch as if it were nothing?”

  “Maybe,” Fogan suggested, “he wasn’t coming to kill the lord?”

  “Could be,” I agreed.

  “Explain,” Sunset prompted.

  “In terms of etheric energy, he was glowing brighter than a Christmas tree. There was a lot of death there, but he didn’t use any of it in the fight. Maybe they were tools to activate the arch?”

  “Fascinating,” Fogan said. “A day into the case, and already so much interest.”

  “The lord has a knack,” Sunset teased, provoking a response. But at that moment, the sound of footsteps on the stairs drew everyone’s attention. A moment later, Harry appeared, carrying a large leather bag.

  “Please, give me some good news,” John groaned.

  “I can give you a candy,” the wizard replied. “As for the arch, it’s still a complete mess. The only thing I can say is that it was activated twice, and the second activation turned the body to ash.”

  “But the body should’ve left a lot of ash, and there’s barely any in the room.”

  “The killer took it.”

  “For what purpose?” Fogan asked. “To mislead us, or can it be used?”

  “It can be used,” Harry nodded. “But that’s forbidden magic. The gallows await anyone who practices it.”

  “He’s headed there anyway,” Sunset waved dismissively. “Anything else?”

  Harry shook his head. Sunset cursed and called in the coroners.

  I could’ve asked to inspect the scene with them, but I decided not to. It wouldn’t really help the case. What could I possibly see that two experienced detectives and an equally seasoned wizard had missed? And going there out of curiosity felt disrespectful. After all, I was partially responsible for those deaths. I felt a slight pang of guilt for surviving and regretted not having the strength to kill the Archmaker. His corpse, though – that I’d like to see, if only to learn who was hiding behind the mask.

  Harry took the Cooper with Knuckles and went to the library to atone for my sins, while I waited for all the technicalities to be sorted. Once Sunset had parted ways with Fogan, I filled the inspector in on my conversation with the lawyer. We talked in his car while John drove me back to the Anvil.

  “He really offered to help you?”

  “I don’t think he meant it seriously.”

  “Doesn’t matter – hold him to it. Get him tangled up in your problems; the more he’s occupied with that, the less he’ll stick his nose into our affairs.”

  “I’d rather not give him any extra leverage.”

  “I don’t think Kettle’s really involved in this,” Sunset said, shaking his head. “Still, wait until morning – a lot can change overnight. We’re going to the Golden Tear.”

  “They gave you some muscle?”

  “Two shifters. Great guys. They’ve turned quite a few bloodsuckers into dust."