I got home just before dawn, collapsed into bed, and woke up closer to noon – but not so late as to bother waiting for a proper lunch with the others. Besides, a couple of cold toasts and fried eggs were waiting for me in the kitchen. With a hot cup of tea laced with a drop of milk, they went down easy enough.

  Once my body’s basic needs were dealt with, I went looking for Harry. His office was empty. It seemed he’d either put off dealing with the problem of the arch or hit a dead end. There was nothing new on the sheets of paper stuck to the walls and floor, so I headed to the hall.

  Behind the closed doors of place of power, Harry was tormenting Cap, making him draw ghost traps in chalk on the floor. I nodded instead of greeting them.

  “Don’t get distracted!” Harry barked at the kid when he tried to say hello. “Your skills are nowhere near the level where you can multitask. Finish the drawing first, then greet people!”

  Cap hung his head like a condemned man and went back to carefully sketching runes at the corners of a triangle inscribed within a circle. There were twice as many runes as in Harry’s own seals. I made a face of protest.

  “What?” the wizard asked, confused.

  “This is way more complicated than what you let me do!”

  “It’s ritual magic. Or are you telling me that your bullet-enchanting circles are less intricate?”

  “Well, no, but…”

  “Then shut up and don’t interrupt.”

  Cap stuck his tongue out in concentration, carefully finishing the last lines of the drawing before glancing uncertainly at Harry.

  “Why are you looking at me?” Harry grunted. “You had the diagram. If you did it right, it’ll work. If not, the ghost will break free.”

  The boy’s eyes widened in terror as he stared at the seal on the floor. He looked like he wanted to disappear. I took the opportunity to whisper to Harry.

  “Was it really necessary to scare him like that? He’s already…”

  Cap looked up and silently watched us. The kid wasn’t much of a talker to begin with, but now, fear had completely robbed him of speech.

  Harry, however, ignored me completely and declared in a firm tone, “Your seal, your ritual. I made it clear from the beginning – I wouldn’t interfere!'"

  Despite his rough life in the slums, Nathan was still just a child. He couldn’t decide which frightened him more – the ghost or his strict teacher. Fear slowly morphed into despair, and his eyes filled with tears. Harry, of course, didn’t seem to notice.

  “Can I step in?” I asked cautiously. A spark of hope lit up in Nathan’s eyes.

  “No! This is his task. Activate the damn trap already!” the wizard ordered.

  Cap flinched. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sniffled and slowly extended a finger toward the white chalk line. He barely touched it before jerking his hand back. A small blue spark flared at the point of contact. For a moment, it looked like it might die out, but instead, the seal began drawing energy from the air. The white lines and runes glowed with ether, transforming into a complex version of the traps Harry used. Though Harry, of course, never needed chalk.

  Cap was so terrified that he began backing away until he hit the wall.

  We waited a few seconds. Then a few more. Finally, Harry lost patience and approached the chalk drawing.

  The lines are a bit uneven, but within acceptable limits. The angles are precise, and the runes are correct. Congratulations, you did it. The only thing you did wrong was crying about it.

  “Then where’s the ghost?” Nathan asked uncertainly.

  “It hasn’t manifested yet. We’ll try again tomorrow. You’re done for the day – go rest.”

  Cap bolted out of the hall like a bullet, as if Harry might change his mind.

  “It hasn’t manifested?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "It hasn’t manifested?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Did you see him? The kid nearly shit himself just working on the seal. The last thing he needs right now is a real ghost. The ones that were here, I sealed in vials before the ritual. We’ll try it with a proper specter the day after tomorrow. Oh, and by the way, one of my theories was confirmed."

  “Go ahead, make my day.”

  “Simon isn’t tied to the place of power.”

  “I’m thrilled! Words can’t describe how much. But wasn’t that obvious from the moment he appeared at the Wilcox house?”

  Not entirely. He could have been drawing power from here. Not the worst possibility, despite an access to a free source of power. But in that case, I would’ve been able to reach him.

  “But you can’t.”

  “I can’t without you!” Harry corrected. “You’re his anchor in the world of the living.”

  “So, have you come up with a surefire way to kick his arse?”

  “No,” Harry admitted. “This damn arch is melting what’s left of my brains. You…”

  A telephone rang beyond the door. By silent agreement, Harry and I left the place of power. But by the time we reached the phone in the hall, it was too late – Cap had already answered it from the second-floor extension. When Harry picked up the receiver, the call had ended, but he managed to catch Nathan before he disappeared.

  “Who was it? ... Him only? ... Understood. Consider it passed on,” Harry said, hanging up. “Sunset needs you. He told me to tell you to dress properly – he’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  “What happened?”

  “Hell if I know. Nathan says he didn’t say.”

  Ten minutes later, Harry and I were waiting by the gates as the inspector’s car pulled up.

  “Ah, you’re here too,” John said with a hint of relief when he spotted Harry. The detective looked worse for wear – his shirt rumpled, dark circles under his eyes, and a tie that looked like it had doubled as a napkin. “Here, take this!” he said, shoving two thick folders into Harry’s hands. “Everything I could scrape together on the Archmaker from other precincts. Consider it the most complete collection you can find.”

  Then he turned to me. “Get in. Let’s go.”

  "Where are we going?" I asked as I climbed into the seat next to the driver."

  “To court. Chapman has questions. I don’t know much more than you, but his tone wasn’t exactly friendly.”

  We shut the doors, and Harry leaned toward the open driver’s window.

  “Why are you dragging Duncan along? To stop His Honor from yelling too much?”

  “As much as I’d love to use him as a scapegoat, that’s not it. The judge specifically demanded his presence.”

  “So, no good news, I take it?”

  “Why not? Last night, I checked the mouths of every Gratch and Lindemann – at least the ones on record. All their teeth are in place.”

  “And that’s good news?”

  “It’s all I’ve got.”

  This time, the secretary didn’t delay us or try to play games, though he still attempted to act as though he were some grand, important figure. But his performance fell flat – he looked more like a peacock strutting around than anything else. If the Chief Justice himself had interrupted court proceedings to summon us, what was the point of this secretary puffing up like that?

  We were escorted almost immediately to a familiar office, where Clive Chapman was waiting. But this time, his father, James, was there as well. And before any of us could greet each other, the old man pounced.

  “Tell me, John, what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing dragging that young man around with you?”

  What’s his problem? And why is he fixating on me, of all things? If it were about Simon, I’d understand – hell, I was prepared for that and even had a few answers ready.

  Sunset visibly bristled, rubbed his stubbled chin, and shot back in the same tone, “Tell me, old man, what the bloody hell are you doing interfering in police business? Did we have another reform I missed?”

  “Impudent whelp! You…” the old man growled, slamming his cane against the floor as he stood up.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Father!” the judge interrupted firmly. “I allowed you to sit in, nothing more. One more outburst, and I’ll throw you out myself.”

  “You!” James Chapman started again, but his son cut him off.

  “I am the Chief Justice, and you are a professor of history! No detective in the world is obligated to answer to you. At home, you can chew my ear off all you want, but here, keep yourself in check!”

  The old man gritted his teeth, puffed out his mustache, and sank back into his chair, radiating wounded pride. But what was he so offended by? Why had he inserted himself into this case in the first place?

  The judge, meanwhile, maintained a stony expression, as unbothered as if nothing had happened.

  “My apologies, John, my father had no right to ask such questions… But I do. And the fact that Sir Harry is helping you with the arch is a weak explanation.”

  “The vampires are afraid of him,” John replied.

  “And why would that be?” the old man asked, clearly baffled. He looked ready to press the issue further, but his son’s stern glare silenced him.

  “Now I believe it,” said the judge. He was likely one of those who knew the real story behind my arrival in the city – or at least part of it. The old man, however, clearly didn’t and threw me a mix of confused and suspicious looks. That’s all he managed, but I was sure he’d pepper his son with a barrage of questions after we left. And knowing the judge, he might not keep silent if his father started guilt-tripping him about being a bad son. Aunt Mary used that tactic on Logan and me often enough, and it rarely failed.

  The judge smoothed his mustache before asking his next question.

  “Simon really is…” he began. John pretended not to understand, forcing Chapman to finish the question. “…involved in this.”

  “Of course he’s involved!” John exclaimed. “The whole fight started because of him…”

  “I’m not talking about that, Sunset! And you know exactly what I mean!” the judge snapped, beginning to lose patience.

  “I don’t know. Maybe…” John’s voice rose as he continued, “If I didn’t have to rush off to report to a history professor, if I’d been allowed to sleep after a night of interrogations and a full day on my feet, if I’d been given the chance to do my job without constant interference…” He jabbed his index finger toward the judge. “Maybe, Your Honor, then I’d have this case figured out!”

  “And yet here you are, still trying after… how long has it been?” the old man interjected. “Eighteen months? Two years?”

  “Three years, old man. The Archmaker’s been killing for three years – eleven victims. But you don’t care about them, do you? You’re only interested in one particular criminal.”

  “Gregor isn’t a criminal!” the old man roared, standing again.

  “Oh, and who would he be if your son hadn’t gotten him off?”

  “Detective Sunset!” the judge shouted, his voice rising to match the chaos, but John responded with an equally snide growl.

  “Yes, Your Honor? The model of honesty, nobility, and perfection? What do you want to say? Something new? Something I haven’t heard over the last eighteen months? Because back when the Archmaker first started, you couldn’t have cared less about him from your ivory tower!"

  The conflict was spiraling out of control, and neither side seemed ready to back down. I remembered Harry’s advice not to interfere, but what difference did it make now? If the judge really was complicit, then angering him would only worsen my chances. The Fairburns could push any decision through the court, and that was exactly where this was heading.

  “Gentlemen!” I raised my voice.

  “Shut up!” the old man barked. What the hell was his problem with me?

  “You should be doing your job!” the judge yelled at John, “instead of sitting around on your arse!”

  “Oh, and you would know everything about police work from your high seat, wouldn’t you?” John shot back.

  “Thieves and bribe-takers, no better than the ones you chase!” declared the judge.

  “Degenerates and parasites,” added his father, pouring oil on the fire.

  “That’s enough!” I shouted, drawing my pistol. I aimed it at the old man – not at the judge, because that would’ve been too risky, and firing at the ceiling might’ve caused unnecessary damage. The old man immediately raised his left hand, materializing a large, round shield of fiery steel, while gripping his cane like a mace. Its head glowed with frost.

  John also drew his pistol, but pointed it at the judge, who hadn’t expected such boldness and just stared, wide-eyed. For a moment, the room fell into silence. I seized the opportunity to build on it, demonstratively holstering my weapon.

  “Gentlemen, if you know how to catch the Archmaker, perhaps you’d like to share that information with the police? Or would you prefer to catch him yourselves? I’m sure Detective Sunset wouldn’t mind.”

  “You wouldn’t understand a damn thing, boy!” the old man shouted, shaking his cane. The shield remained in place, ready for action.

  “Then explain it! Teach me!”

  I signaled to John to lower his weapon. Everyone noticed the gesture, but only John complied. The old man kept his shield raised, still shaking the cane, as if waiting for the slightest excuse to strike.

  “You think this is some kind of game, smart guy?! Playing detective, are you? I demand that professionals handle this case, not amateurs!”

  “Feel free to submit an official complaint to the police,” I replied calmly, watching as the old man turned crimson with rage.

  “You… I’ll…”

  “Father! This has gone too far,” the judge interrupted. “Put down the cane.”

  “But he… he… That boy…”

  “Is right.”

  The old man grudgingly lowered his shield and thumped the floor with his cane.

  “You think I won’t do it, you little whelp?!”

  “I think you’d better stop calling me that. I’ve been giving you a pass because of your emotions, but another remark like that, mister, and you’ll have to answer for your words!”

  “Father!” the judge roared before the old man could retort. “Leave!”

  “But!..”

  “Leave, I said!”

  James Chapman puffed out his mustache in indignation and stomped out of the room, his cane echoing loudly against the floor. The judge stared at John and me for a moment, his eyes hard, clearly weighing his next words.

  “Lord Loxlin, I apologize. Our behavior was unacceptable.”

  It absolutely was.

  “We may have overstepped as well,” I replied on behalf of both myself and John. He looked ready to protest, but I cut him off before he could speak. “I, at least, managed to get some sleep. The detective has been on his feet for over a day, with an entire night of interrogations behind him. That’s enough to wear anyone’s nerves thin.”

  “I understand,” the judge said, though the lack of sincerity in his tone was glaringly obvious. Still, formalities were observed, and now it was John’s turn to make a move toward reconciliation. He hesitated, clearly reluctant.

  “Returning to your question about Simon,” I said, gently nudging the topic forward but leaving the answer to John. The detective sighed in frustration and finally relented.

  “He’s definitely not the Archmaker. If he’s involved, it’s unintentional.”

  “Your certainty is based on your latest theory that the Archmaker is a vampire?” the judge asked. “But what if the vampire is just an accomplice?”

  Does he not know about the attack on me? John must have kept it under wraps. But why?

  “Not just that,” John replied. “One of the first attacks occurred on a night Simon spent behind bars. We only confirmed it yesterday, but we’re in no rush to let him go. There’s a chance Nina used him as an unwitting pawn. And that bitch is tough to crack. She’s got experience – prison experience – from a less humane century. She knows how to keep her mouth shut.”

  “So, in other words, you still have nothing concrete?” the judge asked, sounding thoroughly disappointed. The comment nearly pushed John over the edge, but this time, he managed to hold himself back.

  “I’m working on it. And you, Your Honor, should know how our work goes, yet you act like a civilian demanding a miracle!”

  “Young man,” the judge turned to me, “a lawsuit has been filed against you.”

  What a surprise! I wonder who it could be.

  “Fairburns!” I blurted, barely stopping myself from cursing. There it was – the move we’d been expecting, and we didn’t even have a lawyer yet. Well, why not? Last night, I saved the baronet’s precious hide. Let Moody earn his keep. We’d head straight to him after this.

  “The accusation states that you provoked a fight with Sir August’s bodyguard and had him thrown in jail under the guise of police connections.”

  The judge gave John a pointed look, clearly alluding to which connections were meant.

  “Ridiculous!” John snapped. “It was Simon who called him a dumb ape. And this isn’t a matter for the courts. Accusations like this fall under the prosecutor’s office.”

  Chapman nodded. “We’ll hand the case over after a thorough review.”

  “And that’s it?” I asked. “Where’s the scale? The resonance?”

  “It reached your teacher.”

  “And what does Harry have to do with any of this?”

  “Oh, there’s a custody lawsuit, all right. But Sir Harry is implicated in it as a slave owner and accused of using compulsion spells on children! Naturally, such actions disgrace the title of a Knight of the Empire, and with so many parties involved, the case could drag on for years.”

  Well… they weren’t playing around. I’d better grab some newspapers – who knows, they might already be running the story.

  “Bastards,” Sunset muttered under his breath.

  “I see the accusations didn’t come as much of a surprise to you,” Chapman observed.

  “Did they surprise you?” I asked in return.

  “Not really. I was more surprised when Vincent Fairburn introduced me to Wimbush and asked me to help him with the guardianship case – altruism isn’t exactly his style. After that statement, though, everything fell into place.”

  I tried piecing together the fragments of this conversation into a coherent picture, but it only left me more confused. The old man’s strange aggression, the judge’s unexpected favor, and what could only be interpreted as a veiled warning – it all felt disconnected, yet somehow tied together.

  “As you can see, John,” the judge said with a bitter smirk, “I’m not entirely clean myself. I do use my position for personal interests. But don’t bother running to the Chief Prosecutor – I’m playing golf with him tomorrow.”

  His sarcasm didn’t seem to amuse Sunset, whose expression darkened further.

  “You’ve got a week at most,” Chapman continued, his tone turning serious. “That’s how long the papers will take to pass through the clerks’ office. Tomorrow’s Saturday, but I’d advise you to spend the weekend working – crack Nina, follow the thread from the attack on Lord Loxlin. I can’t stall this any longer.”

  “Oh, really!” Sunset scoffed. “Should I remind you of all the cases your ‘champions’ didn’t even bother to take to trial?”

  “There was nothing to latch onto,” Chapman countered sharply. “The cases will proceed officially; anything else would look suspicious. After that, your collaboration with Sir Harry could become very complicated. I don’t want the case falling apart over small mistakes—especially now that you seem to be on the right track. My father, on the other hand, thinks you’re going to ruin it. He still has far more faith in my infallibility than you do, John. But I’m ready to take a risk – including with my position. We’ve spent too long as mere bystanders in this case. Bring me the head of that bastard who took my son from me. And if breaking a few rules is what it takes…” The Chief Justice paused meaningfully, then gave a slow nod. “…And if you can’t, at least give me a name.”

  John raised his hand slightly, signaling a question. “Just one thing. Who?”

  “Who, what?” Chapman asked, puzzled.

  “Who leaked the information about the attack on Duncan?”

  “There are sources,” the judge replied with a thin smile.

  "A bloody gossip mill, not a precinct!" John cursed.