The absence of just one person tormented Liam Moore with a profound sense of loneliness. Ever since Jefferson left, his mind had been in turmoil. Quietly, he reflected on his mistakes.
First, he had opened his heart too much to Jane Osmond.
Second, he had made it so obvious that even a casual observer could notice.
People like us shouldn’t get attached to anyone. Everyone would agree with that. Wasn’t it ‘Greenwich’ after all? The one who is wary of wizards and loathed by those who worship the gods of the outer realms. The one who is despised by those interrupted during meals. Naturally, upsetting someone from Greenwich would have repercussions that always impacted ordinary people.
He had let his guard down because Plurititas was friendly towards Jane. But there were countless other entities here beyond just those brain-collecting beings!
“What’s wrong?”
Suddenly, he heard Jane Osmond’s voice. In his downcast vision, he saw the hem of a blue skirt. She walked over and sat in front of him. Liam Moore had to fight the urge to look up.
Looking up would shatter the illusion.
He knew it wasn’t real. It was a hallucination borne from his desperate mind. Yet, his heart seized the moment of lost reason. Slowly, he parted his lips.
Jane Osmond snorted lightly, as if indifferent to her disappearance.
“Is that something to be sorry about?”
Of course. Liam Moore silently mouthed the words. The truth he would never reveal to the real Jane. His fear.
“I’m scared you might die.”
The man whispered to the air, slumped by the door handle of Jane’s room. In an empty room with no listener.
The traces of spells filled the room. There was a crumpled, trampled hat.
“I’m terrified I won’t be able to see you again…”
“Then find me before that happens.”
The voice said.
“Come find me, Little Moore.”
He looked up. The blue skirt that was sitting in front of him was gone. He knew his mind was reconstructing Jane’s words from his memories. The voice was no longer there. Only sunlight filled the empty room.
He picked up a piece of paper and scribbled a light note with a pencil. He was writing something coherent. That was fortunate.
“I haven’t lost my mind yet.”
The fact that this illusion helped him regain his composure was surely because the subject was Jane Osmond. She was a strong and cold-headed woman.
“…Don’t worry.”
His grey eyes, as dark as rain-filled clouds, became completely clear. He stood up and declared,
“I’ll come to find you soon.”
＊ ＊ ＊
Fortunately, he knew someone skilled at tracking people. At times like this, he was grateful for the name Greenwich. But he never wanted to go back there for such a reason again.
The person lived on Blemich Street, right next to Bailonz Street. A lazy, indifferent man who spent half the day sleeping.
“Give me a break, you lunatic.”
Owen Cassfire grumbled, annoyed at being woken from a nap. His shaggy red hair popped out from under a cushion. Annoyedly scratching his head, he fumbled for his glasses lying nearby.
“What’s so urgent that you have to show up in the middle of someone’s house? What, you sure you’re not crazy? Just because you’re not crazy doesn’t mean you should do crazy things without hesitation—”
“Jane’s gone.”
Owen Cassfire’s words stopped abruptly. He squinted his eyes.
“…Kidnapped?”
“Probably. There was a ghoul I was tracking.”
“Shit.” He muttered a curse and got up roughly. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth. As he rubbed the end with his fingers, it lit up.
“Stay sharp. Ninety out of a hundred people taken by ghouls become ghouls themselves.”
“That’s why I need to rescue her before it’s too late.”
“I told you to guard her well in the first place.”
Yeah. I was stupid. At least Lucita’s gift, the crystal, could help protect her from mortal danger.
“Quick one?”
“As fast as possible.”
“You’d better pay up properly.”
Owen Cassfire rolled up his sleeves. Beneath his worn-out shirt, his arms bore several burn marks. It was what he usually used for these kinds of things.
“You should be glad that young lady knows me.”
He picked up a herb with pain-relieving properties and chewed it as he brought the lit cigarette to his arm. There was an unpleasant sound. Casually looking down at his arm, he counted.
Three, two, one.
“Woolwich Cemetery.”
“He went far.”
“He must’ve walked all night. There are more than a few ghoul tunnels in London. No need to thank me. Just get moving.”
Liam Moore nodded and fastened his coat.
“Tell Tobias Jefferson from the Yard to come to Woolwich Cemetery.”
“This guy gets more brazen by the day.”
There was no response. The ground rippled like water beneath his feet and swallowed him up. Liam Moore didn’t resist and embraced the blue surface. The icy water filled his lungs.
[Woolwich Cemetery]
He saw the sign. Liam Moore staggered a bit as he escaped the effects of the spell. It wasn’t something to use several times a day. He had to conserve his magic.
A sound mind, awake reason, and readiness to fight. He couldn’t afford to lose what he needed. If he lost it all after coming this far, he’d never forgive himself.
Bells ringing, voices reciting eulogies. The sound of carriages leaving.
There were few people in the cemetery (probably because it was Monday) and even those were leaving after the funeral. That was fortunate. What was about to happen here wasn’t for ‘people’.
In an old, forgotten language, now only a melody, words spilled from his lips.
Those who could no longer be seen wouldn’t know what was happening here.
＊ ＊ ＊
In a space created by a rippling milky white veil, Liam Moore shouted,
“Jane!”
“That lovely girl is probably buried six feet under by now.”
A grating voice, each word bubbling unpleasantly.
The figure that had been standing behind a tree stepped out of the shadows. He seemed to squint as if the sunlight was too bright. The rotting corpse of Philip Peterson spoke with a devilishly grotesque grin.
“You’ve almost lost your form entirely,”
Liam Moore evaluated his condition coldly. It was almost a provocation. If Jane had been here, she would’ve chided him for his recklessness.
“Philip Peterson. It’s been five years since I put you on the gallows.”
“Oh, it was such fun… Thanks to a quick deal, I gained an undying body, but you hanged me without knowing that….”
A deal?
Liam Moore briefly furrowed his brow, then returned to his impassive expression. Philip Peterson, unaware of the subtle change, continued to babble.
“For five years since then, I’ve kept an eye on your exploits. ‘The Private Detective of London! Consultant Detective for Scotland Yard! Liam Moore solves another case!’ I read about you every day. As you aged, I gathered strength, Mr. Moore. To one day hunt you down and kill you like a dog….”
A boastful nature. Immature and unable to control his emotions. Liam Moore quickly assessed.
He’s been dead so long his nerves must have decayed. I wonder if he still feels pain. His thick skin won’t be easy to penetrate with simple combat.
Philip Peterson thinks I’m just an ignorant detective. If he knew otherwise, he wouldn’t be so relaxed. He’d have shot my head off or tried to kill me with the nearest tombstone. Giving a wizard time is madness.
Liam Moore feigned agreement and spoke.
“Did you wait five years just for personal vengeance?”
“Oh! Absolutely! How could I forgive the one who captured me and stopped me from committing more crimes!”
Philip Peterson grinned and added,
“When I heard you had kidnapped her, I was honestly twice as furious I couldn’t kill you myself.”
Liam Moore pulled a revolver from his holster. He disengaged the safety and aimed.
“A commotion in the cemetery in broad daylight, detective?”
“You messed with the wrong person.”
“That girl? The poor girl you can’t live without? Quite the romantic! But isn’t it strange? Why didn’t you know she was crying pitifully in her room?”
Or is it not? Did you make her cry? Peterson laughed, but his eyes were not laughing. He stared at the muzzle of the gun with sharp eyes.
“Shoot. Let’s see if your bullets can pierce my skin. You should’ve brought a hunting rifle, Mr. Moore.”
“Indeed.”
Liam Moore responded coldly. He fired a shot into the air and aimed again.
“Last warning. Where is Jane Osmond?”