Ulrich couldn’t answer that question, not because it had much to do with his real identity. Rather, the suspicion he bore from their previous interaction swelled in his heart, leaving him with a pot full of questions.

  In the end, he could only squeeze out a smile behind the mask and answered with a light bow. “Johan Schrodinger, nice to meet you.”

  Only to realized how unnecessary his gesture was, as the mask completely covered everything. And that only made his mood much colder and desolate.

  “I’ve come to pay my respect.” He added.

  To myself, Ulrich mused. Of course, that thought remained hidden, and speaking it aloud would no doubt elicit a chuckle from the lady, but the consequence of that leave behind far reaching implications.

  “Respect? To a stranger’s grave in the middle of nowhere?” Her head tilted slightly. “Or… did you know Ulrich Constantine?”

  Ulrich shook his head, much to her disappointment.

  She knew that, or at least, expected as much. How could there be anyone else that know of that obscure, trivial name lost in the river of time? Strange, really. This swelling in her chest. A woman she was, and her intuition no less sharper than any others. Truthfully, she felt… conflicted? Like an annoying strand of hair sticking out in front of her eye, yet could not grasp.

  Was it the mask bearing a great semblance to her own? Or… something else? All her feelings remained unanswered, like the passing breeze coming and going.

  After a moment of silence, Autumn Hall picked some of the flowers and began heading toward the coast. Not before Ulrich stopped her.

  “What?”

  He deliberated for a second, then took a deep breath and said. “You’re searching for the three boughs of Hermes.”

  “Who told you that?”

  You, He wiped away his mischievous thoughts and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Are we both not looking for the same thing?”

  “No. We don’t even know each other.” Said Autumn, finding the stranger’s words completely outlandish.

  “Not this time, maybe next time, we will.” He retorted, and she tilted her head in pure confusion.

  She didn’t know what to say. At least, not in that moment. How could someone be so confident when speaking to another stranger in such manner? For the life of her, she couldn’t understand it. Yet, for some reason, Autumn did not find his words uncomfortable in the slightest.

  Perhaps nervous, she began fiddling with her hair and lightly coughed. “I assume you have something else to say, if you are stopping me. Mister… Schrodinger?”

  The formal transformation in her speech left him much to be desired, but nevertheless, his goal remained all the same.

  “I know two principles of Hermes from the Silver Bough.”

  Her hand froze, but the shock came no less. “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “Is this a trade?”

  Ulrich gave that question a thought, then shook his head. “Consider this… a collaboration.”

  “Collaboration suggests we meet again. But looking at it, we are neither trusting of one another, are we?” She said while pointing at her mask, then his. And he laughed at the gesture.

  “You ever thought of becoming a comedian? Your humor is quite dry. I think some people will like it.”

  “It wasn’t a joke,” Autumn said. She would put both hands on her waist to display her seriousness, but the umbrella occupied one of her hands, leaving her somewhat indignant.

  Ulrich decided that he didn’t want to waste anymore time and gave her the two Principles of Hermes: Mentalism, and Corresponding. Despite only meeting her once, he grew certain that her knowledge was no less than his regarding various matters relating to metaphysics. Indeed, she proved him right.

  After hearing the summary of the two principles, she completely ignored him and started murmuring to herself. He didn’t mind, no, he was like her once.

  The night reigned over the two strangers lingering outside the ruined church. Ulrich remained to answer her inquiry and doubts. He saw this as an investment, and it might prove useful in the future loops.

  Just like that, time passed, and midnight came with the punctual white light.

  …

  Ulrich sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then took a long moment to wake up from his stupor. The second interaction with Autumn Hall left him much to be desired, but at least, he'd confirmed one thing.

  She's lagging, like a file that only saves its data at certain intervals, he thought with bitterness.

  When he'd asked her if she had been alive for 600 years, she said that the details were complicated and that her perception of time was warped. He had his guess and confirmed that guess. That also meant that even if Selena and Autumn Hall were connected through some correspondence, their connection shouldn't be immediate.

  For now, he decided to meet with Captain Ottis and express his desire to descend to the shadow realm once more. Ulrich dressed quickly, donning the simple attire of a Watchman, and made his way to the company, then through the Sanctuary's winding corridors toward Captain Ottis's office.

  The Sanctuary itself was a labyrinth of stone and stale air, built beneath the Cartwright Security in Belham's inner district. Torches lined the walls at irregular intervals, their flames casting dancing shadows that seemed almost alive to Ulrich's enhanced vision. Other Civil Servants passed him in the corridors, some offering nods of acknowledgment, others too absorbed in their own affairs to notice.

  Captain Ottis's office occupied a corner of the Sanctuary, marked by a heavy oak door that had seen better centuries. Ulrich knocked twice and waited.

  "Enter."

  The voice was brief, clipped, and professional. Exactly as Ulrich had come to expect from the man.

  He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The office was modest by any standard, a desk piled with documents, shelves lined with reference materials and case files, and a single window that looked out onto nothing but more stone. Captain Ottis sat behind the desk, his weathered face illuminated by the soft glow of an oil lamp. The man was perhaps thirty, though the stress of his position had carved deeper lines into his features than age alone would warrant.

  "Ulrich." The Captain's eyes flickered up from a document, then back down. "You need something?"

  Ulrich approached the desk but did not sit. "I'd like permission to descend to the Shadow Realm."

  "No."

  The rejection came so swiftly that Ulrich nearly missed it. He blinked. "Captain?"

  "I said no." Ottis set down his quill and finally gave Ulrich his full attention. His gaze was steady, unyielding. "You have advanced much during a short span of time. The mental strain hasn't fully healed, even though there's no sign of it. Rosaline advised you take some time before performing another descent."

  "With respect, I'm fine."

  "Are you?" The Captain's eyes narrowed slightly. "The Tainted Myriad Undead King you encountered attacked through mental corruption. Those wounds don't heal in days, Ulrich. Trust me, you might think you fine, but are in fact, not. even if we trust that your friend had purified you."

  Ulrich's jaw tightened, but he held his tongue. The man wasn't wrong. The Completed Soul Core absorption was much more difficult and powerful than he'd expected. Perhaps the mental corruption he thought was gone had much to do with interfering with his process.

  "I need to advance," he said carefully. "The resources required for Rank 3 are substantial. Hunting in the Shadow Realm is the most efficient method."

  "Efficient," Ottis repeated the word as if tasting something bitter. "Efficiency means nothing if you get yourself killed. Or worse, corrupted."

  A silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant sounds of the Sanctuary going about its daily operations.

  Finally, the Captain sighed and reached for a folder at the edge of his desk. "There's a case that just came in. Suspected supernatural involvement. Solve it appropriately, and I'll approve your descent request."

  Ulrich eyed the folder with poorly concealed reluctance. "A case?"

  "A case." Ottis slid the folder across the desk. "Consider it a test of your current mental state. If you can handle an investigation without issue, I'll have more confidence in your readiness for the Shadow Realm."

  The logic was sound, Ulrich had to admit. Frustrating, but sound nonetheless. He picked up the folder and flipped it open, scanning the contents.

  "Sleep disturbances. Auditory and visual hallucinations. Three individuals affected." He looked up. "This sounds more medical than supernatural."

  "Keep reading."

  Ulrich turned the page and found the detail that left him flabbergasted. "A Spirit Board ritual?"

  "Performed as a game of dare, apparently." Ottis's tone carried the weight of a man who had seen too many young fools court disaster. "The affected parties are all from noble houses. Augustus, Albarosa, and Hasburg. One male from each, ages fourteen to eighteen."

  "Noble houses." Ulrich closed the folder with a soft sigh. "Politics."

  "Politics," the Captain confirmed. "Which is why I'm assigning Victor as your partner for this commission. He has experience navigating aristocratic sensibilities."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

  "Enter."

  The door swung open to reveal Victor, a fellow Watchman who looked ten years older than Ulrich. He was lean of build, with sharp features and dark hair that fell just past his ears. His eyes, a pale gray, carried the calculating quality of someone who missed very little. Or someone who hadn't caught a lick of sleep recently.

  "Captain." Victor nodded to Ottis, then turned to Ulrich with a faint smile. "Ulrich. Been a while."

  "Victor." Ulrich returned the nod. "Looks like we're working together again."

  "So it seems." Victor moved to stand beside Ulrich, his posture relaxed but attentive. "What's the job?"

  Ottis gestured for them both to sit, and they obliged. The Captain retrieved a second copy of the case file and handed it to Victor before launching into the briefing.

  "Three young nobles. Aldric Augustus, eighteen years old, the eldest son of Baron Augustus. Felix Albarosa, sixteen, second son of Viscount Albarosa. And Hugo Hasburg, fourteen, the youngest, nephew of Count Hasburg." Ottis paused to let the names sink in. "Approximately one week ago, the three of them gathered at Augustus Manor for what they claimed was a social event. During this event, they performed a Spirit Board communion."

  "Spirit Board?" Victor raised an eyebrow. "That's children's folklore. Parlor tricks for boring dinner parties."

  "Normally, yes." The Captain's expression darkened. "But the ritual they performed wasn't the common variety. According to preliminary interviews, they followed a specific set of instructions that involved small blood offerings, spoken invocations, and a particular sequence of questions."

  Ulrich felt a cold thread weave through his thoughts. "That's not a parlor trick. That's genuine communion."

  "Exactly." Ottis nodded. "Since the ritual, all three have reported difficulty sleeping, auditory hallucinations, voices whispering in empty rooms, and visual disturbances. Shadows moving when they shouldn't. Figures passing through mirrors."

  "Classic haunting symptoms," Victor observed. "They probably invited something through, and now it's attached to the world of the living."

  "That's our working theory. Your task is to investigate the circumstances of the ritual, identify what was summoned, and resolve the situation before it escalates." The Captain fixed them both with a hard stare. "These are noble houses. Discretion is paramount. The Ministry's relationship with the aristocracy is delicate enough without adding fuel to the fire."

  "Understood." Ulrich tucked the folder under his arm. "Where are the three of them now?"

  "All gathered at Augustus Manor, at the insistence of their families. The Baron has agreed to cooperate with our investigation, provided we maintain confidentiality."

  "Of course." Victor's smile carried a hint of irony. "Wouldn't want word getting out that the noble heirs were playing with forces beyond their comprehension."

  Ottis ignored the comment. "Report back once you've assessed the situation. If supernatural intervention is required, you have authorization to proceed as necessary."

  With that, they were dismissed.

  The carriage ride to Augustus Manor took them through Belham's outer northern district, past rows of merchant houses and guild halls that gradually gave way to the sprawling estates of the aristocracy. The fog that perpetually clung to the city's edges seemed thinner here, as if even the weather deferred to noble sensibilities.

  Victor broke the silence first. "You look like you haven't slept properly in days."

  "Observant as always."

  "It's my job." Victor leaned back against the carriage seat, studying Ulrich with those pale gray eyes. "The Cadry expedition?"

  "Among other things."

  "Want to talk about it?"

  "Not particularly."

  Victor shrugged, accepting the deflection with practiced ease. "Fair enough. Just know that if you freeze up during this investigation, I'm not carrying you out."

  "Your concern is touching."

  "I prefer to call it pragmatism."

  Augustus Manor rose from the mist like a monument to old money and older traditions. Its facade was all pale stone and iron filigree, with windows that gleamed like watchful eyes. A servant met them at the gate and escorted them through manicured gardens to the main entrance, where a butler in immaculate livery awaited.

  "Inspector Constantine and Victor?" The butler's voice was carefully neutral. "The young masters are gathered in the east drawing room. If you follow me."

  They were led through corridors lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors, past rooms filled with furniture that probably cost more than Ulrich's entire yearly stipend. The east drawing room, when they finally reached it, was a study in restrained opulence, velvet curtains, crystal chandeliers, and three young men who looked like they hadn't slept in a week.

  Aldric Augustus sat in the central chair, his posture rigid despite the exhaustion evident in his features. He was tall for his age, with the auburn hair and green eyes that marked the Augustus bloodline. To his left sat Felix Albarosa, a nervous youth with ink-stained fingers and the pallid complexion of someone who spent too much time indoors. On the right was Hugo Hasburg, the youngest, barely more than a boy, with dark circles under his eyes so pronounced they looked like bruises.

  "Gentlemen." Ulrich offered a slight bow. "I'm Inspector Constantine, and this is my colleague, Inspector Victor. We're here to investigate the events of last week."

  Aldric rose to greet them, extending a hand that trembled slightly. "Thank you for coming. I… we didn't know who else to turn to."

  "Start from the beginning," Victor said, taking a seat across from the three nobles. "Tell us everything about the ritual."

  The story emerged in fragments, each boy contributing pieces that gradually formed a complete picture. It had started, as these things often did, with boredom. Aldric had heard about Spirit Boards from a man he'd met at a social function, a charming foreigner named Victor Suchet who claimed to have extensive knowledge of the occult.

  Ulrich glanced at his partner. "Victor Suchet?"

  "Unfortunate coincidence." Victor's expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes.

  "Indeed." Ulrich allowed himself a thin smile. "Though I imagine you get that a lot."

  "You'd be surprised."

  Aldric continued, oblivious to the exchange. "Mister Suchet said that most Spirit Board rituals were mere superstition, but there was a genuine method, a way to actually contact the other side. He gave us the instructions."

  "What were these instructions?" Ulrich asked.

  The young noble's face paled further, if such a thing were possible. "We were to draw a circle in salt, then mark it with symbols he showed us. We had to light candles, three of them, one for each participant, and place them at specific points around the board. Then we… we each had to offer a drop of blood onto the board itself."

  "Blood." Victor's voice was sharp. "He told you to offer blood?"

  "He said it was necessary to establish a connection," Felix interjected, his voice barely above a whisper. "That without it, the spirits wouldn't hear us."

  "And the invocation?" Ulrich pressed. "What words did he give you?"

  Hugo, the youngest, spoke for the first time. His voice was small, frightened. "He wrote them down for us. Latin, I think, or something that sounded like it. We were supposed to ask three questions, then close the session by thanking the spirit and saying goodbye."

  "Did you say goodbye?"

  The silence that followed was answer enough.

  Aldric's hands clenched in his lap. "Something happened before we could finish. The candles went out all at once, and the room got cold. So cold we could see our breath. And then…"

  "Then?" Ulrich leaned forward.

  "We heard something. A voice, but not… not normal. It came from everywhere at once, and it said…" Aldric swallowed hard. "It said, 'You called. I answered. Now you belong to me.'"

  The drawing room felt suddenly smaller, the air heavier. Ulrich exchanged a glance with Victor, and he knew they were thinking the same thing.

  This wasn't a simple haunting. Someone had deliberately set these boys up to perform a genuine communion ritual, complete with blood offerings and binding invocations. Victor Suchet, whoever he was, had known exactly what he was doing.

  "This Suchet," Ulrich said carefully. "Describe him."

  "Middle-aged, perhaps forty. Brown hair going gray at the temples. Well-dressed, spoke with a slight accent I couldn't place." Aldric frowned in concentration. "He had a ring, I remember. Silver, with a strange symbol engraved on it."

  "What kind of symbol?"

  "I don't know. It looked like… like an eye, maybe? With lines radiating from it."

  Ulrich felt the cold thread in his thoughts tighten into a knot. He knew that symbol. Every Watchman did. It was an old mark, one associated with certain Weavers who practiced the darker aspects of communion magic. Though they rarely make their appearance, unlike the degenerates of the Twilight Order.

  "Thank you," he said, rising. "We'll need to examine the room where the ritual took place."

  "Of course." Aldric summoned the butler with a gesture. "Thomas will show you the way."

  As they followed the butler through the manor's winding corridors, Victor fell into step beside Ulrich. His voice was low, barely audible.

  "Victor Suchet is a Weaver."

  "Almost certainly." Ulrich's jaw tightened. "The blood offering, the specific invocation structure, the symbol on the ring. This was deliberate. Someone wanted these boys to summon something, and they used Suchet as the delivery mechanism."

  "But why?"

  "I don't know yet. But I intend to find out."

  The room where the ritual had taken place was located in the manor's east wing, a small parlor that had been cleared of furniture at the Baron's insistence. The salt circle was still faintly visible on the wooden floor, along with scorch marks where the candles had stood. Someone had attempted to scrub away the blood, but traces remained, dark stains that seemed to absorb the light.

  Ulrich knelt beside the circle, examining the symbols that had been drawn into the salt. They were crude but recognizable, binding inscriptions meant to anchor a summoned entity to the physical world.

  "These aren't amateur marks," he murmured. "Someone knew what they were doing when they designed this ritual."

  "The boys didn't." Victor stood by the window, his gaze scanning the room. "They thought they were playing a game."

  "Which makes them perfect vessels." Ulrich straightened and reached into his coat, withdrawing a small crystal pendulum on a silver chain. "I'm going to attempt a divination. See if I can get a read on what was summoned."

  He held the pendulum over the center of the circle and focused his intent, letting his Seer intuition guide the process. The crystal began to sway, slowly at first, then with increasing agitation.

  And then it stopped.

  Not gradually, but abruptly, as if something had seized it mid-motion. Ulrich felt a pressure against his mind, a wall of static that disrupted his connection.

  "Interference," he said quietly. "Something's blocking me."

  Victor frowned. "Why not use dream scrying? It's more direct, isn't it? Clearer results?"

  The question struck a nerve Ulrich hadn't expected. His hand tightened around the pendulum, and for a moment, the memory surfaced unbidden: the endless ocean of dreams, the vast darkness beneath, and the thing that had found him there. An Ancient thing.

  "I had a… difficult experience during my first dream scrying." He kept his voice level, controlled. "Something found me in the dream ocean. Something that shouldn't have been able to."

  "What do you mean?"

  "A powerful dream creature." The word felt heavy on his tongue. "I still don't know how it detected me, or why it was drawn to my presence. Until I understand that, I'm not eager to repeat the experience."

  Victor was silent for a long moment. "Fair enough. So we work with what we have."

  Ulrich nodded and returned his attention to the room. The pendulum's behavior confirmed one thing: whatever the boys had summoned, it was still here. Still watching and waiting.

  He was about to suggest they search for other evidence when the temperature plummeted.

  It happened in an instant, the warmth draining from the room as if someone had opened a door to winter itself. Frost crystals began forming on the window glass, spreading like veins across the surface. Victor's breath misted in the sudden cold, and his hand went immediately to the weapon at his belt.

  "Ulrich…"

  "I feel it." Ulrich's enhanced senses buzzed, his Blessing of Night painting the room between shades of purple and black. Something was manifesting, drawing itself together from the residual energy of the ritual circle.

  A darkness congealed in the center of the room. It rose from the floor like smoke, taking shape with agonizing slowness. Limbs formed, thin and elongated. A torso, bent at impossible angles. And finally, a face, or rather, the suggestion of one. Empty hollows where eyes should be, and a mouth that stretched too wide, filled with teeth like broken glass.

  The spirit's voice, when it spoke, was the same one the boys had described. It came from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating in their skulls rather than their ears.

  "You came. You came looking. Now you've found."

  Ulrich's hand was already summoning shadow, dark spears forming at his fingertips. Beside him, Victor had drawn his blade, the steel glinting faintly in the frost-covered light.

  The spirit's hollow gaze fixed upon them, and its too-wide mouth curved into something that might have been a smile.

  "More blood. More belonging. More."

  It lunged.