The silence stretched out. I was lost in thought for a while. The man, seeing my reaction, shrugged lightly.
“You didn’t know, did you? Don’t be too upset. He’s always like that. Acts according to his mood, does what he wants, and honestly, he has a narrow social circle. Most of his acquaintances from university have distanced themselves. Only Hopkins and I have stuck around. Oh, and you.”
The man, who had his head on a cushion, yawned briefly. His eyes were unfocused, clearly drowsy. He yawned again and mumbled.
“Sorry, I haven’t slept well these past few days. He’s dumped a ton of work on . You can slap if I fall asleep.”
I wasn’t bold enough to slap a stranger.
“Then I should tell you sothing that’ll wake you up. You’re the next target of the murderer who spreads those dahlia flowers.”
“Wow.”
I ant it. He didn’t seem to believe .
“There’s so kind of curse or spell on the dahlias that tracks the recipient’s location in real-ti. So, you’re currently in danger of losing your head at any mont. This isn’t the ti to be lounging around.”
The man, who had been half-buried on the sofa, opened his eyes again. He shook his head and slapped his cheeks loudly, then sat up straight and looked at .
“You’ve done quite a bit of investigation on your own, it seems.”
“Well, I had so help from people in the know.”
The man squinted slightly, as if trying to judge the truth of my words, then spoke slowly. His eyes, though still shadowed, seed more alert. He now looked at with complete trust.
His golden eyes softened.
“So, what do you need to do?”
I stated my request.
“I need your help finding Liam.”
* * *
The man asked to call him Owen.
Owen didn’t explain much but said he could help a little in finding Liam Moore. Even that small promise felt like a lifeline to . If I could just find Liam Moore!
“But for that, we need a dium.”
“A conductor… or sothing like that?”
“Yes, sothing like that. We need to go to William’s room.”
So, we moved from Blemich Street to Bailonz Street, ignoring the stares of passersby as we went up to the second floor.
As I climbed the stairs, I thought that Liam Moore might co back. I felt like he might open his door at any mont and call my na, “Jane.”
But the second-floor flat was empty.
Owen moved naturally between the living room and Liam Moore’s room, as if familiar with the house layout. He took out a few chemicals, looked through them, and selected a mineral sample.
“There are too many pieces of furniture in the living room. We need a bare floor,” he said, so I led him to my room. He then took out a cigarette case.
“Smoking is prohibited indoors,” I warned him.
“I know. This is, um, camouflage.”
“What’s in it?”
He lightly tapped the bottom of the cigarette case, and a white stick popped out. At first glance, it looked like a cigarette, but it was too thick to be one.
“It’s chalk. You’re about to see sothing you’ve never seen in your life.”
What was I supposed to be looking at? Was he going to light the chalk on fire?
In the middle of my room, he drew a single circle with the chalk. That was it. A single round circle. No elaborate words or designs. Then he placed the flasks inside the circle. The rest he threw carelessly into a corner.
“What’s all this for?” I asked, still clueless.
“These are things he’s used recently. The fresher the trace, the easier it is to find. It’s also easier with things he’s touched often or for a long ti. Oh, by the way, are you and William…?”
I frowned.
“What kind of relationship do you have?”
Owen smiled slowly.
“I know William, but I don’t know much about you.”
“Does this help?”
“Oh, imnsely. He’s attached to you. Think of it like tuning a frequency. Like a radio.”
I hesitated for a mont and then said, well, we’re just an assistant and a detective.
It seed unlikely anyone would believe that. Owen seed to think the sa, raising his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Is that all?’
“Well, he’s always been clueless about won’s feelings.”
I really didn’t want to know that.
Anyway, Owen started placing items one by one inside the circle, humming a tune. Occasionally, he tilted his head, seeming to struggle a bit. He whistled lightly, but nothing significant happened.
“This is strange. It’s like the workaholic isn’t thinking about work.”
Then he invited into the circle. I took his extended hand and stepped inside the circle. At that mont,
“…Found him.”
His voice was filled with elation. Owen Cassfire’s eyes were burning with an intense golden light.
From the tips of our intertwined fingers, sothing like plant vines began to grow slowly, wrapping around our hands. I could hear a song. The whistle turned into a lody. Golden vines rooted and spread out into the distance. I could see it with my eyes. No, Owen could see it. I was sharing his senses.
“Jane Osmond is here, so he can’t think of anything else.”
It looked like a thin thread of light. Why did it remind of Ariadne’s thread? It was zipping through the streets of London, and people seed completely unaware. They didn’t even notice sothing brushing past them.
“Can you see it?”
“The light?”
“People.”
He continued.
“Notice how ordinary people react to this.”
“No one… seems to notice it passing by.”
Owen Cassfire said,
“That’s proof you’re not an ordinary person. The mont you see it, it’s already too late. The mont you realise it, you’re fully involved. You just received confirmation that you’ve completely stepped into this. Maybe that’s why William has been so paranoid. Oh, poor guy.”
I didn’t understand what he was saying. Was I not supposed to see this? The fact that regular people didn’t notice it seed to be the normal reaction. So, does this an I’m no longer an ordinary person? Why? Because of what?
“If you know too much, it happens. That’s why you need to keep your distance. But it seems impossible.”
“Why?”
Owen Cassfire smiled slyly.
“Because William Moore is more concerned about you than you realise.”
What?
…What?
The connection with Owen broke. My vision returned to normal. For a mont, it was blurry, then I saw the floor with the circle drawn on it. My vision wavered as if soone was playing a kaleidoscope on my cornea. Swirling, sparkling, colourful scenes passed by.
A house. A family ho. A gnarled tree. A two-story house. Not old. Empty. A fireplace!
“Did you find it?”
I asked, rubbing my still-dazzling vision. Erasing the chalk circle with his foot, he replied.
“It’s near the Devil’s Acre.”
* * *
The Devil’s Acre.
A region near Westminster Abbey. Charles Dickens coined the na around 1850. It was once an infamous slum, but now it has been sowhat renovated with rental housing. At least the system is functioning better, and welfare is gradually improving.
The current Devil’s Acre is characterised by emptiness and desolation. Though the area is still not fully developed, and police patrols are frequent, it’s nothing compared to real cri-infested areas. By comparison, it’s almost angelic.
Those who rember the old days still call it Devil’s Acre, and Owen Cassfire seed to be one of them.
He moved ahead, whistling, and I could see the shining vines stretching out like threads towards a specific direction.
“Convenient, right?”
“Indeed.”
“It’s my specialty. William has a different talent.”
Owen chuckled briefly and pulled my hat lower over my eyes. Annoyed by the obscured view, I heard his voice.
“I’m not saying you should forgive him. You must be feeling complicated, and it’s probably still hard. It’s a confusing world, after all. But that guy must have had his own complicated feelings. He’s quite childish. So, go give him a good scolding and so harsh words. And once you’ve cald down, listen to what he has to say.”
When I lifted my hat, Owen Cassfire was already a few steps ahead. I quickly followed him.
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