Carl, the owner of the secondhand shop, was dead, but he had left behind a mountain of trouble. After leaving the Rosalia Inn, Jenkins didn't return to his sickbed at the Church. Instead, he gathered the bodies Carl had left behind—the ones Alexia had dealt with—and burned them all, save for one. He kept the most grueso-looking corpse and, under the cover of night, dumped it at the gates of City Hall.
He was certain it would cause an uproar the next day, which would in turn notify the Church of Carl's demise. The reason he didn't deliver the body directly to them was simple: the Bel Diran diocese was teeming with far too many demigods, and Jenkins had no desire to risk exposing his identity.
After leaving the body, he paused in his hasty retreat to glance back at it one last ti. He reflected on how a vendetta spanning epochs could culminate in such an unceremonious end. He'd heard from Alexia about Carl's perspective on his family's quest for vengeance; they had long since abandoned any true desire for revenge, treating it rely as a ans to inherit their power.
For that reason, Jenkins felt no pity for him.
The at processing plant where Carl had hidden the Flesh and Blood Factory also served as one of his smaller hideouts. Inside, Jenkins found not only a few numbered items of unknown function but also a collection of docunts. He had a Star Spirit transport the numbered items to Ruen for Alexia to identify. Presumably, with a Cursed Item as potent as the Flesh and Blood Factory already on site, Carl had seen no need to store any others there. That, at least, saved Jenkins the trouble of dealing with more dangerous artifacts.
He kept the docunts he'd discovered and waited until he was back in the sickroom at the Church to examine them.
Just as Jenkins had suspected, the files contained transaction records for significant items—in essence, ledgers. Alongside them were copies of letters, filed away from his business dealings.
With these records, the Church could effectively track the Cursed Items that had filtered into the city through Carl's shop and prevent those terrible things from wreaking havoc. The letters also revealed that, during the ti the shop was still operating in the Nolan diocese, Carl had been in contact with nearly every illegal organization Jenkins had ever encountered, including but not limited to the Club of Light Chasers, the Witch's House, and the Magic Eye Collectors' Association.
His network was vast. These letters would make it possible to effectively map the movents of the illegal factions entrenched in Nolan. The information was invaluable; Carl’s death, it turned out, had pushed the effort to secure Nolan’s peace and stability forward by a significant margin.
Yet the most valuable part of Carl's legacy wasn't the numbered items, but a collection of books on alchemy. In the current era, the disciplines of alchemy and potion-making had all but vanished, partly due to the difficulty of finding suitable apprentices, and partly because of the disappearance of so many supernatural ingredients.
But thanks to the Carl family's unbroken lineage and their powerful blood oath of vengeance, Carl’s alchemical library contained a complete history of the art's evolution from ancient epochs to the present day, along with formulas and recipes compiled over generations. This knowledge was a priceless treasure, more than enough to empower any supernatural organization to rise from obscurity to power.
Jenkins had no intention of handing these materials over to the Church. He knew that, sooner or later, he would need a group of true believers. That day was still a long way off, but if he was going to form his own order, he would need so foundational knowledge or techniques to sustain it.
He didn't possess a complete list of Enchanter abilities, and he certainly couldn't have his followers make a living by mastering the "Fabry Fraud." Carl's alchemical knowledge, therefore, presented an excellent alternative. Jenkins decided he would study it with Alexia first, and perhaps give so of the texts to Fini for her to study on her own.
"Co to think of it, I haven't seen Fini in a while," he mused. "I wonder how she's doing."
He recalled occasionally hearing her voice in his dreams lately and resolved to visit her the mont he returned to Nolan next week.
The night was deep, and Jenkins was alone in the sickroom. He hadn't been back since leaving that evening, so he had no idea where Miss Capet had gone after joining the delegation from the Church of All Things and Nature.
Setting the alchemical texts aside, Jenkins lay back on the bed, his right hand cradling his head and his left arm draped across his face as he contemplated the challenges ahead. A long mont passed before a deep sigh escaped him, its sound lingering in the empty room and casting an even bleaker chill upon the desolate moonlight.
Among the docunts, Jenkins also found the transaction record Carl had ntioned involving the Perfu Appreciation Committee. The log indicated that the Committee had acquired a set of alchemical equipnt from Carl, devices designed to help Enchanters connect to the dreams of others.
This must have been the shipnt Carl claid to have tampered with. Unfortunately, the ledger offered no clues as to what secrets he might have uncovered. As it stood, Jenkins’s knowledge about the special cigarettes was still limited: they could link dreams and pool spiritual power to shatter a powerful seal.
He let out another heavy sigh, gathered the docunts, and stroked his cat, Chocolate, who was already fast asleep. Then, he slid under the covers, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep himself.
Bizarre, kaleidoscopic dreams often heralded great trouble for Jenkins. He'd recently spent considerable ti poring over the divination texts he'd obtained from the young seer in the *Vampire's Charm* story. He'd even grown sowhat adept at interpreting prophetic dreams, but he was still startled when he suddenly beca lucid and found himself kneeling on one knee.
"A dream born from the day's worries? Or is this actually a premonition?"
The dreamscape was a grand hall, filled with a dense crowd of faceless figures. Jenkins was all alone on a long red carpet, kneeling. At the carpet's end, in the very heart of the hall, stood a solid gold throne on a slightly raised dais.
Jenkins strained to lift his gaze to the throne. There, on a soft red cushion, his cat, Chocolate, lounged contentedly, draped in a red, jewel-studded cape. Behind the cat rested a crown large enough to encircle its entire body.
Chocolate, perched upon the throne, seed to notice his stare. The cat lifted its small head and let out a proud "ow."
"Ah, this definitely isn't a premonition," he thought. "My mind's just been a ss lately."
He shook his head, trying to wake himself from the dream.
Normally, becoming aware that you were dreaming was the key to waking up. But as the thought ford, the floor beneath him suddenly shattered, and he plunged into the abyss that opened below.
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