"A curse? I'm sorry, Pops, but I don't quite understand what you an."
Seeing Jenkins's lingering confusion, Pops shook his head, as if exasperated by his apprentice's denseness, and elaborated:
"Only those who are in love deserve a blessing. Forcing affection between people who don't love each other... that's the most wicked curse of all."
Jenkins nodded in sudden understanding. So the blue aura he saw must have represented the exotic lovebirds. It was a fascinating concept.
Since the comb had been brought up, the conversation naturally shifted to the old goods shop where it was sold. Jenkins now knew of three separate items that had co from that place.
Even though the recent investigation had focused on the vampires, the matter of the shop hadn't been neglected. Still, there were no new leads. The shop had remained closed since November, and its owner hadn't been seen.
The officers from KalFax Field, using the pretext of investigating the owner for suspected involvent in arms smuggling, had searched all the inventory in the shop. They didn't find any other unusual items.
The owner of Carmyle's Old Goods Shop was a forty-one-year-old man nad Mr. Carmyle. Everyone who knew him described him as an honest and passionate shopkeeper. Yet, no one had any idea where he lived before arriving in Nolan City in the year 1862 of the Universal Calendar.
The investigation into the shop had hit a wall. It couldn't proceed until a new lead surfaced.
"Speaking of which, another one of my special items was destroyed."
The thought of the Ouija board from last night still stung, but it had served its purpose. It had managed to extract a drop of divinity from the Evil God's Scion and had even caused the being's premature and unexpected birth. In the end, it was destroyed for a worthy cause.
However, Jenkins was certain that the Scion had sensed the aura he'd leaked while sealing the divinity, and now knew he wasn't human. He wasn't worried about the cultists spreading the news—the Church would never believe such a claim—but he still wanted to deal with them as soon as possible.
In truth, even if the Church hadn't insisted, he had no plans to return to his ho on St. George Avenue anyti soon. He didn't want to risk being blown to bits one night by an explosive charm tossed through his window.
It was Monday, which ant continuing his combat lessons with Miss Bevanna as usual. Jenkins took the opportunity to ask her about the abandoned church in the forest, but it turned out that even the Church of the Sage couldn't determine which deity it had once been dedicated to.
No records of any building in that location could be found in Nolan City's archives. Only the villagers living near the forest and its previous owner had a faint recollection of a treasure legend that had sprung up about thirty-four years ago. None of them could pinpoint the exact date.
The Madison family, the owners of the forest, would face the harshest penalties. Although the activities of the New God Cultists made accurate divination of the area impossible, the evidence at the scene was clear: the incident had been caused by the owner attempting to summon the church's forr master through a bloody sacrifice.
The investigation was still in its early stages, but letters uncovered during the search proved that the Madison family had very close ties to the Galvin family in the royal capital, Bel Diran.
Traces of a human sacrifice ritual were also discovered in the Galvin family's basent, leading the Orthodox Church to suspect the two cases were connected.
All of this made Jenkins wonder just how many nobles in the Fidektri Kingdom were actually clean. When he considered that alongside what Earl Hersha had revealed about the queen's failing health, the fate of the kingdom seed deeply concerning.
Tuesday marked a return to his regular work. Pops announced that since Jenkins had received far too much ti off in the preceding weeks, he wouldn't be getting another day off until the end of the month.
Jenkins knew Pops was just worried he'd run into more trouble, and he couldn't bla him. Safety first, after all. But it also ant his plans to search the abandoned graveyard for that Bestowal would have to be postponed again.
Business was as slow as ever. Throughout the morning, Pops sat in his rocking chair by the fireplace, reading the newspaper through his spectacles. The cat lay quietly, batting at its Life Pearl and the tal block. After finishing his transcription of the tadpole-like script, Jenkins began browsing the books assigned for the week.
The shop remained quiet until lunchti. Suddenly, Chocolate, eager to get at the food on the table, leaped from Jenkins's lap, accidentally plunging its right hind paw into his bowl of thick soup.
The soup was scalding hot, and the cat let out a pitiable shriek. Jenkins imdiately checked and healed the paw, finding no real injury, but the cat seed to have found the perfect excuse to be pampered. It refused to leave his arms, so his plans to practice a few rituals were dashed.
The bookseller, a Mr. Buro, arrived promptly at three in the afternoon. Pops was busy with a gentleman interested in an antique phonograph—a major sale. Jenkins had no idea what Pops had paid for the machine, but from his enthusiastic sales pitch, it was clear that if the deal went through, the shop's expenses would be covered for the rest of the month.
Mr. Buro was here for the manuscript of *A Tale of Ice and Snow*. Jenkins had started conceptualizing and writing it in late autumn. In the intervening ti, he'd experienced a series of incredible events that had repeatedly delayed his work. But now, in the final month of the year, he had at last completed the final sections perfectly.
The last ti they had t was in Bel Diran. In the half-month since, the rchant seed to have grown even more prosperous. His face was round and shiny, sporting a neatly trimd mustache. He wore a mustard-yellow woolen overcoat and a black hat. Upon seeing Jenkins, he opened his arms for an embrace, but Jenkins sidestepped him without missing a beat.
Thanks to the prestige of the Ritter Prize, the book was a guaranteed success even before it went to print. For Mr. Buro, this was a sure-fire investnt, one hundred percent profit. Jenkins supposed anyone in his position would be just as effusive.
He had already read an unedited draft, so he was quite familiar with the story. He lavished praise on the final version, particularly the added descriptions of the landscapes in the kingdom of ice and snow. He claid that not even a writer native to the Hamparvo Kingdom could conjure such poetic scenes.
As he took the manuscript and rose to leave, he announced proudly that the Church had already approved the book's registration number. He promised he would press the printers to have the first batch ready before the year was out.
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