Phantom of StainedSteam: The StainedSteam Saga, #1

By Johan Sparr

Phantom of StainedSteam: A Victorian Urban Fantasy Mystery

London, 1764. When detective William Blackwood discovers signs of the supernatural at a grisly crime scene, it sparks an investigation that plunges him into the city's hidden world of magic. Aided by his unique abilities, William uncovers a conspiracy involving secret societies, dark rituals, and powerful ancient forces threatening London's magical factions.

To have any hope of protecting his city, William must join forces with unlikely allies including a mysterious mercenary woman named Lilly, a werewolf pack, and members of the city's elite. But cunning villains like the notorious Maxim Vonhagen and the shadowy Algernon Frost lurk in the wings. William must navigate gritty taverns, glamorous balls, dark tunnels, and more in a breathtaking magical adventure.

In Phantom of StainedSteam, the gaslit dark fantasy world of 1764 London comes alive. Ancient enchantments intertwine with the bustling metropolis in a spellbinding thrill ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Johan Sparr
• Release date: Mar 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224633395

Book preview

Copyright © 2024 by Johan Sparr

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by copyright law.

Contents

1.Mists of Deceit

2.Echoes of Intrigue

3.Whispers from the Dead

4.Echoes of Alliance

5.Masquerade of Deceit

6.Gears of Conspiracy

7.Veils of Betrayal

8.Codes and Shadows

9.The Calm Before It Storms

10.Night of Tangled Fates

11.The Gala of Ghouls

12.Rituals in Red

13.Dreamscapes and Warnings

14.Chase Through Shadowed Streets

15.Storm's Arrival

16.Guardian of Light

17.The Archives of Arcana

18.A Thief in the Night

19.Whirlwind of Crimson

20.The Enigma of Eldritch

21.Bonds of Blood and Magic

22.Echoes of the Eldritch

23.Crescendo of Chaos

24.Dawn of Destinies

25.Epilogue

About the Author

one

image-placeholder

Mists of Deceit

The morning fog in London was as thick as clotted cream, shrouding the cobblestone streets in a ghostly veil.

Lilly pulled her woolen cloak tighter against the damp chill as she stepped outside. Tendrils of mist curled around her legs like spectral cats, making her shiver. Her breath came in pale puffs as she made her way down the dim street.

She arrived at a small, nondescript shop nestled between two larger buildings. After a glance around, she gave two sharp knocks on the weathered door.

It creaked open and a wiry man peered out, eyes widening as he recognized her. Och, Miss Ravenwood! Come in lass, come in.

Lilly slipped inside as he closed the door against the cold.

Bitter out there today, eh? He rubbed his hands together as if he could feel the frost in his bones. Can see past yer own feet.

It's frigid, Mr. McTavish, Lilly replied. Her voice was smooth and low, like well-aged whiskey.

The shopkeeper gestured for her to follow him into the back room. A small fire sputtered in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the cluttered space. McTavish added a log, coaxing more warmth from the struggling flames before turning to face her.

I expect ye're here about the shipment, he said, unable to meet her piercing gaze.

Lilly nodded. My client is eager to ensure its safe delivery. He sent me to finalize the travel plans.

McTavish's eyes darted around the room. O' course, m'lady. It'll leave first thing tomorrow, with two o' my toughest trolls.

Lilly studied him, noting the nervous tremor in his voice. And it will reach Devonshire without issue?

On my life, he promised, though he looked as though he hoped she wouldn't hold him to it.

Lilly stepped closer, her icy blue eyes boring into the man's. See that it does. My client is not one to tolerate disappointment.

McTavish nodded, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. Aye, m'lady. Ye'll have no trouble from me.

Satisfied with his assurances, Lilly turned to leave. As she opened the door, the swirling fog crept inside, cold and foreboding. McTavish shivered, whether from the chill or fear even he could not say. Lilly pulled her hood up and disappeared into the misty London streets like a phantom.

image-placeholder

The sharp peck of the enchanted woodpecker clock pierced the quiet morning, jolting William awake.

Bloody thing, he grumbled, slamming his hand down a bit too hard. The pecking stopped. William sighed and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he took in the familiar surroundings of his bedroom.

Maps and books lay strewn across every surface, mingling with the odd teacup or pot - remnants from recent cases. Morning light filtered in through the curtains, casting everything in a dim glow. Though drafty, the townhouse held some warmth from the fire crackling in the sitting room below.

With a groan, William dragged himself out of bed and shuffled down the stairs, running a hand through his unruly dark hair. The savory scent of last night's meat pie still lingered in the kitchen. His stomach rumbled in response.

Breakfast it is, he muttered, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. With a simple snap, a small flame burst to life beneath - one of the few perks of magical lineage. Never needed matches.

The restarted tick of the woodpecker clock echoed from upstairs, reminding William of the full day ahead. As the water heated, he prepared a simple breakfast of toast, jam, eggs, and sausages. The routine soothed him. Soon the kettle whistled, and he poured the boiling water into the waiting teapot before bringing his meal to the sitting room.

Sinking into the worn leather armchair by the fire, William reviewed the stack of unopened letters and parcels on the mantel as he ate. Most were likely new requests for his services as a detective - ever since solving the Hanbury Murders for Scotland Yard, demand had grown. Everyone wanted the skills of William Blackwood on their side.

William took a long sip of tea as he watched the flames dance. That familiar itch returned the insatiable need for a new puzzle. With his last case wrapped up two days prior, it was time for a new adventure.

As he finished breakfast, William hoped the morning post would bring something exciting. Even now, he could feel the city coming alive outside - clip-clopping hooves, calls of street vendors. London awaited, and he had an inkling today might lead to something intriguing.

image-placeholder

William's gaze landed on the silver woodpecker as he entered his bedroom, searching for his cane sword. The life-like automaton, a thoughtful gift from his aunt, sat atop the nightstand, hammering against the clock with a tiny beak that glowed an eerie green. With a flick of his wrist, he silenced its incessant pecking.

As he headed for the bathroom, the door slid open. He caught his reflection in the mirror - tousled dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and taut muscles that rippled under his skin. The image of a man who cultivated not just his physical strength, but emotional and mental fortitude as well.

His peaceful morning was shattered by a shimmering hologram alert from Scotland Yard materializing before him. The ghostly visage informed him a crime scene required his expertise as a private investigator. The constables were already present, but his unique skills were needed.

Feeling the weight of obligation, William dressed in his usual garb - black trousers, a white shirt with intricate embroidery, a dark leather coat lined with brass buttons, and knee-high boots suited for stealth. He strapped on various belts holding tools and potions, preparing for any situation. Cane sword in hand, he left his townhouse with a heavy heart, merging into the morning clamor of London's streets. The foggy atmosphere and swirling snowflakes whispered this case would be anything but ordinary.

The magical alert had come from James, a fellow investigator and friend at Scotland Yard, who had been working on a complex case. The crime scene was an abandoned warehouse near the docks, a place known for shady dealings and crime. As William approached the entrance, constables milled outside, faces taut with tension.

James greeted him with a tired nod, eyes shadowed from the long hours analyzing evidence. I'm glad you're here, Blackwood. We've found peculiar elements, and your skills will prove invaluable.

Together they entered the dim warehouse, the frigid air biting exposed skin. The heavy scent of decay permeated the space, coupled with the skittering of unseen rats. The constables had cordoned off the area, leaving only a narrow path to follow.

Navigating crates and debris, they came upon the body of a young woman, her face frozen in fear. A single, clean gunshot to the head was the obvious cause of death. But strange symbols etched into her skin seized their attention.

This is unlike any other case, James whispered, voice quavering. These symbols are ancient, dating back to the Black Thorns.

William's heart skipped.

But there is more, follow me, James said.

image-placeholder

The dry but cold air brushed against William's face as he stepped through the chaotic scene. The scent of blood and fear filled the air. The once-bustling warehouse yard lay in ruins, a testament to the horror that had transpired.

James, his face pale beneath his hat, navigated the wreckage. He pointed out claw marks on the walls and the mangled bodies that littered the ground. The marks of a monstrous creature were everywhere, a reminder of the horrors that had taken place.

William couldn't help but feel a deep sense of dread as he considered the possibility of the Black Thorns, a notorious group of dark enforcers, being involved in such a terrible act. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he knew that unraveling the truth behind this tragedy would be a difficult task.

The two investigators looked at each other, their shared understanding evident in the silence between them. They knew they had to leave no stone unturned in their pursuit of the truth, no matter how dark and twisted the path may lead them. As they prepared to delve deeper into the mystery, they couldn't help but wonder if the Black Thorns were indeed responsible or if another sinister force lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike again.

We must uncover the truth about this, James said, his voice heavy with determination.

We'll find the answers, no matter how dark, William replied, his eyes never leaving the scene before him.

Well, do your thing, I will be out by the perimeter holding off any crown from forming. Besides, this is much more your kind of scene than mine. James said and walked back to the warehouse entrance, avoiding looking about as he went.

image-placeholder

William stood amid the organized chaos of the crime scene, his eyes aglow with an arcane blue light. The constables kept their distance, unsettled by his unnatural aura yet unable to pinpoint why.

What's he on about? Constable Jacobs muttered.

Constable Ramsey shook his head. Haven't the foggiest. But I've seen him at crime scenes before. He always turns up something we'd have missed.

William tuned out their hushed speculation and continued his occult examination of the area. His singular talents exposed mystical clues no ordinary constable could spot. Tracing the residual magical energies left behind by the supernatural assault took patience and skill. For normal folks, the arcane traces would be undetectable background noise, but to William, they rang out clear as a bell.

He crouched beside the young woman's body, his eyes still suffused with eldritch light. he took her cold hand in his own and closed his eyes in concentration. When he opened them a moment later the glow had faded back to piercing blue.

She was slain by an unnatural creature, he proclaimed with certainty. And judging by the ritual symbols carved into her flesh, the Black Thorns are involved.

The constables traded uneasy looks at the mention of the notorious clan.

How can you know for sure? Constable Jacobs asked.

William gestured to the warehouse door where wicked claw marks gouged the solid oak. Those are not the work of any mortal hand. And ritual wards like these, he indicated the strange symbols are ancient and obscure magics known only to a group like the Black Thorns.

The constables shifted, all too aware of the Thorns' reputation. A secret society of powerful sorcerers dabbling in the dark arts of necromancy meant big trouble for anyone unlucky enough to cross their path.

We need to notify Inspector Fletcher at once, William said, rising and brushing off his knees. This is no isolated homicide. We could have a full-scale occult threat on our hands.

The constables activated their communication bracelets, relaying the situation to headquarters. This was beyond their pay grade. The Black Thorns were on the loose in London, and that meant the hounds of hell wouldn't be far behind.

image-placeholder

The heavy wooden door of Scotland Yard slammed shut behind William, the scent of ink and paper filling his nostrils - a stark contrast to the lingering metallic odor from the crime scene. Clutching a leather-bound journal filled with intricate notes and sketches, he ventured deeper into the bustling station.

Detectives with focused expressions hurried to and fro, engrossed in various cases. Spotting a familiar face, William waved the journal. I've found something that may help the investigation. I need to speak with Inspector Fletcher.

The detective nodded and pointed toward the chief inspector's office. William strode down the hallway, journal in hand. Upon reaching the door, he rapped his knuckles.

Come in, a gruff voice echoed.

Pushing open the door revealed a cramped and cluttered office. Behind a desk piled high with documents sat Inspector Fletcher, thinning gray hair slicked back and a permanent scowl etched on his weathered face. His steely gaze met William's piercing blue eyes.

Blackwood, he grumbled. To what do I owe the pleasure?

William shut the door and settled into the worn chair opposite Fletcher. Opening the journal to the intricate diagrams and symbols, he tapped the pages. I've discovered something supernatural about this case, Inspector. The patterns point to a werewolf.

Fletcher's scowl deepened, his fingers drumming. A werewolf? Preposterous.

See for yourself, William insisted, sliding the journal closer. The symbols form a sequence consistent with paranormal activity. We must act before it strikes again.

Fletcher's eyes narrowed as he examined the pages. After a moment, he leaned back, skepticism still evident on his face. And I suppose you have a plan?

William met his gaze. I want to lead this investigation. My expertise could prove invaluable in tracking this creature.

Anger flashed in Fletcher's eyes. You think you can just waltz in and take over?

Not take over, William clarified, hands raised placatingly. Assist. With our combined resources, we can bring this werewolf to justice.

Fletcher's jaw clenched, fingers drumming louder on the desk. After a tense moment, he glanced back at the journal and sighed. Fine. You can assist in the investigation. But I'm still in charge, understood?

William nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips. Perfectly, Inspector. Thank you.

Rising from his chair, William felt a swell of satisfaction. Securing Fletcher's reluctant cooperation was an accomplishment, but he knew the real challenge still lay ahead.

Exiting Scotland Yard, the icy winter wind bit William's face. Pulling his coat tighter, his sharp eyes scanned the snowy streets for any sign of the elusive werewolf. With single-minded determination, he headed home to plan the next phase in his investigation. The game was afoot.

image-placeholder

William sighed as he scooped up a portion of minced herring into a bowl, the pungent aroma of fish filling his modest kitchen. Perched on the counter, his winged cat, Midnight, watched him, her delicate wings folded against her sleek brindle fur.

I just don't understand why they won't listen, William said, setting the bowl on the floor. Midnight leaped down, her wings fluttering to control her descent. The claw marks, the strange symbols, the sheer brutality of the attacks - it's obvious something supernatural is going on.

Midnight looked up at him, her green eyes glinting as she ate.

Inspector Fletcher is a fool if he thinks this is the work of some ordinary criminal, William continued, beginning to pace the kitchen. He's so focused on his 'logical' explanations that he's blind to what's right in front of him, that monster is still out there, and more innocent lives are at risk every night.

He ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration. The warm, rich scents of roasted meat and vegetables still lingered in the air, remnants of the pie he'd made earlier, but William was too preoccupied to enjoy it.

Midnight finished her food and, with a graceful flap of her wings, glided up to perch on William's shoulder. She nuzzled his cheek while purring.

At least you understand, William said, stroking her head. I just wish I had more resources to figure this out myself. But I'm only one man, even with my...unique skills.

He sighed again. I'd best get back to my books. Maybe there's some clue about these symbols that I missed.

Leaving the kitchen, William walked down the hall to the sitting room. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering light over the haphazard stacks of leather-bound books and parchments that cluttered the room. Moving Midnight to her pillow near the fireplace, he sat at his desk and pulled a journal towards him - the one where he'd copied the strange symbols from the crime scene.

Flipping through the pages, he compared the markings to sketches and descriptions in several of the books around him - occult references, histories of magic and mythology, anything that might give him insight into the killings. But after an hour of fruitless searching, he leaned back in his chair with a frustrated huff.

There must be something I'm missing, he muttered. Getting up, he began to pace the room again, hoping the movement would help him think. As he walked past the bookcases lining the walls, his eyes fell on the maps rolled up and stacked in one corner. Of course! The locations of the attacks - there had to be a pattern.

Clearing a space on his desk, William unrolled a large map of London across it, weighing down the corners with books. He began marking the sites with red ink, labeling each with the date of the corresponding attack. Five killings so far spread out over the last three weeks. What connected them?

Studying the map, he started to see a pattern emerge. The first attack had been near the docks on the Thames. The next two were also riverside in the east end. Then the fourth occurred just north of the Blackfriars Bridge over the river. Now the most recent attack in the affluent neighborhood near Regent's Park, farther west. They were moving upstream, toward the city center.

What are you trying to do? William muttered. If the killer continued on this path, the next attack would likely be somewhere near Westminster. A chill ran down his spine as he realized how close these horrific acts had come to the halls of power.

Rolling up the map, William grabbed his coat. He had to go back to the Yard. This was the information he needed to convince Inspector Fletcher that something unnatural but with a cruel planning mind behind it was stalking London's nights.

image-placeholder

William strode down the snow-dusted cobblestone streets, the chill air nipping at his exposed ears and nose. He drew his wool coat tighter as he walked, eyes scanning the crowded sidewalks.

His gaze lingered on a towering figure in a bowler hat - an orc, seven feet tall, his stony green complexion obscured by a trimmed beard. The orc brushed past a fashionable couple - both noble elves, William noted, their pointed ears adorned with jeweled earrings that glinted in the morning light. The orc tipped his hat as he maneuvered around them, eliciting a gracious nod and smile from the elven pair. To any ordinary Londoner, they were just three more bodies bundled against the cold. But William saw them for what they were - members of the city's thriving magical underbelly.

As William walked on, a fruit cart caught his eye. A troll inspected the wares, his craggy face crinkled in concentration as he turned an apple over in his massive hands. The greengrocer showed no sign of unease dealing with the hulking creature, naming a price as if it were any other transaction. The troll grunted, satisfied, and exchanged a few coins before tucking the apple into a coat pocket that strained to contain it. Another subtle sign, William mused, of the hidden world thriving right under the humans' noses.

Movement up ahead pulled William's gaze forward again. A young woman crossed the street, bundled in a plain gray overcoat and gloves, a scarf obscuring much of her face. But William sensed there was more to her - an aura of glamour and light that betrayed her fae heritage. Her disguise was well-crafted, allowing her to slip through the crowds unnoticed. But William's honed senses saw through to her true nature. His eyes tracked her progress for a moment before she disappeared down a side street, just another ordinary Londoner going about her day.

As William continued his walk, this intermingling of beings fascinated him. To most, London was a bustling human city full of merchants, laborers, and gentry. But he now saw it as something more - a mosaic of intersecting worlds, mundane and magical. His unique talents allowed him to glimpse past the veil, to see the diversity of beings that made up the city's populace.

Other figures dotted the crowds, hinting at origins beyond the mortal plane. A dwarf with a thick, braided beard inspected clockwork trinkets in a street merchant's cart. Across the way, a willowy woman with pointed ears perused books at a stall, glamoured to disguise her fae heritage. And in the recessed doorway of a bakery, a goblin child lingered, waiting for scraps and clutching a tattered cap to his chest. Each one is part of the invisible world, nameless faces in the sea of top hats and bonnets.

William was shaken from his observations when a hulking shape emerged from an alleyway ahead. Another troll, even larger than the last, with stone-like skin of charcoal gray. The troll met William's gaze, beady eyes glinting with suspicion. William tensed, ready to defend himself, before realizing the troll's wariness. Here in the open, surrounded by humans, he posed as much a threat to the troll as the reverse. William gave a slight nod and continued on his way. The troll watched him go, relaxing once William had passed.

These chance encounters highlighted the precarious balance between the worlds, William pondered. The hidden beings kept to the shadows, wary of revealing themselves to the humans who surrounded them. And the humans remained oblivious, sensing nothing out of the ordinary in the city they thought they knew so well. William was struck by how his worldview had shifted - opened to the diversity and magic that lurked below the surface.

The scent of roasting chestnuts jolted William from his musings. A street vendor tended his cart, oblivious to the gnome stealing chestnuts when his back was turned. William hid a smile, allowing the creature his minor theft. Let the humans have their dominion in the daylight, he thought. The magical world will continue to thrive in the shadows regardless.

William decided his walk had taken him far enough. He turned down a narrow side street, avoiding the main thoroughfares. Fewer humans traveled this way, allowing William to lower his guard ever so. As he walked, he focused his senses, feeling the ambient magic that permeated this hidden corner of London. Its energy hummed just below the surface, a current running beneath the seeming mundanity of the cityscape. This was the world as he now saw it - layered, complex, and thrumming with unseen life just out of most people's view. He opened the door to the pub he just had come to and walked in.

image-placeholder

Pacing back and forth in his sitting room, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner. He was expecting Jaxon Westwood to arrive, though the man's penchant for tardiness tried William's patience.

A rap at the door signaled Jaxon's arrival. William opened it to find the eccentric older investigator standing on the doorstep, his curly brown hair wild and glasses askew as usual.

You're late, William said.

Yes, well, I was pursuing a promising lead regarding the etymology of the claw marks left at the most recent crime scene, Jaxon replied as he stepped inside. I believe they may originate from the ancient Raxian dialect once spoken by certain demonic entities.

William closed the door. We don't have time for dusty books right now. There's a killer on the loose and we need to act with haste.

Jaxon straightened a stack of papers on William's desk. Acting often leads to mistakes. We must proceed and if we want to uncover the truth.

William's jaw tightened. He had hoped to collaborate with the knowledgeable investigator, but Jaxon's glacial pace tried his patience.

I refuse to sit by while more lives are lost, William said. We need boots on the ground to track this killer before he strikes again.

And where do you propose we start? Jaxon asked, unfazed by William's tone. Accosting citizens? Kicking down doors?

If that's what it takes, William said through gritted teeth.

Jaxon sighed. Mr. Blackwood, I understand your...enthusiasm, but we must have patience. I believe my research into the occult origins of the case may—

Blast your research! William interrupted. We don't have time for musty books. There's a monster out there and it needs to be stopped now.

William could see Jaxon's eyes narrow behind his spectacles. Need I remind you that 'monsters' do not materialize from the ether. They originate from complex magical systems that have evolved over centuries. If we are to have any hope of stopping this killer, we must understand where it came from and how it operates.

William turned away and ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration. As much as it pained him to admit it, Jaxon had a point. But the thought of more innocent lives lost while they scoured ancient texts was unacceptable. There had to be a better way.

Perhaps... William began. We could divide our efforts. You research the occult origins of this killer using your knowledge of magical history and languages. I'll hit the streets and see what information I can dig up from my sources in the city's underworld. We can meet back here in two days to compare notes.

Jaxon considered this for a moment. Very well. A bifurcated approach may prove fruitful. He began gathering up the books and papers he had brought. I shall begin my research at once. But Mr. Blackwood—

He fixed William with a serious look.

Do take care in your...investigations. Rushing headlong into danger will serve no one.

With that, Jaxon swept out the door, along with William.

This arrangement could work, William mused. While not ideal, it would allow them each to use their unique skills to unravel this mystery, without getting in each other's way.

William donned his coat and locked up, heading out into the night.

image-placeholder

William and Jaxon hurried down the dark alley, their footsteps echoing off the brick walls. A cold wind whipped through the narrow passage, carrying snow with it and the faint stench of rot.

William squinted into the shadows, his senses on high alert. Beside him, Jaxon muttered under his breath, his lips moving as he recited protective incantations.

Without warning, the air before them shimmered and distorted, giving way to three hazy, faceless forms that hovered. William tensed, ready to unleash his power. Jaxon grabbed his arm, holding him back.

A chilling voice emanated from the apparitions, reverberating through the alley. Cease your investigation into the supernatural attacks, or suffer dire consequences.

William's hands curled into fists. He longed to blast these phantoms back to whatever hellish realm they came from. But Jaxon's grip on his arm kept him grounded.

Jaxon stood rigid, his mind racing as he analyzed the situation. Whatever magic animated these creatures, was old and powerful. He sorted through his vast knowledge of the arcane, seeking anything that could help.

The tense standoff stretched on for agonizing moments. William resisted the urge to lash out, knowing it would only make things worse. Jaxon continued running scenarios, looking for an opening, an advantage.

Just when it seemed violence was inevitable, the phantoms wavered and dissolved, fading back into the shadows. William and Jaxon stood in silence as the sense of menace receded.

They exchanged grim but determined looks, both realizing the rising supernatural threat they faced. This was no ordinary killer they hunted. Powerful forces moved against them from the darkness.

But William and Jaxon were not so deterred. With a subtle nod, they strode out of the alley, more resolved than ever to uncover the truth.

The game was afoot.

image-placeholder

William entered the comfort of his townhouse, the cold from the alley fading away. He hung his coat and hat, then marched with determination to his study. The fireplace soon crackled, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

He stood over his desk, surveying the mess of maps and notes scattered across its surface. Red ink marked the locations of the attacks, forming a pattern that remained a mystery to him. However, William was convinced the answer was hidden within the intricate symbols and cryptic phrases he had gathered over the past weeks.

With renewed determination, he began examining the various pieces of information, searching for the connections that would unravel the enigma. As he worked, the familiar lines of concentration etched into his brow. This was his purpose, the reason his unique abilities had been bestowed upon him. To uncover the hidden dangers lurking in the shadows and bring them into the light.

As he continued to search for answers, he couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency. Time was running out, and the fate of countless lives hung in the balance. He had to unravel the mystery and protect the innocent from the looming threat.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed eleven times. William noticed the late hour, so focused was he on the task at hand. The world outside these walls and the dangers it contained faded away. At this moment, there was only the mystery laid out before him and the absolute certainty that he would unravel it.

The first pale light of dawn was glowing through the study windows when William set down his pen. A plan had taken shape in his mind, an investigation that would steer him straight into the heart of the unknown forces plaguing London. It would be risky, perhaps even perilous. But he would not shy away. Justice demanded action.

William stacked the collection of notes and books on his desk, leaving them in ordered piles for later perusal. He stood, joints creaking in protest after the long night hunched over his work. With slow, methodical movements, he stoked the dying embers of the fireplace and added a fresh log. The flames sprang back to life, crackling.

Satisfied that all was in order, William headed for his room to catch a few hours of sleep before setting his new plan in motion.

two

image-placeholder

Echoes of Intrigue

The setting sun cast its last fading rays across the snow-blanketed rooftops of London as William hurried through the crowded streets. He tucked his chin into his coat collar against the chill wind that whipped snow into drifts between the buildings, his breath frosting the air before him. This was not the fashionable heart of the city, with its wide boulevards and gleaming gas lamps. Here on the fringe of the East End, the roads narrowed into a twisting warren of alleys and side passages that seemed designed to confuse.

William turned down one such lit lane, the sounds of raucous laughter and clinking glasses growing louder as he approached tonight's destination - The Black Hart tavern. The rough wooden sign creaked above the doorway, which spilled warm firelight out onto the cobblestones. With a fortifying breath, William stepped inside.

His senses were assaulted by the dense fug of pipe smoke, stale beer, and unwashed bodies. The heat from the fireplace was stifling after the chill outside. A cacophony of voices echoed off the low ceilings as dockworkers, petty thieves, and other unsavory types crowded the room. In one corner, a game of dice had devolved into a shouting match.

William's lip curled in distaste, but he schooled his features into nonchalance as he threaded through the room toward the back corner table that was his objective. Sliding onto the bench seat, he gave a thought about who he would be meeting here this evening - the eccentric magical investigator, Jaxon Westwood.

Evening, Blackwood, Jaxon greeted around puffs on his pipe as he sat down, unruffled by their grubby surroundings. His owlish spectacles magnified eyes that were in constant motion, taking in every detail. I trust you haven't been waiting long?

Only a quarter hour, William replied dryly, signaling the barmaid for an ale. He had no intention of drinking the foul stuff, but appearances mattered in a place like this. I see punctuality remains a weakness of yours.

Jaxon let out an amused huff. Yes, well, I was pursuing a promising new avenue of research into the etymology of those mysterious symbols we found at the latest attack site. The linguistic roots suggest an origin in ancient Raxian, which was known to be used in certain demonic rituals...

He trailed off under William's withering stare.

Right, then. Straight to business. Jaxon cleared his throat before continuing in a lower tone. "What fresh