The Werewolf Hunting Law

Clayton wasn't concerned with Joe's safety.

When leaving the theater, they had already slipped from the Holy Grail Society's sight. As long as Joe didn't go back home, it would be no difficult task to shake off their pursuit.

Furthermore, Clayton was in no mood to face off against the Holy Grail Society for Joe's personal affairs.

Challenging an unknown enemy risked a lot. The Lieutenant was a merchant now, a profession detesting turmoil deep down. He would rather stay on peaceful and unknown terms with the Holy Grail Society.

He just wondered what the other party had in mind.

After cleaning the first floor, he went upstairs and made himself a pot of black tea. Then, he laid flat a sheet of paper on the desk and was about to write a letter.

After filling the pen with ink, he pressed its tip to the paper, describing a curve ------

"My beloved... "

"Bullshit!"

Clayton reclined heavily onto the back of the chair and intended to take a two-minute rest before going on.

If not for the desperate situation, he would have never sought Cuitisi's help.

She was the wife of Uren Bello, his long-gone elder brother, and also a repulsive narcissist.

After Uren died, Clayton once wrote a letter asking her to properly raise her daughter, the fruit of his elder brother's loins. If she couldn't meet a decent gentleman, avoid remarrying to ensure the child's upbringing was unaffected.

But the letter seemed to have been misinterpreted.

Cuitisi's burgeoning suspicions had been best illustrated when she had flatly rejected visit after visit from Clayton, though she had been so glad to receive the money he had packed in the envelope.

Thanks to her, he had never seen what Donna Bello looked like.

The mere thought of Cuitisi's face would give him the impulse to throw a dart.

Woefully, she was the only person that Clayton could trust now.

Cuitisi had once undergone the full monastic training for nuns; perhaps she could answer some of his questions ---- about the significance of those Extraordinary objects, as well as the way the White Church interpreted and dealt with them.

Heaving a drawn-out sigh, Clayton started putting pen to paper once again while pondering, touching upon his yesterday encounter and putting a fictional friend in his shoes. Expressing his awe at the Extraordinary world, he built upon this and elaborated further...

To Clayton's obliviousness, the pot had been drained while the paper letter grew densely packed with words.

Only after starting the letter did he realize his questions far outnumbered those formed in his mind earlier.

He reviewed the letter to make sure to avert Cuitisi's misunderstanding and slipped it into the envelope, on which he set down the recipient's address and name.

Suddenly, the pen in his hand froze as he turned to glance through the window.

A breath of the scent fresh from his yesterday's memory had wafted in from the window.

"Mr. Bello, you have a visitor. " Charlotte's voice sounded from outside the door.

Upon hearing this, Clayton eased the fountain pen down on the desk. He retrieved a revolver from the drawer, tucking it into his belt and concealing it with his jacket.

During his Lauren service, all he laid hands upon were old-fashioned weapons, seldom even getting to try a breech-loading gun. But a revolver was a beginner-friendly new weapon, allowing six successive shots that made up for its poor accuracy and strong recoil.

Downstairs was waiting a honey-skinned woman with a sculpted face in a floor-length dress.

As Clayton descended the stairs, he showed a smile ever-so familiar to every customer, then tipped his hat to her. "Madam, delighted to meet you. I wonder what I can help you with?"

From her smell, he surmised that she was Rosa, the veiled led dancer on the stage last night.

Clayton had no idea why she had come but devoutly hoped for a peaceful development.

Otherwise, he would have to put the revolver to proper use.

Before he emptied the revolver, at least, he would not shape-shift.

The current Rosa looked much more demure than last night. She stepped forward and bent her knees, curtsying to Clayton. "Pardon me for disturbing you, but we actually met last night."

Her posture almost marked her as a young lady of the aristocratic class. Meanwhile, Clayton feigned confusion. "Pardon me, but my memory has failed me. Where did we meet last time?"

A blush seeped outward across the dancer's face, seemingly ashamed of her work.

" I was on the stage then."

Clayton's jaw dropped, striving to exhibit astonishment ----- if not for his Extraordinary sense of smell, he would have been blown away.

"I'm here for Mr. Mani, who was there with you. May I know where he is now?"

Sporting a flowing gaze, she pursed her lips and surveyed the surroundings, then looked toward the stairs, baring her intent to explore the upstairs space.

"He left too early. My gossamer coat is still with him."

Clayton was unsure whether she was playing some trick or probing into his relationship with Joe.

But the second possibility did make sense since the Holy Grail Society had to stay a fair distance away while spying on Joe. They couldn't know him inside out.

With this in mind, his expression twisted into the lewd longing and pompous disdain of a muckety-muck man eyeing a whore. "Joe Mani isn't here. I have no idea why you would come here to look for him, but I can tell you where his home is."

Noticing the look in his eyes, Rosa chuckled awkwardly.

"I know that. I have already been to his home. He wasn't there but had left behind a note asking me to come to you... the gossamer coat is not cheap. I have only one for performances."

The antique merchant banged the countertop beside him, jolting Charlotte from her reveries.

"Goddamn it, the bastard! Is that what he told you? Your item isn't with me. How can I return it to you for him?"

Seeing him hit the roof, Rosa was dumbstruck. "I'm sorry, I thought you were friends."

Clayton smirked secretly. If putting on a show was what she wanted, he would be happy to play along.

*****

"Friends? Then why would he repay his debt with rubbish and a ticket for a strip show?"

He spread his hands, weaving an illusion that he was on the same front line as she. "Last night, I asked him to do errands for me. But he ended up disappearing with my goods, and now nobody knows where he's fooling around."

Best he could get himself out of the trouble, but at the very least, he had to convince Rosa that he wasn't a foe.

Rosa barely managed a smile. "I never expected him to be such a man. I gave him my family's cherished ring as a love token, but now. I may have lost it forever."

As she said this, her eyes reddened, so pitiful she looked that she might have evoked sympathy in anyone.

But for the overwhelming corpse odor around her, Clayton would have almost believed it.

Drawing a long sigh, Clayton pulled out a handkerchief and held it out to her, "Speaking of a ring, Joe left me one to cover sixty pounds of his debt."

The dancer's eyes sparkled. "May I take a look?"

"Of course."

Clayton made his way back to the first floor and retrieved the ring. He indeed had the intention of handing it back.

The Bishop's Signet Ring could only turn a shape-shifter back to their true form. That was practically useless for him. Without a potential buyer, it was just an ordinary ancient silver piece.

If he got caught keeping it, that would make him more suspicious.

Upon seeing the ring, Rosa instantly relaxed. She reached out for it

"Thanks..."

Taking a step backward, Clayton dodged her hand. " Should you pay fifty pounds, it will be yours."

He had to raise a request and keep it from becoming a dubious gift.

"Well..." the dancer withdrew her hand, her face blushing bright red. "Sorry, but I haven't brought enough money today."

"It's all right, Miss Rosa. You may raise money for as long as it takes. I will keep it in reserve for you, for the sake of the Holy Light. "

"Excuse me for not seeing you off. Should you meet Joe, remind him of his three-hundred-pound debt to me. You see, this year's end is drawing near."

Seemingly dispirited, Rosa left.

Clayton hardly felt delighted at all. Although he was seeking peace, he would rather spark a battle.

The more reluctant the Holy Grail Society was to enter into a public skirmish, the more severe the trouble that Joe Mani had caused, to the extent that the Holy Grail Society had even decided to settle down in Sasha.

Now he regretted having not inquired thoroughly from Joe.

Joe had taken two items away from the Holy Grail Society, one being the Bishop's Signet Ring in his hands. Another had been destroyed, which the Holy Grail Society was still unaware of. It must be what had prompted their stay in Sasha.

And it must be incomparably valuable.

............

In the three days that followed, Rosa didn't come by the shop.

In the workspace, the Bishop's Signet Ring lay quiet and neglected.

Having mailed the letter to Cuitisi at a post office, Clayton was heading for his home, on his guard.

His home was under surveillance now.

After Rosa visited 'Rusty Silver Coin', the watcher emerged. Apparently, the fact that Joe had asked Rosa for another ticket for the strip show and gifted it specially to Clayton had led the Holy Grail Society to mistake the two's relationship.

A spikes-topped fence of black metallic railings cut them apart down the middle, reminiscent of how skittish ancient people had protected themselves from smallpox.

Some people wanted their way in, some wanted their way out.

Though Clayton was unclear whether the Holy Grail Society eyed him less suspiciously, he was in no mood to probe.

The strange corpse odor filled the air all around, yet he had to fake unawareness of it.

Their tracking hadn't caused him much trouble; anyway, there was no bad blood between him and the Holy Grail Society, and all his actions were legal and decent.

Clayton cast a glance at a window of the sitting room, where the ever-drawn gray curtains were now open.

The corpse odor pervaded the air and made him unable to locate its source.

More than tracking, someone seemed to have rummaged through his home today.

He didn't close the door, letting air currents blow in from the corridor. Then, he opened the other windows in the sitting room and bedroom wide, one at a time, for ventilation. After this, he lit a candle and walked toward the cellar.

Down in the cellar were kept blood-dripping, frozen chunks of beef, which Clayton had planned on eating raw. A cat or dog had a satiny coat from feasting on raw meat. He believed that the same was true for a werewolf.

But these days he had been under those stinking people's watch. He could not very well shape-shift at home.

Clayton never knew his way around the kitchen, so he couldn't cook for himself.

Judging by the time, he assumed that the ice was about to thaw out. If he did not handle the meats now, they would soon spoil and smell as bad.

Pulling open the cellar door, a candle in one hand, he rested another on the ladder and began descending it.

Before his foot touched the floor, a stagnant, nauseating odor assailed his nostrils.

The fresh and old decaying smells came intertwining and struck him as ominous.