The Bishop's invitation smelled of beeswax and deceit.
Sam ran his thumb along the edge of the parchment as they approached the manor gates, the paper's fibers rough against his skin. The iron bars before them stood silent sentinel, their hinges recently oiled—no telltale squeak to announce visitors. Beyond them, roses bloomed in unnatural crimson perfection, their petals dyed to mask some blight at their core.
Edward adjusted his new cloak with theatrical flair, the emerald embroidery catching the afternoon light. "Do I look dashing or tragically mysterious?"
"Like a court jester with poor life choices," Sam replied without looking. His attention remained fixed on the footman who opened the gate—the man's gloves bore traces of tarnish remover and something darker. Blood, perhaps. Old and flaking.
The Bishop received them in a study that reemed of incense and desperation. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, painting fractured colors across the man's gaunt face as he steepled his fingers beneath his chin. His chair was too large for him, Sam noted, the velvet upholstery barely indented by his slight frame.
"You identified Lord Gregor's killer," the Bishop said, his voice like parchment being slowly crumpled.
Sam remained still. "We identified the poison. Not the poisoner."
"Ah, but you found the key he carved into his desk." The Bishop's smile revealed teeth too white, too even. "A detail you shared with no one."
Edward's usual grin faltered for half a heartbeat before returning with doubled force. "Maybe we're just that good."
With a magician's flourish, the Bishop drew back a black velvet drape, revealing a mirror framed in silver thorns. The glass showed Sam's London office down to the last detail—the rain-streaked windows, the case files precisely as they'd left them, even the half-drunk coffee on his desk. Twelve days, seven hours since their disappearance.
Edward's reflection showed only empty air.
The Bishop's tongue darted to wet his lips. "One of you has no past to return to. How... curious."
A laugh burst from Edward's throat, too loud in the heavy silence. "Maybe your mirror's broken. Or just rude."
Sam's mind raced through possibilities. The dust layered thick around the mirror's frame confirmed it hadn't been moved in years. No trick of light could explain why Edward cast no reflection while he himself saw home with painful clarity.
As they were escorted out, a servant girl with round, modern glasses pressed a note into Sam's palm. Her fingers trembled against his skin before she melted into the shadows. The parchment bore a single line: "The Order replaces hearts with gears. Ask the librarian about 'The Clockwork Confessions.'"
The Argent Academy's library smelled of vellum and decay.
Their latest corpse sat upright at a study desk, his head lolling against an open book as if he'd simply dozed off mid-reading. No blood stained his scholar's robes, but the surgical precision of the incision down his sternum spoke volumes. Someone had opened him with the care of a healer, not a murderer.
Sam gloved his hands with a handkerchief and leaned closer. Where the man's heart should have been, an intricate arrangement of clockwork gears ticked steadily, their brass teeth catching the candlelight with each tiny rotation. The craftsmanship was exquisite—each component filed to perfect symmetry.
Edward let out a low whistle. "This wasn't just murder. It was a demonstration."
The open book before the corpse had one passage highlighted in faded ink: "The vessel must be emptied before it can be refilled."Sam's fingers hovered over the words, his mind assembling pieces of a puzzle he couldn't yet see.
Headmaster Orlan found them there as the library's torches guttered in their sconces. His offer of enrollment came wrapped in threat—swordsmanship training in exchange for the Crown's continued tolerance of their investigations.
Their first lesson proved disastrous. Edward managed to parry his own elbow, while Sam disarmed his opponent through sheer deduction of the man's old hip injury. As they limped from the training yard, a crow swooped low, dropping a silver coin at their feet. The engraving was simple:
"The Order remembers."
That night, Sam found Edward standing before their stolen mirror, his face inches from the glass. The reflection staring back at him winked.