Entry 39

I had been instructed by Shirleigh to stay behind for this particular case, for it posed a danger to anyone involved in it. She refused to tell me any specifics, which only piqued my inquisitiveness. Thus, being unable to heed her instructions—and without informing her—I arrived at the venue ahead of time, should something happen and she required assistance.

Upon my arrival, a song of the utmost enchanting nature filled the space. It was unlike anything I had ever heard before. The words themselves were incomprehensible, being sung in a language I had very little knowledge of. Even if I did possess some understanding of the words being sung to me, it would have made little difference.

No music accompanied the alluring voice that reached out to me. The silence of the music hall allowed the song to ricochet off its walls, enveloping me in its mesmerising sound.

Everything around me faded into the background, which only made the song grow louder and sonorous in my ears. Wanting to get closer to the source of the song, I turned the corner and took a step toward the sound. Then another. The echoes of my heels reverberated throughout the hall of empty seats. Shards of broken glass were sprinkled across the marble floor, some of them crunching underneath the weight of my prosthesis.

Several feet ahead of me, I could see him—the one who called out to me with his song.

His jet-black hair graces his shoulders, the bangs resembling curtains, drawn back to reveal his face. His suit was perfectly tailored to his body, showing off his tall, slender build. The fabric was an ombre of turquoise, a darker shade at the shoulders, cascading into lighter hues. When the light caught the material just right, a scale-like pattern shimmered, resembling that of a fish.

When I reached the altar where he stood, he lifted his gaze, and I fell to my knees before him, captivated by the crimson glow of his eyes. He smiled down at me, and in that moment, I wanted to give him everything. My heart. My very soul.

My sadness, my anxieties, all of my worries; I felt that it would all go away if I just gave myself to him.

I took hold of a shard of glass that lay beside me. I could feel the sharp edges slice into my skin as I wrapped my fingers around it. Focusing my attention on the shard in my grasp, I watched as blood dripped onto my skirts, the deep red a stark contrast to the periwinkle fabric.

Bringing the glass up to my right ear, he lifted my head, and the sight of his silhouette against the sunbeams took my breath away.

"Watson!"

The song came to an abrupt halt, and I was snapped out of a trance I didn't realise I had succumbed to. I dropped the glass and felt liquid trickling down the side of my neck. I had nearly severed my ear from my head, just as all of those fans had done.

"Watson, to me!"

I spun around and met the gaze of my partner standing in the entryway of the hall with an outstretched hand.

I could feel glass cutting into my hands as I placed them on the ground, struggling to get to my feet. Ignoring the pain, I crawled a few inches and just as I found my footing, something held me back.

His hand was tight around my wrist as he kept me from advancing. The absence of expression on his face sent shivers down my spine.

I managed to twist my arm from his grasp, and I sprinted to my companion, who took my bloodied hands into her clean ones.

That feeling of peace returned to me, only this time, I wasn't under some sort of trance or hypnosis. I was under the protection of my friend.

She knelt before me, and I did the same, matching her level. Reaching into her bag, she removed a roll of gauze and gently wrapped my hands. After she finished doing so, she held my hands, palms face up, and silently gazed at them for a moment before rising to her feet.

I watched as she walked to the centre of the hall and stood strong as she faced the one who opposed her.

"Ichiro!" Shirleigh's voice echoed sonorously.

Her arms hung by her sides, and her fingers flexed and balled into fists. It occurred to me that this was the first time I ever heard her refer to him by first name. It was quite chilling to hear.

Ichiro stood in front of the altar looking rather nonchalant. His hands were in his pockets, his weight on one of his legs. He remained silent.

"I'm ending this!" Shirleigh's powerful tone captured my full attention. "Your curse and this supernatural devilry!"

A sinister laugh rang throughout the hall. Ichiro's head was now lowered, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"That's quite the sentence coming from you," he said, his voice cold, yet soothing. "You know nothing of which you are up against."

"Perhaps," Shirleigh set her violin case on the ground. "That's why the consultant had to perform some consulting of her own."

A confused look crossed Ichiro's face, and that's when I noticed a shadow moving behind him. It glided effortlessly, so he was none the wiser.

Shirleigh opened her violin case, but it did not contain the instrument it was designed to carry. Instead, she removed long taper candles, a couple of chambersticks, and a lighter.

Ichiro chuckled to himself, and he brushed the hair out of his eyes. As he prepared to start another song, the shadow emerged from behind him, covering his mouth with a mask that silenced the sounds he attempted to create.

The mysterious figure was revealed to be Dr Min-jae Hesselius.

As Dr Hesselius struggled with keeping Ichiro restrained, she swivelled her wheelchair and struck the altar with her boot. The ground behind it opened up, revealing a pool of water.

Ichiro managed to push Dr Hesslius aside, and he tore the mask from his face, immediately belting into song. Familiar with the effects of his voice, I quickly covered my ears to keep from falling under his hypnosis.

Shirleigh, however, appeared to be unaffected by his song. She took the matches and lit the candles, placing each one into a chamberstick. She rose to her feet and strode toward Ichiro as he continued to sing at her.

Dr Hesselius restrained Ichiro once more, and Shirleigh brushed past them, heading straight for the pool of water behind them. She set each candle along the edge, a few inches from the corners of the pool. She knelt before the water for a moment, gazing into it. Was there something in there?

Ichiro ceased his singing when he realised it wasn't having the intended effect. He turned to watch Shirleigh, and I could see a sudden fear overcome him.

I wasn't sure what was going on or why there was water underneath the stage, but I trusted that Shirleigh knew what she was doing.

That was when I saw her shoulders slump and she shook her head. I unintentionally uncovered my ears for a brief moment, and I nearly missed the words she said.

"I have no idea what I'm doing..."

Even when we were apart, it seemed she was still able to hear my thoughts.

Shirleigh stood up and assisted in restraining Ichiro. They pulled him closer to the water. He shouted some words in Japanese as he struggled to break free from their grasp. His appearance progressively became more dishevelled the more he fought against them. His hair became increasingly tousled the more he floundered, his bangs falling over his eyes, now acting like curtains to conceal the ruby irises that were aflame with rage.

When they were finally able to get him close enough to the edge, they pushed him between the candles and into the water. He desperately tried to climb out to no avail, for Shirleigh forced him back into the water.

Dr Hesseslius pulled a large tome from the bag on her wheelchair. She flipped through several pages before holding it up and beginning a chant.

Water splashed on the stage as Ichiro's fighting grew more intense. Every time he attempted to come up for air, Shirleigh shoved him back underneath the water. I grew worried that they might inevitably drown him, so I uncovered my ears to ensure I was ready to provide assistance at a moment's notice.

As if to justify my worries, Ichiro's struggling stopped, and Dr Hesselius' chanting did as well. Shirleigh jumped into the water and lifted him out of the pool; his body limp in her arms. Dr Hesselius quickly shut the book, tossed it aside, and rolled over to help Shirleigh set Ichiro on the stage floor.

Shirleigh immediately began resuscitation procedures, but it was clear that holding him under the water used up a lot of her strength.

I ran over and knelt beside her. She was too focused on saving Ichiro to acknowledge my presence. Determination, worry, and restlessness were present in her eyes.

"Shirleigh," I placed a hand on her shoulder. "I can take over."

"No," her eyes flitted over to me before settling on Ichiro again. "I've got it."

"Shirleigh, I can—"

"I've got it!" She turned her head to look at me, her piercing glare cutting deep into my soul.

"Shirleigh, let me help you!" I snapped.

My voice echoed throughout the hall a few times before silence fell upon us. I stared at my partner, whose full attention was on me.

"I'm here to help you," I told her, more calmly this time. "You just have to let me."

Shirleigh looked at Ichiro once more before moving aside to let me administer aid in her stead. It was evident that she wanted to help him; I had no doubt. From what I gathered from our past conversations, he was an important person in her life—for better or worse—and it was apparent she still cared about him.

After a few long minutes, Ichiro had finally begun to cough up some water. He blinked rapidly, no doubt trying to clear the water from his eyes. I took my handkerchief from my coat pocket and dabbed at his eyelids to help him do so.

"Ichiro, it's me, Juniper Watson," I told him, as he gathered his bearings. "I'm here with Shirleigh and a Dr Miranda Hesselius. We are currently at the Troxy music hall."

He took in his surroundings, the stage lights glittering in his eyes, and I couldn't help but feel like they resembled shimmering pools of blood. I noticed that his eyes became fixed on a point over my shoulder where Shirleigh happened to be. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before a coughing fit overcame him.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, reaching over to assist him in sitting upright.

"Like I just drowned," he responded, and he coughed some more.

A collective sigh of relief resounded between the three of us before him.

"What's going on?" he asked, clearly confused. "What happened? Is everyone okay?"

"We can take him off your hands."

Before I could explain to Ichiro what had happened, a familiar voice rang out and footsteps approached from behind. When I turned, I was met with the presence of the new private detectives, Lestrade and Gregson.

Lestrade walked up to Shirleigh, adjusting the fedora on her head. Her black trench coat and fedora gave her the appearance of someone who stepped straight out of a noir film.

Lestrade and Gregson escorted Ichiro out of the music hall, leaving Shirleigh, Dr Hesselius, and me behind.

"Breaking the hexes of a Witch brings impairment upon the caster, especially those of a stronger nature, such as the one inflicted upon Ichiro," Dr Hesselius said aloud. "As it seems we have broken the one placed upon him as well as the Sussex Vampire, unfortunately, meeting her demise, we shall see if the one who cast these hexes will be well enough to continue."

Silence.

Shirleigh walked up to the edge of the pool.

"You want to try it for yourself, no?" Dr Hesselius rolled up beside her. "Why not do so?"

"Because it's rubbish," Shirleigh replied, quite sternly.

"Even after seeing the effects it had in saving your friend, you'd still doubt it?"

It was silent for a moment, then Shirleigh grumbled.

She stepped through the gate of candles and into the water, submerging herself until the water stopped just below her nose.

"How does it feel?" I asked, curiously.

"Cold."

I stifled a laugh, and she looked away.

Her hair seemed to levitate on the water as it swirled around her. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, for the first time in a long while, she appeared calm and peaceful. She resembled that of murúch from the fairy tales my mother used to read to me.

🙤♔🙦

"The chief of police is gone?"

I caught sight of the headline of the newspaper Shirleigh held in her hands.

"Apparently," she replied laconically.

"But...why?"

"That is what I would like to figure out," she handed the paper to me, and I glanced over the article. "Our dear Miss Jana Wilson wrote the article. Seems she's been faring well."

"Hmm...It says here that an Inspector Jones is supposed to take over for the time being," I read aloud. "Who's Inspector Jones?"

Shirleigh shrugged indifferently.

"If someone has to take over for him, does that mean he will be gone a while? I wonder if he took an impromptu vacation or came down with an illness...Do you think that Inspector Jones will attempt to keep the streets safe whilst he's away?"

Shirleigh shrugged indifferently.

"You're thinking about what happened in Biscay and to Ichiro..."

She rose from the table. "It would seem that it is you who reads the mind this time."

I watched as she strode over to the fireplace, scooping up the violin that was propped against her chair in a single fluid motion. She pivoted on her heels and leaned against the brick wall beside the hearth.

If we didn't have much to think about before the ceremony in Bilbao, so much happened during the time that we stayed there—the case of the flecked muffler murder just beforehand, the wolf that haunted the Basque mountains, the occult detective, Dr Min-jae Hesselius, and Ichiro's affliction, that allowed him to hypnotise people with merely his voice—that it was impossible to keep one's mind quiet.

My thoughts, however, were interrupted by the sound of Shirleigh's violin, but instead of bowing it in the usual sense, she plucked at the strings, holding it as though it were a ukulele. I found that she often did this when conflicting thoughts plagued her, and it was quite understandable after all that had transpired.

"I must find out who it is," Shireligh spoke, then she shook her head. "No, I need to find out who it is."

Joining her in the living room, I placed myself in my chair to hear if she had anything else to say. She removed herself from the wall, pausing her inconventional pizzicato performance, and she turned toward the mantel. Upon it, there was a dagger that was used to keep a stack of envelopes in place lest they fly off when someone passed by—and given how fast Shirleigh traverses the room, they most definitely would.

The stack of envelopes contained letters that had all come from the mysterious person known as "The Ringleader", passed on to us by those who were seemingly suffering from a vexation of some kind. They were, as it currently stands, our only clue that connected the strange cases and linked them back to a singular person. Or maybe an organisation? Without much more to go on than the letters themselves and Moriarty's peculiar testimony, it was difficult to say for certain what exactly we were up against.

"Whoever is behind all of this has been targeting those who have connections to me," Shirleigh stated. "They have been toying with them...with their lives...their souls..."

I gazed up at my partner just in time to see a dark shadow settle over her face. Her arms hung by her sides, one hand holding her violin, and the other, the bow. It seemed she had realised something, or a sudden thought crossed her mind, for she stared at me with a look so chilling, I actually shivered before the blazing fire.

If only I could read her mind.

I wanted to ask her what it was that troubled her, but I saw in real time how she regained her composure before making her way to the chair across mine. She collapsed onto it and swung her legs over one of the arms, lying her head on the other. She clutched the violin to her chest and stared up at the ceiling. I watched the minute movements of her long lashes as she fixed on different points, no doubt where there were imperfections in the paint.

"I thank you, Watson."

The silence was broken by her rich voice. What I would give to listen to her speak all day.

"Huh? Did I do something?"

She chuckled, her cheekbones pushed against the bottoms of her eyes, causing her to squint. She turned her head to me with an ethereal smile on her face. So often was her gaze cold and hard, that it always took me by surprise when it was warm and inviting. I wanted to melt.

"You have done way more for me than I could have ever asked of anyone," she said, her eyes still fixed on me. "Without you, I may very well have rotted away in this room, I may have never thought to use my mind for those other than myself, I may have continued the rest of my life without knowing who I was or where I came from. If it were not for you, I would have lost my way a long time ago. You have always steadied me when I felt like capsizing. Thank you. For everything."

I was unsure of what to say, so I simply smiled back at her. Suddenly, an ominous feeling came over me. Why did her words almost sound like...no, surely not.

It must have been my imagination.