Three hours later, Jonathan found fifteen errors in a single sentence.
He pushed himself away from the glaring computer screen and closed his eyes in frustration. Darkness flooded the empty Paranormal Bureau as Jonathan switched off the computer. That was the last straw. He was never good at writing investigation reports anyway.
To hell with these damned paperwork. If Angus had questions, he’d have to talk it out with him instead.
Like his previous alias as the mafia boss Oliver Harred, Angus was exceedingly good at creating and maintaining organisations. Of course, that could also have been due to his vast experience as an immortal changeling. But even so, most immortals were still only barely half as clever as him.
Other than being the founder of the Immortal Association, this fae had also founded the Paranormal Bureau within London’s police department to look after other supernatural creatures. Jonathan was grateful for the stable job offered to him as a Paranormal Investigator, but he had to be careful about screwing up too much. Angus may have been nice to him so far, but he was a businessman through and through. If Jonathan had lost all value to him, there was no stopping the fae boss from firing him immediately.
The man’s mind drifted back to the symbol again. Whatever it meant, it was most likely a serial killer’s sick ritual of branding his victims before killing them. And given how easily it killed Cornelia and Mylis Wright, this murderer was definitely no ordinary mortal.
Jonathan’s heart stung with guilt. Other than being a good friend, Cornelia was an innocent nymph who had only just found solace in the Paranormal Bureau after being driven out of her home so many times.
But she had just perished in front of his eyes, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. The worst part was that Cornelia could have been a solid lead to Mylis Wright’s murder since she clearly recognised the symbol.
Jonathan stared into the distance, musing hard. What was she so afraid of? Why was she so desperate to get rid of the symbol? And why did the serial killer choose to re-emerge now of all times?
As a sanctuary of warmth and peace. I pledge my love, devotion, faith and honour as I join my life to yours…
“What the hell?” The man looked around him, opening his third eye just in case.
He scanned the room. It was devoid of any presence other than his own, including the spiritual ones. Jonathan smacked his head a few times as if to shake the unfamiliar voice out. A shiver went down his spine. Of all the things he could hallucinate, it just had to be wedding vows.
Jonathan shook his head, making a mental note never to tell Anya about it. He’d never hear the end of it. Electricity fizzled around his eyes as he prepared to speed up again. There was only one person he knew who was old enough to have at least heard of this symbol.
He broke into a run, heading straight for Lucy Carpenter’s residence.
~ ~ ~
“Jon! So nice of you to visit!”
Jonathan’s face turned red as Lucy pulled him into a tight hug. That woman may be nearly a thousand years old, but her eternal youthfulness was exceedingly good at persuading him otherwise.
“How’s my favourite vampire doing?” He reluctantly pulled his face away from the pair of nice, warm pillows before he got smacked by their owner.
“Good, good. Look, I made you some new clothes.” Lucy picked up a hand-crocheted jumper from her table and thrust it in his face. “Among other things, of course.”
The man spun around slowly in a circle, quickly losing count of crocheted clothes lying around the house. He stifled a giggle. Considering how often he had seen the vicious side of this vampire, it was almost endearing to see that she had picked up such a tame hobby to spend her days.
Jonathan plopped himself on the sofa, taking a small sip of tea.
“So what brings you here?” Lucy asked. “Women problems? Need some advice about what’s on Anya’s mind? You didn’t hook up with someone in that club down the street, did you?”
“I— Uh… what? No, we’re fine,” Jonathan sputtered, avoiding her sharp gaze. If there was something universally scary about the long-lived, it was how easily they could read people.
Lucy kept her silence as well as the smug-knowing look on her face. She was smart enough to know she was right, and obviously wise enough to know not to push the subject.
“But you’re right; I do need your advice,” Jonathan said as the vampire raised an eyebrow. He pulled out his phone, showing her a picture of the branded symbol.
“Do you recognise this?”
Lucy’s expression darkened quicker than the sky in a solar eclipse as she studied the symbol intently.
“The Ghost of Glasgow…” she whispered. Jonathan’s heart leapt; at least he had a promising lead now.
The woman cast an uncharacteristically frightened gaze at him. “Jon, why are you asking about this? What do you have to do with this symbol?”
“We just found the corpse of a witch who was branded with this symbol,” Jonathan replied grimly. “My Dryad friend was killed today. She was also marked with this very same symbol. Is there any significance to it?”
Lucy gripped his hand tightly.
“You must need tread carefully, boy.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “This mark is no good omen. I fear she is back, and I do not know why.”
“Who is back? What can you tell me about this symbol?”
“Centuries ago, there was a killer on the loose. And she was not just any ordinary murderer; this… thing was frighteningly good at hunting her prey down. It didn’t matter who they were, human or monster. She killed them all the same. To make things worse, this hunter kills indiscriminately, and there is no discernible pattern to the victims of her choice. As such, many of us chose to form factions for protection and go into hiding.”
Jonathan tilted his head in mild confusion. “I suppose you’re referring to the ‘Ghost Of Glasgow’. But why that name? And why do you refer to it as ‘she’?”
“For one, most of the murders took place in Glasgow back then. This killer not only left behind no evidence but also always managed to vanish without a trace. Hence, the superstitious folk of the twelfth century simply chalked it up to an act of a ghost,” Lucy explained. “The only eyewitnesses were us supernatural folk, who had our magic to aid us. But even so, most of us only managed to get a glimpse of a female-like figure from afar. Nobody dared to move in for a closer look.”
“Do you think it really was a ghost?” Jonathan asked.
Lucy shook her head. “I know not. Whoever she is, she was exceedingly good at hunting us Nephilims down. Personally, I suspect she is immortal since these murders went on for several hundred years without anyone daring to stop her.”
“Hold on, you said she was ‘back.’ That means she eventually stopped at one point in time, right?”
“Strangely enough, she stopped her murder spree rather recently. I think it was only sixty years ago when people stopped getting branded by that symbol. Nobody had even come close to catching the Ghost Of Glasgow, so I really can’t fathom the reason behind her abrupt retirement.”
Jonathan slumped back in defeat.
“Well, except for this one person who was only rumoured to have defeated her…”
He sat back up. “Really? Who—”
Jonathan’s mouth slammed shut as Lucy’s hand shot up in warning. Skin retracted as the vampire’s ears slowly morphed into a pair of bat ears. Red covered her irises as she stood up, looking around her.
“A hostile intent is present,” she announced, walking towards the window to close it—
Glass shattered without warning as Lucy fell back. Jonathan gasped, rushing towards the woman clutching her chest with a blood-stained hand. A silver bullet dropped onto the floor as he dragged her body behind the wall.
“It hurts… Why does it… hurt so much? P— Please, Jonathan…” Lucy’s lips were frighteningly pale as she gripped his hand tightly. “I’m scared… I don’t want to die…”
“You’ll be alright, you’ll be alright…” Jonathan’s voice shook, resting her heaving body against the wall.
He poked his head out slightly. Something shiny reflected from two blocks away, and he pulled his head back before it could spot him. It was some kind of sniper, no doubt about that. But why target Lucy—
Blood splattered from beside him as a second bullet found its way through the concrete wall. Jonathan flinched, feeling the bullet bounce off his forehead. Lucy was not as lucky.
“Lucy!” he screamed, shaking the woman as blood rapidly pooled on the floor. “No…”
His hands shook as they picked up the silver bullet that went straight through Lucy’s head. He dragged her unconscious body deeper into the house before looking out of the window. Jonathan’s eyes narrowed; the shooter was clearly visible now. Anger flooded him.
And the world froze.
Half a millisecond later, Jonathan was running up the walls of the ten-storey apartment two blocks away. He lunged at the masked shooter with a growl, slamming it across the rooftop. The assassin struggled to its feet but was promptly kicked back to the floor.
“Who are you?” Jonathan pinned it down with all his strength, barely concealing his anger.
Electricity crackled in his hands, and the shooter took the chance to twist its body away. Jonathan tumbled to the ground with a yell. He gritted his teeth, stretching his hand towards the escaping sniper—
And only managed to grasp the air as the assassin transformed into a puff of smoke.
“Dammit…” Jonathan pulled out his phone in defeat. He gave it a few taps and put it to his ear, waiting impatiently before finally hearing a soft click.
“Angus, Jonathan here. I need some medical help from the Immortal Association. Lucy is badly hurt.”26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh3YEbjrmts
