London, United Kingdom  

December 2022  

 

Daniel was weaving his way through the streets of London, where a crowd of tourists was admiring the freshly lit Christmas decorations. He paused for a brief moment and looked up at the enormous figure of one of the angels suspended above the wide boulevard of Regent Street. He had to admit, it did have a certain charm. London’s guardian angels are protecting the capital of Albion from evil, bad weather, and a decline in tourism. If he remembered correctly, the Organisation had something to do with the peculiar placement. He made a mental note to finally read that file properly. A large snowflake landed on his nose, shaking him from his dreamy stare at the millions of tiny bulbs. It wasn’t truly cold, just hovering around freezing, and it had been snowing since morning. As always, traffic had ground to a halt, and everyone was surprised, once again, that snow might fall at the start of winter. Two centimetres on Trafalgar, four outside the British Museum. He pulled his scarf tighter and carried on.

He slowly made his way through the tourists on Carnaby Street when he overheard a couple next to him quietly singing suspiciously familiar lyrics from Bohemian Rhapsody. He turned to look at them. A tall girl with dark hair, and beside her, an even taller guy with a slicked-back hairstyle reminiscent of a more restrained Elvis. The scent of hot cider hung in the air around them. They couldn’t have been British - no Brit would be so uncouth as to sing one of the most iconic hits of a legendary British band during a romantic evening walk through snowy London. The nerve, he thought, and glanced up. As he lifted his eyes, he exhaled with a smile. Instead of traditional lights, Carnaby Street was adorned with neon words from Bohemian Rhapsody, strung between buildings. He had to tell Zara, Queen was her favourite band. Suddenly, they no longer seemed so uncouth but rather like something plucked out of the rush of everyday life.

​

 

“Mamaaaa… uuuuu… I don't want to…”

 

​

After a while, he finally reached his destination, tucked away in a small street not far from Carnaby. The Broken Crutch Club wasn’t one of London’s flashiest venues, but it was undoubtedly one of the most discreet. At first, he didn’t notice her; there were more people than usual, likely because of the three musicians on stage playing a gloomy rock song. It sounded familiar, as did the singer, but he couldn’t quite place them.

​

 

“I am not your rolling wheels

I am the highway

I am not your carpet ride

I am the sky…”

 

 

He picked up a pint at the bar and looked around again. She was sitting at the furthest table in the dim glow of a lamp that flickered lazily from time to time. He’d known her for years, but what he saw before him didn’t resemble the lively girl he’d met at university. He ran a hand through his brown hair and felt the wetness of melting snowflakes on his fingers. With a sigh, he made his way towards her.

It had been a few months since she and Jackson had managed to find the book, and she hadn’t let it out of her sight since. Her hair was slightly greasy, tied back in a messy braid. Her eyes were bloodshot like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Her cheeks were hollow. She’d lost weight. She’d always been slim, but this was unhealthy as if something were draining the life and energy out of her. Her skin was nearly translucent, with a sickly grey tinge. He was worried. Daniel knew this contract was essential to them. He’d been the one pushing for them to take it. But this… this was too much. It felt like there was more at stake for her than work.

Suddenly, he felt a jolt, and if someone hadn’t caught him, he would’ve spilt his beer all over his new jumper. It was light-coloured and made from Scottish sheep’s wool. It would’ve been a shame. He was about to confront the person responsible but stopped short.

“Oh, it’s you.”

"Nice to see you too, Mr. Professor,” Jackson replied, helping him steady himself. Daniel had a wiry build, not quite as tall as Jackson but lean.

“Doctor, actually,” Daniel corrected him, adjusting his glasses and sniffling. “How long have you been here?”

"About an hour. The band, apparently some revival group, started playing recently. Still, we haven’t had the chance to speak with him yet,” Jackson nodded toward an unfamiliar petite blonde further in the crowd and gestured for her to bring him a beer. “She’s looking worse and worse, isn’t she? I told you that bloody book wouldn’t lead to anything good,” he added, glancing over at Zara.

“Someone has to translate it, and Google’s not exactly our best bet. But yes, I agree, something’s off with Zara. Who was the blonde?”

“She’ll join us in a moment,” Jackson answered swiftly.

“You still haven’t tired of playing bodyguard for that book?” Daniel asked, managing a smile. Initially, they hadn’t exactly hit it off, but after months of sharing the same office, a bond had slowly formed between them.

“You mean the book and Zara? Yesterday, a guy tried to snatch her. And I don’t mean the book. I’m referring to our redhead,” Jackson glanced around anxiously, habitually counting the exits.

“What? Again?” Daniel’s eyes widened.

“Yep. She went to the loo at a restaurant, I’d been trying to get some food into her, you know? Anyway, she left the table and got jumped. ” Daniel looked concerned, it was not the first time they run into trouble. “That book’s sucking the life out of her. She hasn’t called me a jarhead in days, and she hasn’t insulted my looks in even longer.”

"That’s truly suspicious. Especially since you got that haircut, it’s too easy now. Tell me more about the attacker,” he added quickly, catching Jackson’s look.

“She went to the loo and took that little notebook of hers, the one I had to open with bolt cutters. It took her a while, but you know, I didn’t go and check on her. Then there was a scream and a bang, so I grabbed Adam and ran in. She was curled up on the floor and took a bit of a knock to the head, but the guy had split his skull open on the sink. The floor was a mess of red.” Daniel shuddered at the graphic image and looked over at Zara.

“You mean she smashed his head against the sink?” Daniel asked in shock.

“Well, given her current state... I’ve seen women do all sorts of things when adrenaline kicks in, but that guy wasn’t exactly a twig. It was probably just a stupid but lucky accident. He slipped.” Jackson said, barely believeing it himself.

"Probably…” Daniel raised his eyebrow in confusion.

“That’s why Bree will be sticking with us from now on. She’s a new addition to the family. Clearly, we’ve got some persistent competition, so extra protection can’t hurt,” he nodded toward the blonde, now carrying three pints on a tray with chips.

“A waitress?” Daniel asked, puzzled.

“She might serve you your arse on a silver platter, but no, she’s one of mine,” Jackson smirked.

“I'm not sure if that’s reassuring or terrifying... Daniel. Nice to meet you. Need a hand?” Daniel swallowed the rest of his questions.

“Not really, Danny. Nice to meet you, too. I’m Bree,” she said pleasantly, offering him her free hand.

As the three of them made their way to the table where Zara was flipping through the pages of Adam, the band started another slow rock song. They were off to the side, so it wasn’t too loud.

“Eat this, sweetie. It’s double-fried in lard with bacon and cheddar. And here’s a Guinness. Jack said it’s your favourite,” Bree slid both right in front of Zara, who protectively pulled the small black notebook with the broken lock closer.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“How about we tuck Adam in and have a proper drink like actual people?” Jackson closed the large book without mercy, stuffed it into a backpack along with her notes, and reached for the small notebook she clutched tightly. “Come on, we had a deal. You promised you’d try to socialise more.” She reluctantly let go, and he zipped up the backpack without another thought. He wasn’t afraid of the books anymore, but every time he touched them, his hands tingled. He didn’t like it.

“Hi, Danny.”

"Hello, love. Jackson told me what happened. Are you alright?” he asked gently, as though even the slightest breeze might scatter her bones to dust.

“I'm fine. Just the occasional headache,” she attempted a smile.

“Shouldn't you go to hospital? At least get it checked out?” he shot Jackson a meaningful look.

“She didn’t want to,” Jackson replied defiantly, sipping his beer.

“You know how awful hospitals are,” she said pleadingly, and he sighed. He pushed the large portion of chips closer to her and took one for himself. Daniel always had a soft spot for these kinds of dodgy pubs, and they did the best traditional pub food you could wish for when drinking your pint.

“So that’s him?” he asked, nodding toward the singer. He hadn’t taken a good look at him until now. His hair was a little longer than his, with a moustache and a goatee. He was thin and wiry, and something told him he was one of those typical ’90s rockers. With most of them, it was surprising they’d lived to see the present day. He looked about sixty, but his voice was utterly extraordinary. He caught the gaze of his grey-blue eyes. They were so deep one could get lost in them, but there was nothing inside, just darkness, pain, and regret.

Daniel always paid attention to details, noticing even the last pet hair on people’s clothes that they hadn’t managed to remove. But the worn-down singer had a more distinctive detail. A long-faded scar lined his neck. It could’ve been from thyroid surgery, but this one was different. Rather than a thin scalpel scar, it was rough, spanning his whole throat up to the jaw. Frightening. Definitive. And yet the man sat there, singing his haunting raspy ballad about a moth flying into a flame.

​

“I love the heat. I love the things that I forgot

I love the strings that tied me down and cut me off

I was a king, I was a moth

With painted wings made of cloth

When did the flame burn so high and get so hot?

I don’t fly around your fire anymore

I don’t fly around your fire anymore…”

​

“Yes. He goes by Corin,” Zara replied. “They’ll take a break soon, we can go see him then. He already knows we’re here.”

"Won’t he run off?” Bree asked suspiciously.

“He has no reason to. He knows we just want to talk. And more importantly, he owes the Organization something,” Zara added, cautiously taking a fry.

​

***

​

“Where did you learn all this?” Daniel asked suspiciously. Corin unconsciously rubbed his throat, thinking for a moment before replying.

“These things always fascinated me, drew me in. Then, one day, I met a woman. There are plenty of crazies out there. You’re four, yourselves. People like that tend to gravitate toward each other. Birds of a feather…” He smiled faintly. “But sometimes, somewhere, you find something real instead of stories and nonsense.

She talked to me about rituals for healing the soul. You know, some actions can damage it, and afterwards, you feel it is rotting inside you. You want to change that at any cost. To stop it. She told me about that place, but I… I never found the courage to go.”

"Why not?” Jackson blurted out suspiciously.

“Because he feels like he deserves the suffering. Because, for the first time in his life, he feels like he has a soul, even if it’s slowly turning into something that can’t be called alive… or pure… Because that feeling, when it eats you up inside, is nerve-shredding. Like hearing termites chewing through the roof above your head… and yet…” Zara whispered, staring at the floor.

“It’s like a shadow on the sun. It lets you know the sun is still there,” Corin finished. “Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for there.”

"Not us… our employer,” Daniel retorted, and Corin just shrugged.

“Everyone’s looking for something,” he said, turning to grab a crumpled piece of paper. “A failed song,” he explained with a shy smile, then began writing something on the back.

“I know you…” Daniel said thoughtfully, almost ready to tell from where, but Corin stopped him.

“No, you don’t. No one really knows me, and that’s for the best. I threw away my chance to be known. Don’t make the same mistake.”

He turned to Zara and handed her the crumpled piece of paper. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and something heavy began to descend from the ceiling. Zara felt her hands tingle, her body dissolve into itself. That greyness in his eyes consumed her, and he felt the same.

“Shall we go?” Bree asked, stepping toward the door. The others followed, but before they could leave, Corin grabbed Zara’s wrist.

“You have the book…” She just nodded. “Don’t listen to it. That voice lies. There’s something entirely different on the other end.”

"What do you mean?” She knew precisely which voice he meant. She heard it every night, pleading for help, promising heaven, singing sweetly about a better future, warning of what was coming. Promising her pain would end.

“I… it’s all a lie, you have to understand…”

"Zara?” Jackson looked sternly at the singer. “Thanks for the information, now, if you’d kindly let her go,” he added, pointedly glancing at Zara’s wrist, which Corin was still gripping tightly.

“I just…” he suddenly fell silent, his gaze filled with horror as he looked toward the door.

Zara and Jackson turned to see a young woman standing nearby, her long, straight black hair and ice-cold blue eyes piercing them with a stare as she watched them intently.

“Go,” Corin breathed and released Zara.

“Exactly what we were attempting to do," Jackson measured him with his stern look, but gntly pushed Zara away. From Corin´s expression, they understood there was no point in asking more questions. The weight in his voice told them how hard this meeting was for him. Zara looked back once before leaving and saw the woman looking at her. Smirking.

The voice that had always whispered in her ear was suddenly unnaturally quiet.

The woman visibly sighed, lowered her head, and closed the door to Corin’s dressing room behind her. Zara felt Jackson’s hand gently urging her forward. A thousand questions swirled in her mind. If she set aside the whole set about who the woman was, there remained another enormous set focused on Corin and what he knew about the book.

“So, are we planning to meet more crazy people like this, or was he the last one? How did you even find him?” Jackson asked with gentle reproach as soon as they sat back at their table. Zara was just quiet.

“The scar, did you see it?” Bree motioned toward Jackson, eyes wide open. He just nodded. They both knew exactly what such a scar meant.

“I… when I was checking Lord Dumbell’s contacts, I came across a maid. A thick envelope waved in her face was enough, and she told me everything that happened during her service. Apparently, for a while, the old lord was frequently visited by him, which wouldn’t have been unusual in itself, but she mentioned strange things happening in the manor whenever he came.

The staff were forbidden to talk to him, enter his room, or disturb him when he and the lord were speaking. Then, the lord suddenly died, and Corin stopped coming. But even back then, he was under the Organisation’s watch,” Zara explained. In her mind, she realised that must’ve been when he came into contact with Adam. It was the only logical explanation.

“What did he write on the paper?” Bree asked, and Daniel gently pulled it from Zara’s hands.

She already knew what was written. The voice hadn’t identified the place by name until now, but the moment she saw it, it came as no surprise.

The others held their breath as Daniel revealed the strange secret.

“It says… The Garden of Gethsemane …”