Strange looked at Everett as if he were an idiot, then shook his head and chose not to respond.
The idea was novel, sure. And yes, Strange did intend to bring the herbal knowledge he'd learned in the magical world back to the mundane one.
But that was later.
Right now, he was busy completing the tasks Noah had assigned him. He had no interest in indulging in idle speculation.
Shaking his head, Strange walked straight toward Cormia's basement.
Everett shrugged and followed.
Although it was his first time in the house, Everett moved with familiarity. Whether it was experience or instinct, he quickly located the basement entrance.
"It should be here." Everett pointed at a door. "In houses like this, the basement entrance is usually near the living room. And notice this-this door is locked. The others aren't."
"She's avoiding it," Strange nodded. "Physically and psychologically."
Everett glanced at him. "So what do you think about what she said earlier?"
"Nothing yet," Everett replied, spreading his hands. "Not until we find a body or solid evidence. She's terrified and unwilling to recall what happened, which means she probably went through something awful. That kind of experience makes people suppress memories."
He paused.
"But she's also a suspect, isn't she?"
Strange nodded.
They were thinking the same thing.
If they set aside werewolves for the moment, the person asking for help could very well be the murderer.
And the smell of blood was getting stronger.
Did the Veritaserum fail? Strange wondered.
Even after drinking it, Cormia kept repeating the same story about werewolves devouring people.
Regardless, the investigation had to continue.
Strange raised his hand slightly. A faint golden glow gathered, forming a six-pointed star.
With a small flick of his wrist, he spoke calmly.
"Alohomora."
The door clicked.
Then it opened on its own.
An invisible force pushed aside the clutter stacked behind it.
Everett stared.
"...Wow."
He looked at Strange in disbelief. "You know, have you ever considered being a thief? Or a locksmith? What was that? An unlocking spell?"
"Idiot." Strange rolled his eyes. "Alohomora is a standard unlocking spell. It's even called the thief's friend. But it doesn't work on every door. At least, not where I studied."
"Where you studied?" Everett had heard Strange mention his training and his mentor more than once, but never the location.
He thought about asking.
Then decided against it.
Rubbing his chin, Everett asked instead, "Unlocking spells, attack spells, spells that wake people up or put them to sleep. Seriously, what can't you do?"
"Plenty of things," Strange replied. "But among the spells I know, this one's the most familiar."
"The unlocking spell?" Everett blinked. "Why? Do you break into houses often?"
"No." Strange walked forward. "The Wi-Fi password where I studied was this spell."
"...."
They talked casually as they descended, but the deeper they went, the quieter they became.
The basement was spacious, connected directly to a neighboring garage. The door leading to it was locked as well.
And the further they went in, the stronger the stench became.
Thick. Nauseating.
Blood.
Strange was absolutely certain of it.
Yet the place was spotless.
There were no visible traces. No signs of a struggle.
His expression darkened.
This was definitely where it happened.
And the victim was almost certainly Mia Lestrange, the woman living next door.
But where was the body?
Strange scanned the area.
Nothing.
The ventilation was surprisingly good. Without magic, he probably wouldn't have noticed anything unusual at all.
Which only made it worse.
"Sherlock."
Everett's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Look here."
"What is it, John?"
Strange followed Everett's pointing finger and saw a shallow indentation on an iron shelf.
He walked over and examined it closely.
Soon, he frowned.
"Claw marks. But... human ones."
"Exactly." Everett nodded. "A woman's hand. There's residue here-red. Not blood. Nail polish. And near the garage entrance, I found hair."
"Hair?"
Strange moved over and spotted a nearly invisible strand.
He picked it up and sniffed it.
His thoughts accelerated.
"This isn't human hair," he said slowly. "It's wolf fur. But it's unusual."
He paused.
"It smells like perfume."
Strange looked at the strand and smiled faintly.
That was the key.
This was a murder scene.
The culprit was a werewolf.
And a very interesting one.
"Looks like we need to visit Mr. Lestrange," Strange said, holding the hair. "What do you think, John?"
"Agreed." Everett nodded. "This is a high-end neighborhood with comprehensive security. According to Ms. Cormia, the police investigated everything-including surveillance-and found nothing."
"Which means nothing appeared on the cameras," Strange said calmly.
"And this perfume," he continued, "is Dior. French. Expensive. Most people wouldn't buy it casually."
"So the werewolf was human at the time," Everett said thoughtfully. "Rich. And since there's no surveillance footage, he probably lives in this community."
Strange glanced at him.
This man really was worthy of being a CIA agent.
Without Everett, Strange felt he could still solve the case.
But it definitely wouldn't have gone this fast.
Shaking his head, Strange pushed those thoughts aside.
What he wanted now was information.
According to Cormia, the Lestrange couple had no enemies and lived happily together.
But tragedies didn't need enemies.
They often happened in an instant.
Or after long-term suppression.
He needed to speak with Mia Lestrange's husband.
Especially about their neighbors.
After leaving the basement, they didn't wake Cormia.
They walked straight toward the Lestrange house.
The two buildings were incredibly close-separated by little more than a wall.
The garages were practically connected.
With walls, flowerbeds, and trees blocking the view, even cameras would struggle to capture anything.
No wonder this basement was chosen.
"By the way, John," Strange said as they reached the gate. "If they ask, say we're private detectives. Commissioned by Ms. Cormia. Understood?"
"Of course." Everett nodded. "I was going to say that anyway. More people distrust exorcists than believe in them. Too many scammers."
"No one would think you're mute if you didn't add that last part."
"Hey. You want me to shut up?"
Strange ignored him.
He rang the doorbell.
They waited.
A few seconds later, the intercom crackled to life.
A man's voice came through-low, weary, but polite.
"Gentlemen, whom are you looking for?"
"Is this Mr. Lestrange?" Strange replied in flawless London-accented English. "We're detectives. Ms. Cormia is concerned about Mrs. Lestrange's disappearance and asked us to understand the situation."
"Ellie?" the man responded immediately.
After a brief pause, he said, "Very well. Please come in."
The electronic lock clicked open.
Strange and Everett exchanged a glance and stepped inside.
Moments later, a tall, handsome man came out to greet them.
Both Strange and Everett paused.
They smelled it at the same time.
Dior men's cologne.
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