The air was sharp and damp; the stone streets still bore the traces of rain that had fallen all day, the cold seeping from the soles of my shoes straight into my bones. When I knocked on the door of the MacLeod Estate, my mind was still lodged in the oppressive atmosphere of the faculty ink-stained papers, the scent of metal, and a suppressed emptiness tangled together. As I waited for the door to open, I squared my shoulders and steadied my breathing. I had come here tired, but I had no intention of appearing weak.
Godfrey opened the door.
There was an excess of liveliness on his face, an almost overflowing cheer; the sight of it stirred a familiar unease in my stomach. Before I could fully grasp what was happening, Godfrey wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in with a hug that was too close, too intimate deliberately crossing boundaries. Every hair on my body bristled in discomfort at his warmth.
"At last! You're here! I was waiting for you! How are you, my friend?"
Friend.
The word echoed in my mind for a moment, with an unsettling resonance. My body didn't return the embrace; my muscles stayed rigid, my shoulders tense. The instant it ended, I stepped back, shook out my coat, and then, without quite realizing it, brought my fingers to my collar and sniffed it. I didn't want to carry Godfrey's presence on me.
"Is Mr. Martin here?" I said at once.
"I came straight from the faculty, as you can imagine I'm rather tired, and I'd like to get directly to the matter at hand."
Godfrey seemed to notice the distance I was putting between us, but he shrugged it off with careless ease.
"He's upstairs, in the study. I was just heading out myself people to speak to, streets to walk."
My gaze lingered on Godfrey's face for a brief moment. I didn't need to admit to myself how much I disliked the restlessness in his eyes, that impatient look of a hunter. He was probably going to see Margaret Wood the freshest wound of them all, more or less. I was certain he wouldn't say anything about our relationship; he wouldn't risk losing me. That was why there wasn't even a fragment of unease inside me.
"Your work isn't easy either, Mr. Godfrey."
Godfrey's lips curled upward at one corner; as he stepped out the door, he tilted his head slightly to the side.
"Not as hard as a murderer's."
I pressed my lips into a thin line and smiled neither warm nor friendly. He lifted his hand and returned the gesture with a brief wave.
When the door closed, the interior of the mansion fell abruptly silent. As the servant's footsteps faded away, the expression on my face collapsed; the liveliness in my eyes died, my jaw tightened. I stood where I was for a moment, then turned toward the stairs as if nothing had happened at all.
I climbed to the upper floor with slow but resolute steps. Moving through the familiar silence of the corridor, I opened Miss MacLeod's bedroom door without a moment's hesitation. I wanted to see the mark the past two weeks had left on her to be sure whether the nights she spoke of had truly been as frightening as she claimed.
When I looked at Miss MacLeod, who was reading a book in her bed, the first thing I noticed was the exhaustion on her face. Dark shadows bruised the skin beneath her eyes; they were swollen, and her cheekbones appeared sharper, her frame thinner than before, as though she had wasted away slightly in just a few weeks. In the dim light of the room, as the candle flame trembled across her features, Jane's breathing was uneven; even the fingers holding the book looked more delicate than I remembered.
A servant's voice from behind me broke the heavy silence.
"Sir, you shouldn't be in this room. Mr. MacLeod is in the other chamber."
When Jane lifted her head and noticed me, a brief flicker of surprise passed through her eyes, quickly replaced by a weary resolve.
"Dorothy, it's all right. Close the door and go."
The servant hesitated, then bowed her head and quietly shut the door. When it closed, the air in the room grew heavier still, as though a breath had been trapped between us.
I approached the bed with slow steps. I made no effort to soften the sound of my movements; my gaze never left Jane's face as I drew closer.
"It seems Mr. Godfrey is exhausting you greatly, madam."
Jane forced a faint smile at the corner of her lips, but it never reached her eyes.
"Yes… has he gone?"
"He said he had business outside. I came to speak with your father, and when I passed by and saw your door already open, I thought we might speak."
Miss Jane lifted her chin slightly, meeting my gaze as she replied,
"You did well, Mr. Ravencroft." For some reason, there was a sting of irony in her words.
She pushed the coverlet aside and tried to stand. The moment she moved, her face tightened; the weight of the bandage around her ankle made itself felt, and she wavered as if about to lose her balance. For a brief instant I thought she might fall, but she steadied herself and stood before me.
My eyes locked onto the bandage. It looked dreadful like that of someone broken by illness, weak and fragile. I enjoyed seeing her helpless, yet this degree of frailty diminished the respect I felt for her.
"What is the state of you like this?" I said. "You look as though you've come straight out of a war."
Jane clenched her jaw as if trying to suppress the pain. She was barely standing; while her body struggled to conceal it, the muscles in her face betrayed her.
"I am living in hell. Two days ago, you told Alistair in great detail that you knew me."
I had just parted my lips to speak when… Jane took a step forward, and the sound of a slap echoed across my cheek and the room. The tremor in her hand hadn't yet faded; her breathing was quickened, yet her voice was controlled enough to sink to a whisper.
"I can't walk. Everyone thinks I fell down the stairs, but there are Godfrey's fingerprints on my ankle. And the only reason for it is that sentence you said to him that day."
She hissed the words through clenched teeth, with a fury tightly reined in.
I rubbed my cheek where the pain flared briefly, feeling the heat of it flush all the way to my bones. It was the second time I had ever been slapped by a woman; the first time, I would likely have rid myself of her. But Miss MacLeod was too ruined for me to cast aside.
The expression on my face didn't change, but the hardness in my gaze deepened.
"Is that why you stopped attending the balls his jealousy?"
"Yes."
The exhaustion in her voice was no longer hidden. The words that followed were pleading, yet pride was still the last thing holding her upright.
"Why haven't you killed him yet? You want my corpse, but at this rate it won't be by your hand, Mr. Ravencroft. Whatever you are doing, hasten it, because I have no strength left. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't even walk. I'm trapped here."
"Seeing you like this turns my stomach as well, Jane."
"I'm not pleased with this state either."
Her breathing was uneven; her chest rose and fell as though it ached with every word. "How can you remain so calm?" She lifted her head and looked at me; her gaze carried anger more than reproach.
"Someone is defiling your work of art, and you can stand there doing nothing in front of me."
My work of art. My work of art. My entire body shuddered at those words. The only thing Godfrey was truly capable of was ruining everything I labored over erasing my efforts, denying them worth. Now I was beginning to understand: the real reason I hadn't killed Godfrey was that I wanted his approval. I loathed that realization. My brows drew together ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. The tension at the corner of my lips spilled out as I said, "My work of art?"
"Yes. I offered you my corpse, I gave myself up, but what meaning is there in killing a body already broken, already destined to die?" She paused, choosing her words deliberately. "Do you call yourself a talented killer? Where is your perfection?"
Her eyes were not wet; she was not crying. Worse than that was written on her face: disappointment.
"I thought I had found the right man." She let out her breath through clenched teeth. "I can't believe you proved me wrong."
I stepped closer to her. Closing the distance was inevitable. Even when I reached out, Jane had no strength left to retreat. My fingers closed around her chin firm, but not enough to hurt. I lifted her head, forced her to look at me.
"Calm down and trust me."
She was right; I was already being foolish. Godfrey had figured out exactly how to provoke me, how to keep me in his grasp. Now I understood his purpose more clearly. I was a perfectionist, and he expected a perfect murder from me and I was certain that no matter how meticulous my craftsmanship, it would never be enough for Godfrey. Conspiracies began to write themselves in my mind; I would make him fall into the pit he had dug himself.
My eyes traced Jane's face her hollowed cheeks, her pale lips.
"I'll take care of it," I said with certainty. "If you lose your faith, then nothing I do will have any meaning."
My thumb rested against her chin with a pressure that could almost be called tender.
"Focus on getting better." My tone shifted critical, possessive. "I'll make sure you sleep first. I didn't like you losing weight," I said bluntly. "I take no pleasure in bony women."
My gaze lingered on her body for a brief moment before returning to her eyes.
"Gain weight. Take vitamins to recover. Do whatever is necessary… and every time you see Godfrey's face, look at him as if he were already dead. Because I am going to kill that man, and then your body will be mine forever."
When I left the room and stepped into the corridor, the door to the study stood wide open. The room was thick with the soot-laden smell of coal fire and the sharp scent of ink from the plans spread across the desk. Mr. Martin stood over the maps, slicing the air with his hands as he pointed out railway routes lines of financing, trade paths, workers' wages… His words were orderly, logical, perfectly placed. I nodded in approval, offering the right sentence at the right moment when needed. From the outside, it was a flawless business meeting.
But in the back of my mind, a single face kept turning over and over. Godfrey's grinning expression, the unsettling clarity of his blue eyes. Thought chased thought; beneath every plan, every line of calculation, his shadow seeped through. That shadow intertwined with Jane's long, straight hair… a knot, impossible to untangle. Still, I didn't avert my gaze; standing before Mr. Martin, I didn't lose my composure for even a second.
As dusk fell, the meeting finally came to an end. Fatigue settled onto my shoulders this wasn't the weariness of the body, but of the mind. As we walked toward the exit, the yellow light of the corridor lamps stretched and shrank beneath our feet. Mr. MacLeod stopped at the door, with his customary courtesy.
"You should have stayed for dinner, Mr. Ravencroft."
I nodded with a distant smile.
"No, thank you. My siblings are probably waiting for me, and besides, I'm already very tired."
Just then, the door opened from outside. Cold air flooded in and with it, Godfrey. The ease of his entrance, the way he walked in as though he owned the house, sent a thin line of tension up the back of my neck.
"Oh, are you leaving already, Mr. Adrian?"
"Yes, the business ran a bit long. How did your affairs go?"
"Somewhat... suspicious."
Suspicious. Everything was suspicious enough already. Had something happened concerning Mrs. Wood? Or was Godfrey simply deceiving me again? Either way, it didn't show on my face. After a brief silence, my voice slipped back into its businessman's tone.
"By the way, I'd like to invite you to my home overnight. While discussing business with Mr. Martin, I could also go hunting with you; it would be entertaining."
A pleased smile appeared on Martin's face as he weighed the gravity of the offer.
"We would very much like that, Mr. Ravencroft, but my daughter is not in good condition at the moment."
"Oh, how unfortunate… then let your daughter stay here. If she's ill, I'll send my doctor to her. Would that be acceptable for you? Once she recovers, she can come as well."
Mr. Martin nodded without hesitation.
"Yes, that would be possible."
"Then I would like to host you at Hogmanay. Good day."
In Scotland, Christmas is almost disregarded; what truly matters is Hogmanay, the night of December 31st. Christmas Day isn't even a holiday. New Year's, however, is considered the most sacred, most social, and most dangerous night. Edinburgh is even fiercer about it than London.
As I stepped out the door, the cold night air struck my face. The knot inside me had not loosened; on the contrary, it had tightened further. Godfrey was still there, still breathing. And that thought made my steps more resolute, my gaze even harder.
I was going to kill Godfrey, and I would place my final Crow Father signature upon Mrs. MacLeod's body. Would I retire from serial killing then? Perhaps this time I would go hunting merely as a hobby. I hadn't had time to devote to my emptiness in a long while. That void would be filled at Hogmanay.
When I sank into the bath prepared for me that night, my deep thoughts were scalded and softened by the hot water. I rested my elbow on the edge of the tub and scrubbed my hair. At its core, I didn't need to kill Godfrey in order to kill Mrs. MacLeod the arrangement was meaningless. And yet… I had wanted to share something with Mrs. MacLeod, to meet her on a common ground. I had wanted an agreement, a certificate, two signatures placed on the same sheet of paper. That was the only reason I had accepted her request at the ball. Of course, Godfrey's death would have suited me just fine, but I was also curious about that man's thoughts so... I waited. If I had wanted to, I could have slit his throat the moment he came to our house and ended it there; I was certain that everyone in the mansion, including the staff and my siblings, would have kept silent. I was delaying things… because… enjoying myself. Mr. Godfrey and Mrs. MacLeod were my puppets, their string-bound bodies part of my little game of make-believe. The three of us were intelligent; my effort was simply to be the most intelligent person in this game.
I snickered, then laughed until the sound echoed, stretching out in the tub.
"This excites me. I enjoy dancing with my corpses, it's even more satisfying than murder itself, in a way."