The city pulsed with its own rhythm—lively, confident, almost ceremonial. Lynette walked down a narrow cobblestone street, her eyes scanning tall fa?ades with columns, carved balconies, and narrow windows that gazed at the world with cold dignity.

  Some buildings were adorned with statues—allegories of progress, labor, and knowledge.

  Near the cafés, people strolled in simple clothes, discussing science, factories, and new machines.

  Humanity moves forward — slowly, with mistakes, but inevitably.

  Lynette had heard these conversations since childhood: that knowledge, not lineage, would determine a person’s worth.

  Shop windows gleamed with glass and metal. Inside were clocks, mechanical devices, and delicate instruments, each crafted with meticulous care.

  People admire the future just as sincerely as they once revered the gods… Someday, life will be better.

  A house appeared around the corner—modest, pressed close to neighboring buildings, with slightly darkened stone and windows long untouched. Lynette paused for a moment.

  My tattered, yet cozy nest…

  She stepped inside.

  The air smelled of herbs and old medicine. Her mother sat by the window, wrapped in a warm shawl, though it wasn’t cold outside. Her breathing was uneven: a short inhale, a pause, then a slow exhale with a faint whistle.

  “Mom…” Lynette said softly.

  Her mother turned and smiled, but it was a tired smile.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried.”

  The last month had been the worst. Nighttime attacks, sudden shortness of breath, cold sweat, racing heartbeat.

  They had tried to see a doctor, but without money or connections, the consultations were shallow—“rest,” “stay calm,” “worry less.”

  How could anyone not worry if tomorrow might not come?

  Lynette sat beside her and took her hand.

  “I found a job,” she said after a pause.

  Her mother looked at her carefully.

  “In the capital?”

  “Formally… yes. I’ll work as a secretary for a young official, though they’ll actually send me out to the west of the kingdom. We won’t see each other very often.”

  Her mother tensed, her breathing catching.

  “Lynette…”

  “Listen. He knows our situation. He’ll send people and doctors. You won’t be alone.”

  A silence followed.

  “You’re growing up faster than I ever wanted…” her mother whispered. “Forgive me for being such a weak mother.”

  I’m afraid of losing you.

  Lynette smiled sincerely and suggested:

  “Let’s talk a little, then?”

  Eliza laid her pale hand on her daughter’s head, gently stroking her hair.

  “Gladly…”

  Saying the words aloud was hard. Her mother, Eliza, had spent her life caring for her daughter, giving all her strength and health, never thinking of herself.

  They spoke for a long time—about little things, the future, the weather, as if trying to stop time.

  When the conversation ended, Lynette went to pack her things.

  She put only the essentials in a bag: a change of clothes, a simple dress, a warm cloak, shoes, a few books, and a notebook. Everything — her entire life — condensed to the bare minimum.

  Outside, she heard her mother’s voice. She called, struggling for breath, her voice trembling painfully:

  “Take care… I love you!”

  Lynette froze, smiling.

  “Everything will be fine, you’ll see!”

  With her bag on her back, she moved forward, holding back tears.

  The mansion greeted her with silence. The doors opened at her approach, and closed just as quietly behind her, cutting off the way back.

  Without hesitation, Lynette went to her room.

  The bed was ready—just like Dorian’s: neat and orderly. Two wardrobes and a desk with a chair tucked under it stood nearby.

  Three kerosene lamps hung on the wall, shaped like bats, with metal brackets resembling handles or rings—easy to grab even in the dark.

  He helped a lot.

  Lynette unpacked carefully, taking each item from her bag, then rolled it up neatly and hid it in the wardrobe, closing the doors.

  Phew… that’s done!

  She didn’t waste time and went to Dorian’s study to report she was ready for work.

  He stood in the very center, having completely transformed his style:

  Wrapped in a short Inverness cape, Dorian looked even taller, his silhouette sharp and mysterious. A spotless top hat rested atop his head, a lock of dark hair slipping out just so.

  In his hand, he held a simple black cane—a detail that completed his image perfectly.

  It suits him… as if it was made for him.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Are you ready?” he asked calmly.

  “Yes.” Lynette nodded.

  He looked at her silently for a few seconds, then said:

  “Good… Then we leave for Lord Redgrave’s estate, Baron of the Northern District. His house is on the outskirts of Linden Lane.”

  She hesitated for just a moment.

  What, already?.. Now?!

  “It’s sudden. I need time to…”

  “Not anymore,” he interrupted without a hint of irritation. “Work clothes are ready. You’ll change as soon as we arrive.”

  She sighed, then asked:

  “How many missions are currently in the requests?”

  Dorian walked slowly past her to the exit.

  “Five. That’s all for now. And believe me, they’re the hardest.”

  He stopped by the door and added without turning:

  “Let’s go.”

  Outside the mansion, a carriage awaited them. The detective’s grounds were enclosed by a high stone fence, plain and unadorned.

  The carriage was drawn by two pitch-black stallions, their coats and manes gleaming like polished obsidian, dark as night. They stood still, but the rhythmic steam from their nostrils, occasional clatter of hooves, and soft jingle of silver buckles hinted at their unstoppable strength.

  The coachman looked old, with gray in his beard and tired eyes, but Lynette didn’t feel a hint of unease.

  “Good evening, Winston. To the Redgrave estate,” Dorian said, gently stroking the muzzles of both horses.

  “And to you, detective,” the coachman replied slowly.

  Dorian went in first, removing his top hat and setting it aside, then offered Lynette his hand, inviting her inside. When they sat, the carriage moved smoothly forward.

  Evening had already wrapped the streets in its shadow, erasing the daytime bustle.

  Inside, it was spacious: soft seats covered in dark fabric, windows with heavy curtains that could be lowered. The air smelled of wood and old leather.

  “We’ll arrive by morning,” Dorian said. “Plenty of time.”

  They rode in silence, sitting across from each other. Lynette felt awkward asking questions, but the silence pressed in.

  “Why do you do this?” she finally asked.

  He gave a faint smile.

  “Curious? The reason is selfish, and might seem silly… I pursue progress and believe there’s an answer to every mystery.”

  “Tell me everything I need to know.”

  “We can be called ghost hunters, though I prefer to call myself a detective.”

  Sitting comfortably, Dorian continued:

  “Ordinary people, if they encounter the supernatural, will inevitably die. These beings devour flesh… and the soul.”

  “The soul? I’m familiar with the concept,” Lynette said. “But I still don’t quite understand…”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Dorian said. “The body is but a receptacle. Through it, you can interact with the material world.”

  Dorian demonstratively pulled his skin, illustrating his words.

  “Though I said the creatures we’ll face devour souls… that’s not entirely true. They consume only two layers of the soul.”

  “So the soul has layers?”

  Dorian nodded:

  “Three. The outer one is a barrier connecting the body to the rest of the soul. When the vessel can no longer sustain life, this layer disappears completely—that’s death.”

  Do I really need to know this?

  “The middle layer governs the “self”— emotions, thought, personality, everything that makes us who we are… Ghosts, spirits, abominations—you can call them anything—they exist without the outer layer. The middle layer allows them to interact with the world.”

  “They have no flesh, but they’re alive…”

  “Yes. The last layer, the energy repository, is impassive and eternal—unlike the first two, it cannot be destroyed. Its energy is directed to reincarnate living beings in other forms, except plants. The second layer alone is not enough for a ghost to exist — they require an inner core as well.”

  “I think I understand…”

  Lynette, unable to restrain her curiosity, asked:

  “Could you tell me about your past?”

  Dorian looked at her longer than before, then turned his eyes away.

  “Better relax. You’ll need energy. You can even take a short nap—there’s enough room.”

  He avoided the answer.

  Night had already fallen outside the window.

  The carriage swayed evenly. Warmth, silence, and soft seats did their work: Lynette, without noticing, fell into a deep, restful sleep.

  ***

  Awakening with a slight sway, her body stiff from the awkward position, she felt completely refreshed—well-rested and not tired. Dorian sat in the same spot, watching the first rays of the rising sun.

  “How do you feel?” Dorian asked calmly, not taking his eyes off the sunrise.

  Lynette sat up straight.

  “Good… even better than I expected.”

  “Then we can continue.”

  She tensed.

  I wonder what he'll say now…

  “In our world, there are no demons or true magic. There are those who can interact with the otherworldly, like me, but usually it’s through curses, and in rare cases—through blessings.”

  Lynette frowned but stayed silent.

  “The essence of the monsters we’ll face is simple. These are remnants of human emotions—fear, rage, despair, envy, love, hope, resentment—that accumulate, warp, and eventually take shape. Ghosts often attach themselves to objects once dear to them, or to a specific place.”

  “So… these are people twisted after death?” she asked.

  “Generally, yes. Usually, there’s only one entity per place, but sometimes there are too many.”

  The carriage swayed gently, Dorian’s words heavy in the silence like stones.

  “In a critical moment,” he continued, “when a creature is on the brink of destruction, its consciousness and residual power transfer into an object. Anything. A mirror, jewelry, furniture.”

  “Those strange things you collect…”

  “Exactly. Though some are simple objects, without consciousness or power.”

  She shivered.

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “No. Everything’s under control… From my experience, most entities attach to objects, not places.”

  “Places?”

  “A home, an estate, a hospital, a street. That place becomes their territory. Their prison… But to act in the human world, they need power. They can’t stay in the material realm constantly.”

  He finally looked at her.

  They’re what remains of people: fear, rage, despair, envy, love, hope, resentment, and other emotions.“That’s why they create rules — for their own convenience.”

  “What rules?” Lynette asked.

  “They define when a spirit attacks—each has its own. For example, a prohibition: not to do something, not to enter somewhere. But in critical moments, an abomination can break them, though rarely.”

  Lynette was silent, trying to process what she heard.

  “And…” she whispered. “Can they be saved?”

  Dorian thought.

  “The soul must let go of all that binds it… only then can it rest.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “I’ve seen it a few times,” he answered honestly. “But don’t count on it.”

  The carriage turned, and the light outside shifted.

  “If an entity is attached to an object,” he continued, “the thing must be destroyed.” Paper can be torn, but solid objects require a hammer. It’s unusual, and I sent one with your clothes. Or, if possible, the entity can be pacified… but that depends on the ghost itself.”

  How does he manage it? Isn’t it hard to work alone all the time?

  “And if…” Lynette held her breath. “If it’s a whole house?”

  Dorian didn’t answer immediately.

  “In that case, you must locate the core of the place the entity is bound to… and destroy it. Or, if possible, put her to rest.”

  “I’m weak,” she said, clutching her hands anxiously. “How am I supposed to fight?”

  “At present, only I am capable of combat,” he said in an unwavering voice. “Destroying an avatar is merely a temporary measure; the entity will eventually regenerate. To truly defeat it, we must find and destroy the core — or the corresponding object.”

  He sighed.

  “My advice: these are degraded entities. Their rules are also their chains. Question everything, trust no one—but know that every story or legend you hear could save your life.”

  I’ll have to figure it out on my own?.. Is that what he means?

  Lynette tensed.

  “Then… what about this estate?”

  “Only women disappear here,” Dorian said. “Age or status doesn’t matter. The lord is rich and constantly changes servants.”

  “They vanish without a trace?”

  “That’s what they say,” he answered. “Each spirit has a unique set of abilities. Their power grows from others’ emotions, bodies, and souls. They are connoisseurs of terror, fond of playing the hunter, luring victims into traps.”

  They passed several buildings along neat streets before reaching the massive estate. Its fa?ade gleamed with white stone, decorated with carvings, giving a sense of restrained wealth.

  The garden was manicured to a suffocating precision: symmetrical flowerbeds, bright blooms, neat gravel paths, and lawns edged with marble statues.

  At the center, a large fountain with crystal-clear water sparkled, creating a gentle melodic splash.

  A man with copper hair and dark shadows under his eyes stood on the threshold, yet he exuded unshakable, aristocratic poise.

  “This is Lord Cliff Redgrave, the master of the estate. He’s 49 and remains the only aristocrat here, while his son is currently in the capital studying at the university,” Dorian explained.

  The carriage stopped.

  Donning his top hat, the detective stepped out first, holding his cane. He straightened his shoulders, adjusted his clothes, and offered his hand to Lynette.

  “Let’s begin our first investigation,” he said calmly, but with confidence.

  Lynette nodded, feeling her heart race.

  I need to focus…

  “Let’s go,” she said, trying to hide her nerves.

  Lynette stepped out with Dorian toward the lord. The coachman waited until they left, then drove away, leaving behind the beautiful yet unsettling estate.