When Anger left Whitechapel, the streetlamps had just flickered on, their orange haloes like candles lit in the fog — always obscuring the truth.

  He hailed a hansom cab and gave the address of Professor Croft.

  By the time he reached the professor's door, night had fully fallen. He knocked directly. "Professor, it's Hastings."

  "Inspector Hastings," the professor sounded both surprised and weary. "Another body? Or another peculiarity?"

  "A bit of both," Anger replied, stepping into the vestibule and closing the door behind him.

  "Take that seat — it's perpetually yours." The professor, looking tired from his work, was reclining in a rocking chair.

  Anger moved a chair piled with parchment scrolls and sat. He had copied the contents revealed by his notebook onto a sheet of paper, which he now produced. He had deliberately drawn a line down the center to clearly separate the left and right contents.

  "Two prophecies," Anger began. "Left side, in red, bloodlike script: The cord wraps the neck, the chalice holds blood, a maiden sings in the well. Right page, crystalline white writing: Ribs as keys, dice as pupils, the faithful dance upon the keys. Below that, another line: When the twin moons converge, you must devour one."

  The professor didn't move, but Anger could see him deep in thought.

  "Continue."

  "I found twelve waxified nuns' bodies in the crypt of an abandoned priory. There was a large, silverplated pendulum in the crypt. Engraved on it was a wolf's head design." Anger produced another paper, on which he had drawn from memory the pattern: a wolf's head with bared fangs, the eye sockets hollow. "The back of the pendulum bore a Latin inscription: Per sanguinem gemellarum, veritas in utero."

  The professor took the paper and brought it close to the gas lamp on the desk.

  "A wolf's head..." the professor murmured. "You said gemstones were originally set here in the eye sockets?"

  "Two gemstones, now dull. Not some common agate or quartz."

  The professor set the paper down, rose, and walked to a cabinet in the corner of the room. He pulled open a drawer, rummaged for a moment, and retrieved a piece of dark cloth. Returning to the table, he unfolded it.

  On the cloth lay a brooch: a bronze wolf's head with tiny fragments of obsidian set in the eye sockets. Below the wolf's head was the emblem of an inverted scale.

  "The Bellatus family," the professor said, his tone a mixture of reverence and distaste.

  ******

  Anger's gaze fell upon the brooch. The wolf's head design was fundamentally consistent with what he had seen in the crypt.

  "The Bellatus family," the Professor repeated. "A fallen noble house. Their family used to run antiquities restoration workshops and private libraries."

  "Nothing particularly noteworthy in the public records," the Professor continued, sitting back in his chair and reaching towards the edge of the brooch. "Hastings, there are three kinds of secrets in this world. The first is the kind everyone pretends not to know, but actually does. The second is known only to a few, who pretend ignorance. The third... is the kind where those who know are either dead, or wish they had never known. The Bellatus family belongs to the third kind."

  The Professor pushed the brooch towards Anger. "Look closely at the scales."

  Anger picked up the brooch and brought it close to the lamp. On the left pan of the scale was engraved a symbol of a lock; on the right, a key.

  The Professor gently stroked the cloth. "The Bellatus family fancies themselves researchers of 'phenomenology'... but that term is far too elegant. The foul deeds they've committed wouldn't be atoned for in a dozen lifetimes."

  "What have they done?" Anger suddenly recalled the inscription on the back of the pendulum: Per sanguinem gemellarum, veritas in utero. "Experimentation on human subjects?"

  The Professor pulled a notebook from a pile of books, quickly flipped through the pages, and stopped at a handdrawn illustration. It depicted the anatomical crosssection of a bicornuate uterus, two fetuses connected by umbilical cords—one red, one white. "They believe certain special twin bloodlines can become a window to understanding this world. The womb is the first chamber, and the umbilical cord is the most primitive covenant bond."

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  A knot tightened in Anger's stomach. He remembered the phantom vision in the crypt: the swollen abdomen in the delivery room, things squirming beneath the skin.

  "While none of it... none of the outcomes have ever been publicly verified, the rumors themselves are substantial enough."

  A heavy silence settled over the study.

  "What does 'the twin moons converge' in the prophecy mean?" Anger asked, looking not at the cloth, but at the Professor.

  The Professor stood up and walked to the window. He pulled aside the heavy curtain. Outside was Lundinium's night sky, thick fog obscuring the stars, leaving only the blurred outline of a single moon.

  "Astronomical twinmoon convergence is rare. But in this city, there are two other 'moons'," the Professor said, his back to Anger. "The Blood Moon—you know of it, perhaps you've even seen it; we spoke of it last time. It's often tied to certain ancient ritual cycles. And then there's the Fog Moon. That's not an astronomical term, but slang from certain... underground research circles. When the fog reaches peak density for three consecutive nights, moonlight refracts within it, creating a luminous halo that appears as a second moon. Under those conditions, it looks as if twin moons hang in the sky."

  He turned around. "According to the records, the next Fog Moon that meets the requirements will occur in seventeen days. As for the Blood Moon cycle, let me calculate..." The Professor walked back to the desk, rummaged through a stack of papers, pulled out an ephemeris, and ran his finger along the dates. "...twentytwo days. The dates are too close to be coincidence, Hastings. It's highly likely the Bellatus family, or their collaborators, are waiting for this... window."

  "Window." The phrase from Lady Vinter's notes. "The 'convergence' must refer to this."

  Anger didn't press further on that. The meaning of "you must devour one" was selfevident: a forced choice.

  "What is the Bellatus family doing now? I mean, what can be gleaned from public channels?"

  "The Bellatus family frequently collaborates with certain... art merchants. They act as art consultants, helping them authenticate and acquire occult items. Privately, they receive funding and political shelter from many sources. They provide research results and occult technical support to those who require it."

  A sudden image flashed in Anger's mind: Lorenzo Bellatus of the Heron Auction House was the art consultant that night. And there was Edwin Lyle, mentioned in connection with some manuscript...

  "The auction!" Anger blurted out, startling Professor Croft.

  "Professor, I need your help," Anger said earnestly.

  "Go on."

  "First, gather as much historical information on the Bellatus family and its known members as you possibly can. Second, I need to know the exact date and time of this 'twinmoon convergence,' and the likely best observation location, roughly where it might be."

  The Professor stared at him for a few seconds, then smiled. "Very well. You shall have precise data by sunset tomorrow."

  ******

  When Anger left the professor's house, the streets outside were already deserted.

  He didn't hail a cab immediately but walked along the pavement, reassembling the crucial fragments of information in his mind.

  The Lady Vinter had mentioned a 'window'. The Twin Moons were that window. The Bellatus family conducted human experiments. They frequently dealt in art. Was the girl from the auction house one of their research subjects?

  The twelve nuns and Martha Tabram were likely all connected to the ritual.

  The prophecy of the Twin Moons, the 'cord' and 'chalice', the 'ribs' and 'dice'... Was that 'dice' the one obtained from the BoneBird killer? That die was indeed anomalous. A pity it was now lost, along with the Lady's notebook.

  If he could find that die, perhaps he could obtain some lead.

  Reaching a street corner, Anger stopped. Not far off, a nightservice post office window still glowed. He walked over and pushed the door open.

  The clerk behind the counter was dozing. Anger rapped on the counter. The young man startled awake.

  "I need to send an urgent dispatch to Scotland Yard. For Hendrick."

  Anger requested paper and pen, quickly scribbling two lines: the two prophetic sentences. He offered no explanation, merely appending a small line at the bottom: 'Investigate all historical materials on the Bellatus family. Folklore regarding the Twin Moons convergence. Reply swiftly.'

  He sealed the note in an envelope, paid the express fee, and watched the clerk stamp it. The letter would reach Scotland Yard's night desk within two hours. Hendrick would see it first thing in the morning. He needed this redundancy.

  Currently operating in the East End, he couldn't openly return to the Yard.

  Leaving the post office, Anger hailed another hansom and directed it to the Heron Auction House.

  Arriving at Heron's, he went straight to the night watchman's lodge and knocked.

  The door opened a crack. A bald guard peered out, already retreating. "Sir, the auction house is closed. The next sale is next Wednesday."

  Anger flashed his badge. "Scotland Yard. A few questions regarding the painting auction the other night."

  The man's expression grew tense. "I... I'm just the night watch. Don't know the details of the sales."

  "Just answer what you can. Who owned this exhibition? Who handled the logistics for that auction? Who bought the most expensive painting—the one of the girl?"

  "Don't know. We're not privy to that. We just come here for our wages. As for logistics... I did sneak a peek. The transport company had the East India Company crest. The rest, I don't know. Paintings bought are always shipped out the same night. As for who bought what... we'd never dare ask, sir. The gentlemen don't like us underlings prying. So who bought it and where it went... I don't know. Honest."

  Anger studied him for a few seconds, judging the man a mere watchman, likely telling the truth.

  He nodded, retrieving his badge. "If anyone else comes asking the same questions, you didn't see me. Understood?"

  "Understood. Absolutely."

  Anger turned and left the alley. He swiftly directed the cab back to the East End, to the safe house near Whitechapel. That would be his temporary base for now.