Capítulo 15: Artist's revelation
"Who is this?" Mallory asked in an innocent voice, unable to resist the urge to comment. "It feels like I have seen him somewhere," she added, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing upon noticing how the extra effort of adding yellow on the poster's eyes was made.
Hadeon's eyes, still glued to the poster, responded without missing a beat, "Must be one of your long-lost relatives, given that uncanny hair resemblance."
Mallory's smile instantly vanished, replaced by a scowl. "That's you," she pointed out, flatly.
"You must have banged your head somewhere to forget how to read, monkey. It says Gideon Vand here," Hadeon calmly retorted in a dry tone. "And the person looks nothing like me."
"What about the long hair and yellow eyes?" Mallory poked, only to be silenced by Hadeon's icy stare. For a moment, she had forgotten how evil this man could be.
Without another word, Hadeon ripped the poster from the wall, crumpling it as he began to walk away. He said, "Seems like the humans have butchered my name again. I believe you know where the fortunate artist lives?"
Mallory saw Hadeon throw the crumpled poster behind, which perfectly fell into a nearby trash bin. She quickly followed him while hiding her face. Her voice wavered, "Why do you want to meet him?"
"Ah, I have suddenly become a fan of him, and I'm dying to know what inspired such a masterpiece. Curiosity is quite the killer, isn't it?" Hadeon remarked as he continued to walk in the streets of Reavermoure like a phantom.
"You aren't planning to kill him, are you?" Mallory's eyes widened, and it was because she cared about the man.
"You need some holy water sprinkled on you, you sinful child. Always talking about murder," Hadeon clicked his tongue before letting out a low hum. "I realised I haven't had my evening tea yet. I do hope there's some pepper around in the artist's house. My throat's been feeling quite scratchy tonight, and nothing soothes like warm blood with crushed pepper."
"Master Hades… you are on the wall for a reason," Mallory reminded him. She had seen him kill men with little to no remorse. Yet, the thought of someone giving her company on the wanted list made it bearable.
"I am well aware of my greatness, monkey. No need for the praise," he chuckled, the sound dark yet smooth.
Though the night had fallen upon the land, there were still a few people on the streets and carriages heading back to their homes. Mallory had to hide behind Hadeon. Even though he stated he didn't know where the artist's house was, she noticed how he was walking in the direction of the artist's house, which made her give him a suspicious look.
They finally arrived in front of the artist's house, which was a rather small house, and Hadeon gently knocked on the door as if not wanting to disturb.
"Mr. Muriel is a good soul. Please," Mallory pleaded in a hushed voice.
"You are being biased because he drew you better," Hadeon tutted with a disapproving look. Their banter was cut short as the door swung open, revealing a curious young boy's face.
"Good evening," Hadeon offered with a charming yet kind smile. "I am Hadeon Van Doren and this is the murderer on the loose," he said, turning to look at Mallory. "I heard that the renowned artist Mr. Muriel lives here."
"Who is it, Otto?" A man's voice came from inside the house. Soon, a man in his early sixties appeared, limping to the door. "Lady Mallory…! What are you doing here? Come in before someone sees you!" he urgently said, moving away from the door.
Hadeon's eyebrows raised in surprise, and Mallory, upon seeing this, whispered, "He isn't like others."
"Hardly. It's not every day someone sketches their muse onto a wanted poster," Hadeon responded with dry sarcasm as his eyes caught sight of Mallory and his sketch on a chair.
"You shouldn't be here, Lady Mallory. Reavermoure is no longer safe for you," Mr. Muriel expressed his concern right after closing the door, and he hopped to the side with one leg as the other leg was wrapped in bandages. The older looking man briefly glanced at the stranger who had come with her, feeling intimidated by the man's presence.
"I know. I had left something behind in the manor and had come to retrieve it," Mallory replied, noticing the older man frown.
"I heard about you being taken to the scaffold," Mr. Muriel said, shaking his head. "I am sorry about your uncle and aunt. My sincere condolences to you. I wish I could have attended the funeral, but I broke my leg two weeks ago and haven't left home since then."
Mallory only nodded, because every time she thought about her uncle and aunt, she remembered their slit throats and the blood around their bodies.
"Sorry to cut in on the wonderful chitchat," Hadeon intervened as he picked up his poster from the chair. "I was going to blame your eyesight, but it seems you were missing from yesterday's scene. May I inquire which blessed soul gave you the description for this?"
Mr. Muriel took less than two seconds to connect the man standing in the room with the poster in the person's hand. He turned pale when the man took a step towards him, making his heart sink. He could sense a foreboding aura that exuded from this person.
Mallory, who was standing in the room, couldn't help but feel a flicker of fear in her, noticing Mr. Muriel looked like a mouse in front of the towering Hadeon.
"That… That yes, it didn't come in my dreams and was ordered by someone," Mr. Muriel tried to frame words.
Hadeon softly chuckled with his eyes gleaming, and he said, "That would be a whole different level of devotion to dream about me. So which future antique was the one who gave you the description?"
"Kingsley," came the almost inaudible reply from Mr. Muriel.
"George Kingsley," Mallory murmured, her lips setting themselves in a thin line. She should have guessed that he would be behind this, wanting to retaliate against her. When Hadeon's eyes moved to look at her, she reminded him, "He's the count's son. You broke his hand last night."
"How strange that I cannot remember him. He must be useless," Hadeon drawled, an air of indifference in his voice.
"I told them I wouldn't do it, Lady Mallory. But then he threatened to throw Otto and me out of this house and call upon the town's head to ensure we wouldn't find any shelter. Forgive me…" The older man confessed with regret in his voice. He then turned to Hadeon and said, "The young Mr. Kingsley was the one who described you, Sire. I only followed what was ordered to me."
Hadeon's lips twisted into a sinister smile, "Then, it seems we must pay a visit to dear little Georgie."
Capítulo 16: Haircut By Yours Truly
Music Recommendation: Gilderoy Lockhart - John Williams
—
In Kingsley Manor, George now stood with the town guards and impatiently demanded, "Is it done? I want their faces plastered in every town!"
"We have covered Reavermoure, Sire. However, we have run out of posters for the other towns," one of the guards informed. He continued, "The artist's apprentices have returned to their homes. Mr. Muriel claims exhaustion."
"Exhaustion? It appears Mr. Muriel underestimates the seriousness of my order," George said with disdain, his frail ego threatening to break. "Bring my carriage! I will see him right now!"
As the lone heir of the Kingsley bloodline, George's upbringing was soaked in privilege and entitlement, which developed his arrogance—a trait not uncommon among the elite. After being publicly humiliated repeatedly, he had decided to restore his image by spreading wanted posters of Mallory Winchester and the unfamiliar man.
When he came to the carriage, he was about to climb inside when he heard a loud caw. Startled, he stepped away from the door and caught a crow sitting on top of the vehicle.
"What's a damn crow doing here? Shoo!" Irritated, George waved his hand, and it flew away.
In an annoyed voice, he ordered the coachman, "Go to the artist's house!" and climbed inside the carriage.
"Of course," came a voice from the coachman's seat, whose face was veiled in shadow by the hat worn. An eerie smile crept on the person's face, while George failed to notice that this was not his usual coachman.
Once the carriage left the manor, George wore a triumphant look as his eyes fell on the posters stuck on one of the walls in the town. He was going to make Mallory's life miserable! But when he looked around, he realised the carriage was moving in a different direction.
This dumb coachman! George cursed and pushed open the little window in front of him, when suddenly a white dust was blown right at his face, making him cough, "What the fuck?! What is w… wrong with the…" he fell unconscious.
When George regained consciousness, his eyes felt slightly heavy until he noticed the unfamiliar surroundings, and his eyes popped open. What happened? Where was he?! He tried to move, but he was tied to a chair. His eyes scanned the room, and they fell on Mallory.
Mallory stood in the corner of the hall, where George was tied to the chair with ropes. It had been an hour since he was brought here. When Hadeon had mentioned paying a visit to the Kingsley's manor, she hadn't expected for the count's son to be kidnapped and brought here. From Mr. Muriel's house, she had been sent back in a locked carriage to the castle with Barnby, while Hadeon had disappeared to meet George Kingsley.
She now saw George vigorously move his body, but to no avail.
"You! How dare you attempt to kidnap me?! Untie me this instant, you damn witch!" George demanded from her. "My father will know it was you! Your face is all over the town!"
Mallory walked up to George. She saw a mixture of relief and arrogance in his smile. She raised her hand, but not to untie him.
CRACK! Her fist connected to his already damaged nose, as if wanting to make sure it wouldn't exist.
"ARGH! My nose!!" George yelped in pain, gritting his teeth. If he wasn't fully awake before, he was now. "What is wrong with you?!"
"I should have broken it a long time ago," Mallory said lowly, her hand shaking in anger.
Had he not pushed her remaining patience, she might have found someone decent and not that baron. Her uncle and aunt would have still been alive… She wouldn't have dug up the grave and opened Hadeon's coffin, who was now calling her monkey and had turned her into his servant! This was all this egoistic man's fault!
Mallory was tempted to strike George again, but her hand was hurt from their last encounter. The moment, however, was interrupted by the sound of cards being shuffled, a noise almost as ominous as the approach of Hadeon's shoes against the cold stone floor of the hall.
When George's eyes fell on Hadeon, they widened as big as saucers. "YOU!" he blurted out in accusation. "You were the one who brought me here! You both are working together!!"
Hadeon clutched his chest in mock horror, his eyes darting to Mallory. "Oh, no! He's onto us," he gasped dramatically. "What are we going to do?"
What do you mean 'we'?? Mallory bit back the retort that begged to leap from her tongue. She had nothing to do with the kidnapping and was one of the kidnappees! Hadeon should have been in theatres for his love for drama... She quietly edged away from George, not knowing what Hadeon had in his mind.
Hadeon's voice then fell flat, "I suppose it's time for our little Georgie to embrace the coffin, wouldn't you agree?"
"You can't possibly mean that!" George's protest echoed off the stone walls, his gaze darting around the hall as if looking for an escape.
"Oh, Georgie. When you invite yourself to dance with the devil, you don't get to complain about the music," Hadeon tutted softly, and he drew a card from the deck of cards. "Looks like fate's got a dark sense of humor, eh?" He turned the card to show a picture of a coffin on it.
Mallory eyed the strange deck of cards in Hadeon's hands. Sensing her gaze, his eyes shifted to meet hers and he suggested,
"Want to have a go, monkey? Fortune-telling with these could be quite enlightening," he teased, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Who knows? It might just reveal the when and how of your tragic end."
Mallory's face stiffened, and she retorted, "I think some mysteries are better left untouched."
George, unhappy with his current situation, tried to threaten, "You don't know who I am!"
"Literally, I don't care," Hadeon drawled with a dismissive air, putting the card back on the deck and shuffling it. He looked up to meet the captive's fearful gaze and continued, "Though, I must confess. Your descriptive fan art has already won me over. Such dedication to detail—it's flattering, really."
"You broke my hand…!" George complained with a bewildered look.
With a tsk, Hadeon's amusement was clear. He questioned, "Are you quite certain, Georgie? I am a reasonable man, and I will give you time to reflect on what you did last night. Your time starts...now."
"Get me out of here! Somebody help me! HELP!!" George's desperate cries echoed through the vast emptiness of the hall. It would be a lie if Mallory said she wasn't enjoying his situation right now.
Hadeon, ever the instigator, leaned in with a sardonic tilt of his head and asked, "Is that the best you can do? Come now, I'm sure you can scream louder than that." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he observed George's pitiful attempts at escape.
George shouted, "HELP!! You will be paid handsomely! Let me out!" He struggled in his seat, rocking the chair, which fell to the ground, breaking the old furniture's armrests and legs.
"Looks like we are in need of new furniture," Hadeon murmured.
But as George made a break for the door, Hadeon's hand flicked, sending a playing card spinning through the air with lethal precision. It sliced past George, forcing him to a stunned stop.
"You know I am a firm believer that motivation can bring in the best results," Hadeon mused as he threw another card. This time, the card moved closely to shave the center of George's head.
Mallory gasped, both horrified and impressed by Hadeon's deadly accuracy.
Feeling the coolness on his scalp, George's hand shot up to his head and frantically touched the centre of his head. Horror fell on his face. He was sporting a bald patch at the crown of his head!
"AAHHHHHHH!!!!!" George screamed in distress as he mourned the loss of his once flawless hair.
Hadeon closed his eyes, and the corners of his lips curled with a contented sigh. He murmured, "Ah, the music. It would have warmed my heart, had I one to warm," he sighed in feigned disappointment.
He opened his eyes to look at George, who was losing his mind over his lost hair and plight. He set aside the cards on the table, before lovingly caressing a hammer that was lying nearby.
"W—What—Yo—" George could barely form a sentence, unable to comprehend how a card could give him a new haircut.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Hadeon whispered in a menancing voice that dropped the room's temperature, and he picked up the hammer in his hand. "Run, human."
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