"I've also been trying to find the original seller of the Witch's Kiss," Silver Flute Miss remarked with a sigh. "I've gathered some information. All the vials of Witch's Kiss that appeared in Nolan last winter were initially sold by a man late at night. And it was incredibly cheap, even less than a bottle of fine wine. The exorbitant prices came later, from unscrupulous resellers. I imagine the master who crafted those potions cared little for money... but he never appeared again. I don't know if he left Nolan or perished in one of the disasters that winter."

Hathaway's mention of the Witch's Kiss prompted the woman's wistful recollection. Of course, a woman living alone wasn't using the Witch's Kiss as an aphrodisiac, but rather for its beneficial effects on the skin.

Jenkins remained silent through it all. He would never let anyone know he was the one who had sold those potions. He was a man who valued his reputation.

Before the gathering concluded, Hooded Man cautioned everyone to be careful. Following the angel's fall, it had become the norm over the past six months for new cults to emerge in the city, plotting to stir up major trouble.

Every Enchanter who resided in Nolan was well aware of this pattern. It was precisely why so many speculated that Nolan was destined to be the most crucial stage for the end of the Epoch.

It was still early morning when Jenkins had followed Hathaway to the mine, but by the time everyone began to depart in groups, the sun was bathing the land in light. Nolan, situated in the heart of the continent, had fully embraced spring, a world of difference from the temperatures in the northern city of Ruen.

Jenkins anticipated Hathaway's likely route back into the city. After leaving the mine, he had a unicorn carry him ahead to the city limits, where he hired a carriage to wait at a street corner. Using his Eye of Reality, he tracked her path from a distance, directing the coachman to a prime position for an "accidental" meeting.

He finally managed to "run into" Hathaway on St. Rodwess Street, in the eastern part of the city. As she passed an alley where a carriage stood waiting, a familiar face peered out at her from the window.

Her first reaction was disbelief. Then, a wave of fury washed over her.

"Jenkins," she demanded, her voice tight, "tell me right now. Where have you been?"

She practically screamed the words, utterly disregarding her ladylike composure. Jenkins, knowing full well he was in the wrong, took a bold step and pulled her into an embrace. He waited until she had vented her rage before he began to explain his whereabouts over the past few days.

It all started, of course, with a single swat from Chocolate's paw. From there, he could explain the Mysterious Realm and the Dawn Express. But when he mentioned Ruen, Jenkins hesitated. He released Hathaway and looked directly into her eyes.

Her eyes were stunning, but in their depths, the reflection of his own face seemed to twist and waver.

"I've kept many things from you."

"I know," Hathaway retorted, her cheeks puffed out slightly. "You've always been so secretive." But after hearing his explanation, she was no longer as angry as she had been just moments ago.

"First of all," he began, "I'm not some unregistered Enchanter. I'm a Scribe for the Church of Knowledge and Books..."

He paused, but saw no surprise on Hathaway's face.

"And? Is that supposed to be important?" the red-haired woman asked.

"I... Right. I'm sorry for lying to you."

Jenkins was thrown off balance, his carefully prepared speech falling apart. For a moment, he was at a loss for words.

"Jenkins, I don't care how many secrets you keep," she said, her voice softening slightly. "But at the very least, just stop lying to me, all right?"

Hathaway snorted coldly at his troubled expression, though her outward calm belied the turmoil within. Her mind raced, connecting the dots: what Mr. Candle had mentioned half an hour ago, the Williams family's situation... and now, Jenkins admitting his ties to the Church. Furthermore, a diocesan bishop could not be an Enchanter, which meant all the rumors that had circulated for the past six months about Jenkins being the "bishop's successor" were completely false. Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs novel★fire.net

When she considered how favored, recognized, and cultivated he was by the Church of Knowledge and Books, it all pointed to one conclusion: he had an exceptionally powerful backing within the church.

"Yes, I understand... There are some other things I need to confess... Actually, it's not just you and Briny. There are others..."

Jenkins, oblivious to the complex web of deductions spinning in Hathaway's mind, continued with his own confession.

"I know. You've told me as much before."

Though her brow furrowed in displeasure, she forced herself to press on.

"So, what is it you want to tell me? That you spent one night in my bed, only to run off to your other lovers the moment you left?"

"No! Yes. No, I mean yes, I mean..."

Jenkins had no idea how to explain it. His thoughts, once again, drifted to his cat. While the ultimate blame lay with his own avarice, the immediate catalyst had been Chocolate knocking over the jar of Wandering Butterflies.

"I want to tell you who they are," he said, his voice firm. He had made his decision.

"Fine, then," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let's see what kind of taste the esteemed Mr. Williams has."

She tilted her chin up, her long, slender neck creating a line that inexplicably reminded Jenkins of a proud swan.

"There are two... well, really only one. Her name is Alexia Miller. She was a friend of mine, but she moved to Ruen. She hosted me during my time there. This is her picture..."

Jenkins summoned the Book of Memories and opened it to the first page, revealing a full-color image of Alexia. In the picture, the petite woman sat on a sofa, a book resting in her lap. A cup of tea steamed on the coffee table before her. In the distance, sheer curtains billowed gently before French windows that looked out upon a vast expanse of white snow.

Every now and then, her gaze would drift out of the photograph, as if looking right at him—which, of course, she was, since the image was drawn directly from his memory.

"Oh, so your photographs move," Hathaway remarked dryly.

She watched the image, a strange sense of relief washing over her. As much as she hated to admit it, Jenkins had rather good taste. She had no desire to spend the rest of her life sharing a man with a collection of unsightly women.

"So, who is she? An Enchanter? Does she know about Briny and me?"

Truth be told, most of her anger had mysteriously vanished. Jenkins had hinted at all of this before, in one way or another, just never with such explicit detail.