Chapter 287: Chapter 287
Knowledge truly was power. Having written out his plan in extensive detail, Jenkins wore a smile of pure righteousness.
"To convince the swindlers of Green Avenue that Miss Fabry is real, to glean more information about them... the sacrifices I'm making are truly immense. But it's all for the sake of justice!"
The plan was perfect. While the principles behind it seemed complex, all Jenkins had to do from here on out was control an account under a false identity and keep sending out new letters.
Of course, if the plan were to fail, "Miss Fabry" could simply use it as a pretext to vanish without a trace. Jenkins might lose a few gold pounds in the process, but as long as it brought the whole affair to a close, the cost would be well worth it.
Chocolate was sprawled on the cashmere rug before the fireplace, basking in its warmth. The cat turned its fluffy head toward its master, its mouth stretching into a wide yawn that revealed the pink interior. Its pupils fixed on the words that were magically appearing on the blank sheet of paper.
A remarkably human-like expression of curiosity crossed the cat's face. It rose, leaped gracefully onto the sofa, and perched itself on the very top of the backrest, lowering its head to scan Jenkins's plan.
In an age of handwritten correspondence, one could never truly know the identity of the stranger on the other end of the letterbox.
The light of the red and blue twin moons cast an otherworldly glow on Jenkins's disguised form. He carried a burlap sack, once used for flour, and methodically stuffed thousands of letters into the postbox.
Through his multiple exchanges with the suspects on Green Avenue, he had pieced together a general picture of the situation inside their house. If their replies were truthful, Jenkins was confident he could soon make a sound judgment. In fact, he could now describe the very decorations in their home; the correspondent's affection for "Miss Fabry" was, perhaps, a little too intense.
But regardless of how the young man's infatuation played out, Jenkins was certain he could help the Church bring the swindlers to justice swiftly.
Tuesday was an exceedingly dull day. The biting cold kept Jenkins huddled by the fireplace, where he spent his time reading, practicing his rituals, and revising the first draft of his story, *Wonders of Ice and Snow*. He had intended to mail his reply to Miss Stuart, but after discovering a few imperfections in the manuscript, he decided to revise it one more time.
"I've already put it off this long, another day or two won't hurt."
He mused to himself, completely oblivious to the state of mind of a certain Miss Stuart in a distant kingdom.
Jenkins also turned his attention to brewing the potion known as the Witch's Kiss. Crafting such a concoction demanded not only meticulous technique and high-quality ingredients but also a measure of spirit.
As he worked, he finally understood why Old Jack had insisted that only an Enchanter with a [Green Life] soul source ability could brew potions. Following the instructions in the letter, he slowly stirred the clear, bubbling liquid in the cauldron, feeling a subtle, green-tinged spirit seep from the depths of his body and soul.
The brewing process required an enclosed space, so Jenkins had set up in his basement. There, beside a stack of firewood, he chanted in an ancient tongue as the dim, yellow flames danced and rose before him.
The ancient words were a supplication to the myriad spirits of the forest. The meaning was much like a modern prayer, with the key difference being that the plea was directed not to a deity, but to a part of the world itself.
With his arms spread wide in an embracing posture, a spirit of life and healing flowed uncontrollably from him. The emblem of his soul source ability materialized at his feet. Behind him, the faint phantom of a colossal tree flickered into existence, a sight that went entirely unnoticed—save for Chocolate, whose fur suddenly bristled.
The finished Witch's Kiss was a viscous liquid, the color of a suggestive, delicate pink. It carried a peculiar fragrance that conjured a strange mix of scents in his mind: new parchment, his cat fresh from a bath, and the faint, powdery perfume that always lingered around Hathaway.
Once the potion was complete, Jenkins followed the final step, bottling and shaking it vigorously. Both he and Chocolate leaned in close as he uncorked the vial. The result was instantaneous: man and cat erupted into a fit of violent sneezes, finding relief only after they retreated to the better-ventilated first floor.
"Does that mean it was a success?"
He set the three slender-necked vials of finished potion on the table. They pulsed with a faint green aura, and their appearance matched Old Jack's description perfectly. Still, one had to be cautious with extraordinary potions. Down it in one go and meet Death? Not impossible. But a far more likely outcome was some kind of physical mutation or mental breakdown.
Short of inhumane—yet highly reliable—methods like live testing, the quality of a potion was typically judged by its color and aroma. After all, unless a potion was brewed with malicious intent, it was highly unlikely for a counterfeit to perfectly mimic the appearance, scent, and color of the real thing.
"I suppose it's a success."
Jenkins finally came to this conclusion. Not counting his own labor, the raw materials for the three potions had cost him about one pound, thirteen shillings, and six pence. Therefore, he'd have to sell them for at least ten pounds each to prevent potential buyers from thinking they were fakes.
Given the rarity of [Green Life] source abilities, the number of Enchanters capable of brewing potions was exceedingly small. And according to Old Jack's letter, even for those with healing-type abilities, the degree of their spirit's attunement with natural forces could only be confirmed after their first attempt at brewing.
"Does this mean my spirit is highly attuned to nature? So what is my true soul source ability, anyway? Is it Destiny, Healing, or Martial Arts?"
The question struck Jenkins at once, and he fell into deep contemplation.
Meanwhile, the Church's interrogation of the cultist known as "Still Eye," a man named Borglo Stiepi, had finally come to an end.
That evening, just as Jenkins was finishing his dinner, a knock came at the door. It was Mr. Bents. The man must have had other urgent business, for he didn't even step inside for a cup of tea. He simply informed Jenkins that the situation was now safe, and he could return to Pops Antique Shop. Newest update provıded by novelꜰire.net
"The final verdict is in," Pops said. "The cultist from the Eye Collectors Association came to Nolan in search of an eyeball-shaped Mysterious Object. He refused to say what it is, what it does, or whether it's been documented and numbered by the Orthodox Church."
Pops set down the file he was holding and watched Jenkins, who was glancing all around the shop.
"What are you doing?"
"It feels like I haven't been back in a long time, so I'm feeling a bit nostalgic."
"Well then, those three books I told you to read—have you finished them?"