Chapter 293: Chapter 293

Jenkins walked Captain Bincy all the way to the shop's entrance, watching his figure disappear into the fog, his mind still on those gold pounds.

In truth, even if he wasn't worried about being discovered, he couldn't claim the reward. There was no way to prove he was the "Twin Demons" without revealing his Soul Emblem or a similar ability, and Jenkins wasn't the kind of person to throw all caution to the wind for a handful of gold.

"Perhaps for my next book, I'll choose a protagonist like Grandet."

He tried to distract himself with the thought, which was really just a roundabout way of hoping to make more money from his writing side-hustle. His pockets were practically empty, with less than three hundred gold pounds to his name. While that was about the price of his house—no, now that the rumors of it being haunted were gone, it was probably worth a bit more—he couldn't very well sell it. Otherwise, he and his cat would be sleeping on the streets.

Jenkins spent the rest of the evening wrestling with a sense of melancholy about the future. He wasn't particularly bothered by the three women he had killed, especially not after learning about their criminal records. It would take the Nightwatchmen a long time to figure out why the Witch's House had come to Nolan, and in the meantime, Jenkins wanted nothing to do with it.

He had stayed late, hoping to catch Papa Oliver and find out what had happened, but the old man never appeared.

Checking the time, he figured the maid his family had hired was due to arrive soon. He had no choice but to wake the cat sleeping by the hearth and get ready to leave.

"This blasted weather!"

Jenkins muttered, locking the antique shop's front door with a heavy iron lock. He patted the cat nestled against his chest, urging it to stay still, then stepped into the fog that shrouded the city.

Beneath his clothes, unseen by any passerby, crimson flames seeped from the man's pores, clinging to the surface of his skin to raise his body temperature. After his two Bestowals had merged, the candle's flame could switch between "healing" and "burning" at any moment. It wasn't a clear-cut distinction like in a game, but rather a matter of a single thought from Jenkins. As long as his Spirit was plentiful, he could control the flames and how they manifested from his body at will.

A small figure appeared dimly at the intersection ahead, and Jenkins slowed his pace. As he drew closer, he saw that it was a little flower girl.

"She looks familiar."

The thought crossed his mind, and he instinctively came to a halt. Some people, after being attacked by a stray dog in their youth, would still go out of their way to avoid them as adults. Jenkins was in a similar situation now, only the creature he had encountered was infinitely cuter—and infinitely more terrifying—than any stray dog.

"I remember now." This update ıs available on NoveI[F]ire.net

Jenkins let out a sigh of relief. He had run into this same girl in this very spot on his way to Papa Oliver's antique shop last time. He'd even tossed her some money. He hadn't expected to see her again.

The girl before him was swallowed by a thick, patched coat that was so large it nearly dragged on the ground. Perhaps because of the cold, she was leaning against a metal pipe on the low wall behind her, shivering as she scanned each person who walked by.

Her toes peeked through holes in her shoes, and her straw-yellow hair looked as if it were tied back with a bit of dried grass. Judging by the general state of Nolan's slums, her pale complexion was half due to the weather and half to severe malnutrition. There was no concept of child labor laws in this era; in fact, being able to earn money without breaking the law was considered a stroke of luck. Selling newspapers, flowers, or pasting matchboxes were all tasks within a child's skill set.

But if she were to fall ill from the cold this winter, it was almost certain she would never see the spring sunshine.

Although the Nolan Council and the Orthodox Churches organized charitable events and opened shelters for the poor during the winter, it was far from enough to accommodate the city's massive slum population.

Jenkins hesitated, standing just outside what he felt was a safe distance, then took a few more steps back for good measure. He agonized for a moment, looking at the girl warming herself by the pipe, then casually strolled to the other side of the street, though he couldn't help but steal glances in her direction.

"She's not going to be on this street all winter, is she? I have to pass by here every day."

With that thought, Jenkins stopped against the wall on the other side of Fifth Queen's Avenue. He unbuttoned the middle of his coat and pulled out a very reluctant Chocolate.

First, he took a ten-gold-pound note from his pocket, but then he shook his head, tapped his own forehead, and instead gathered about three pounds in loose bills and coins—mostly shillings and pence—and stuffed them into a small cloth pouch that had once held a talisman.

He held the pouch in front of the cat. She turned her head to look at the shivering flower girl, then back at the object by her paws. With a reluctant meow, she lowered her head and bit down on the thin string that cinched the pouch tight.

Jenkins stood his ground, watching as Chocolate paused, waited for a carriage carrying an old gentleman to pass, and then darted across the street. Amidst the girl's startled and confused expression, the cat dropped the pouch at her feet before scampering back, its tail swishing.

The flower girl looked down at the object at her feet, hesitating. Perhaps she had gotten the wrong idea, because she backed away instead of stepping forward. But when she saw Jenkins scoop the cat back into his arms, she cautiously knelt and picked up the pouch. When she opened it and saw the money, she seemed even more frightened, her eyes darting toward Jenkins in alarm.

"Hmm, I might have given her the wrong idea."

He thought, knowing that some flower girls in this era moonlighted in a less reputable trade. But then the girl looked at him again and gave a quick bow, apparently recognizing him as the gentleman from before. She started to come over to thank him, but a similarly panicked Jenkins stopped her.

Jenkins pointed at the girl, then waved his hands frantically before clutching Chocolate and hurrying away along the side of the wall.

"Sir, may God bless you!"

Of course, he was too far away to hear the young girl's quiet prayer. After repeating it three times, she glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then scurried into a nearby alley. She hid the pouch and most of the money in a pile of trash, leaving only a single one-shilling note pressed under the flowers in her basket before returning to her original spot.

The evening fog had already swallowed Jenkins's retreating figure. All the girl could do was offer him a silent blessing in her heart: