Chapter LXXVI: The McFinnigan Inquiry
The following morning dawns pale and gold over London, sunlight spilling timidly across rooftops still slick with dew. The storm that once brewed within the highlands has quieted, yet the silence that follows is not peace—it is the breath before another collapse.
Nathaniel Cross stands by his dorm window, eyes tracing the horizon beyond the campus spires. His reflection looks older than he remembers. Shadows curl beneath his eyes, remnants of sleepless nights that even caffeine can't fix. The whispers from last night—the guttural shrieks, the glint of eyes in the mist, Maisie's trembling form—linger like frost he cannot shake off.
He rubs the side of his neck absentmindedly where Eris's bite mark once was. Barely visible now. Barely.
But the chill it carries, the echo of her curse, never fades.
A gentle knock on his door interrupts his thoughts.
"Nate?" Pauline's voice drifts through, soft but urgent. "You ready? They're downstairs."
He grabs his coat and steps out, forcing a half-smile. "Yeah. Let's go."
Luna's Cup Café rests in a quiet corner of the city, an old brick café with ivy creeping up its side and sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows that scatter colors across the tables. The morning bustle hums faintly—students with laptops, couples sharing croissants, the hiss of the espresso machine.
The group settles into their usual booth by the window. Theo dumps his bag onto the seat with a heavy sigh.
"Finally, civilization. I swear that forest took a year off my life."
Kingsley grins, sipping his cappuccino. "You said the same thing during the exam week, mate."
"Yeah, and I meant it then too."
Edison scrolls through his phone, stifling laughter. "Oi, look at this meme—'When your exorcism squad accidentally summons your Wi-Fi router.'"
Pauline snorts. "That's literally you, Theo."
"Excuse me," Theo says indignantly. "I only almost fried the router once."
Nathaniel chuckles quietly, a sound that feels strange coming from him lately. It's lighter—almost real. "You guys really have no off switch, do you?"
"Humor is our defense mechanism," Kingsley replies, gesturing dramatically with his mug. "If we stop joking, the trauma wins."
Pauline rolls her eyes but smiles anyway. For a brief moment, they feel like normal university students again—no demons, no curses, no bloodlines entwined with darkness.
Outside, the autumn breeze rattles the café door. The bell above it chimes faintly, and Nathaniel's gaze flicks instinctively toward it—but it's only a delivery man.
Still, his heart gives a tiny, traitorous lurch.
Pauline notices. "You okay?"
He nods, forcing the thought away. "Yeah. Just... thinking."
"About last night?"
"About everything," he admits softly. "Maisie. The forest. How it's all connected."
Theo leans forward, lowering his voice. "You think she's linked to them?"
Nathaniel doesn't answer immediately. His mind replays the voice Maisie heard—I wonder where are you now, Cross.
He exhales slowly. "Yes. I think Eris found a way to reach me again."
The table falls silent. The hum of the café fades to a distant buzz. For a moment, it feels like the world outside their circle doesn't exist.
Pauline breaks the tension, her tone measured. "Then we don't wait. We move first."
By midday, they stand before the General Hospital, a modest but clean establishment nestled beside a line of birches. The scent of antiseptic and faint floral perfume lingers in the halls.
Maisie's room sits at the far end of the ward—sunlight filters through the blinds, casting gentle stripes across her bed. She looks far better now: her cheeks flushed with life, her auburn hair neatly brushed, though her eyes still hold that faint, haunted glaze.
When Nathaniel enters, Maisie brightens slightly. "Hey... you came."
"Of course we did," Edison says, grinning. "We can't just let our demon-slaying debutante recover alone."
Maisie laughs weakly. "I'm not sure I'm worthy of that title."
Theo places a small box of pastries on her table. "For morale support. And sugar."
Pauline hands over a bouquet of white tulips. "They said tulips mean 'new beginnings.' Thought it was fitting."
Maisie touches the petals gently, eyes soft. "Thank you. All of you."
Nathaniel steps closer. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," she says. "Still tired... but clearer now. Like the fog finally lifted."
Nathaniel nods, then after a pause asks, "Maisie, do you remember anything? Before it happened?"
Maisie's eyes flicker with hesitation. The others exchange quiet glances as she gathers her thoughts.
"I was... at my uncle's farm," she begins. "Helping him harvest the fields before sunset. It was so hot that day. I wore my old denim overalls, and I remember thinking I'd never been that sweaty in my life." She laughs softly, then her tone drops. "When the sun went down, I went to the edge of the field—to, um... pee."
Theo coughs awkwardly. "Totally normal context, yep."
She continues, ignoring him. "That's when I heard it. Rustling in the wheat. I thought it was just a fox or something... but then I heard whispers. Like voices hiding between the stalks."
Pauline leans in. "What kind of voices?"
Maisie closes her eyes, her voice trembling. "'I wonder where are you now, Cross.' That's what they said."
The room chills.
Nathaniel's pulse doesn't quicken—no fear, no goosebumps—but something deeper coils inside him. Recognition.
Eris.
He can almost hear her silken tone wrapping around his name, her laughter the same as the wind that brushed his window that cursed night years ago.
Maisie continues, her fingers tightening around the blanket. "Then something grabbed me from behind. I didn't even see it. Just... pain. And then nothing."
Theo's brow furrows. "And you woke up possessed."
Maisie nods slowly. "Yeah. Everything after that is just flashes. Shadows. Screaming. Like I was trapped underwater."
Edison crosses his arms. "So we're dealing with something that knows Nate personally and doesn't mind hijacking people to send messages. Brilliant."
Pauline turns toward Nathaniel. "If Eris is moving her pieces again, we can't just sit around."
Nathaniel's gaze sharpens, the light from the window slicing across his face. "Then we start digging. We find out where the Gravenholts came from. Their true history."
Theo scratches his chin. "What's the plan, then?"
Kingsley leans in. "Library? Archives? I've got a few academic contacts who owe me favors."
Pauline adds, "There's also the old record vault beneath the theology department. If Eris's family ties have any link to blood rites or cursed covenants, they'll show up there."
Nathaniel nods. "Good. We split the work. Kingsley and Theo, check the archives. Edison and Pauline, see if you can cross-reference old estates tied to the Gravenholts. I'll visit the cathedral library again."
Theo raises an eyebrow. "Alone?"
Nathaniel smiles faintly. "I'm not the same as before."
A beat passes, thick with tension. Then Theo shrugs. "Alright, hero. Just don't pull another 'solo exorcism' stunt."
"Noted," Nathaniel says dryly.
Then, Maisie's voice interrupts them—quiet but firm. "Wait."
They all turn to her.
"I'm coming with you."
Pauline frowns. "Maisie, you need rest—"
"I'm fine," Maisie insists, sitting up straighter. "Whoever—or whatever—did this to me, I'm not letting them get away with it."
Edison tilts his head. "You sure? It's not gonna be pretty."
Her expression hardens. "If someone's using me as a pawn to hurt Nathaniel, then they've made it personal. I'm in."
The determination in her eyes silences the room. Nathaniel studies her for a moment, then gives a small nod. "Alright. But you stay close."
Maisie smiles faintly. "Deal."
They huddle together, forming a circle of resolve amid the sterile hospital room. The afternoon light dims slightly, filtered through gathering clouds—a silver hue that feels prophetic.
Pauline spreads a folder on Maisie's table. "We'll start with this. These are all mentions of the Gravenholt lineage from the 1500s to the 1800s. Most records place them in Eastern Europe—Romania, Transylvania, and parts of England."
Kingsley whistles low. "Vampire central."
Theo smirks. "Figures your ex had a family tree straight out of Dracula's holiday brochure."
Nathaniel ignores the jab, his tone calm. "We're not chasing myths. We're tracing history. Every story begins in truth."
Edison taps the table. "What if the demon that came out of Maisie wasn't random? What if it was a signal?"
Pauline looks up sharply. "A signal?"
He nods. "Think about it. We exorcised the demon, right? But demons leave traces—spiritual frequency. If the Gravenholts are what you say they are, that energy spike might have told them exactly where Nathaniel is."
Theo groans. "Great. So we basically lit a supernatural flare."
Nathaniel leans back, expression unreadable. "Then we prepare for them to come."
Pauline's brow furrows. "You mean—let them come?"
"Yes," he says simply. "Because running won't stop them. Eris always finds a way. But if she's coming... we can end it."
Maisie watches him, awe mixing with fear. "You've really faced her before, haven't you?"
Nathaniel's gaze drops for a heartbeat. "I thought I'd escaped her."
Kingsley breaks the silence, clapping his hands once. "Alright. Operation: Vampire Genealogy is a go. Everyone gear up after classes tomorrow. We meet at the cathedral by dusk."
Theo groans. "We have classes tomorrow? I already mentally dropped out when demons started showing up."
Pauline smirks. "Sorry, exorcism isn't on the curriculum yet."
Laughter ripples through the group—brief, shaky, but human.
Then, Maisie glances toward the window. The wind outside howls faintly, pushing the blinds. For a split second, her reflection in the glass flickers—eyes red, mouth twisted. Then it's gone.
Her breath catches. She forces a smile. "I'm okay," she mutters. "I'm fine."
Nathaniel's gaze lingers on her. He knows she isn't. Not entirely. Possession leaves scars—on the mind, the soul. But he also knows her strength.
"We'll protect each other," he says quietly. "Whatever happens."
They all nod in agreement, an unspoken vow sealing between them.
Later that night, back in his dorm, Nathaniel sits at his desk surrounded by open books, sketches, and diagrams. Blueprints of ritual circles overlap mechanical drafts—his engineering and his curse blending, as always, into one chaotic existence.
The rain taps softly against the glass, rhythmic and hypnotic.
He sketches a gear-like circle—an idea forming in his mind. What if ancient seals could be engineered? Precision-made barriers that amplify protection through geometry and resonance. Science meeting the arcane.
He writes in the margin: "Rational magic—mechanical sigils."
A soft vibration interrupts his thoughts. His phone lights up. A message from Pauline:
Pauline: "Everyone's in. 10AM tomorrow, Luna's Cup again. Then archives. Sleep if you can."10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDewejHLWd5
Nathaniel: "Copy. Goodnight."
He sets the phone aside and leans back, closing his eyes.
For a fleeting moment, peace.
Then, a whisper.
Not from his phone. Not from the wind.
From behind him.
"Still chasing ghosts, Nathaniel?"
He turns sharply—nothing. Just his reflection in the window. But for an instant, the reflection smiles when he doesn't.
He exhales, steadying his pulse. "You're not real."
The voice fades, replaced by silence. But the air feels colder now.
Nathaniel presses a hand against the glass, watching the rain run like tears. "Tomorrow," he murmurs. "We start tomorrow."
By dawn, the rain has stopped. Mist rises over the city again, curling between the spires and the clocktowers like veiled ghosts. The world feels heavy with anticipation—something ancient stirring, unseen but inevitable.
Nathaniel steps out of his dorm with his satchel, meeting Theo, Kingsley, Edison, Pauline, and Maisie at the gate.
Maisie wears a gray coat, the same tulip Pauline gave her pinned to her chest pocket. She smiles faintly when she sees him.
"Morning, Cross," she says.
"Morning, McFinnigan," he replies.
Theo stretches his arms. "Alright, team. Let's go find some undead family secrets."
Kingsley grins. "And maybe decent coffee on the way."
Edison checks his notes. "So, cathedral archives first?"
Pauline nods. "That's where we'll start. If there's anything on the Gravenholt line, it'll be there."
Nathaniel glances at each of them, his friends, his allies. "Stay sharp. We don't know what we're walking into."
Maisie tightens her scarf. "Whatever it is, we'll face it."
He nods, the morning light glinting in his eyes—a reflection of both human determination and something deeper, something darker yet untamed.
As they walk down the mist-laced street toward Luna's Cup Café, the clocktower strikes nine. Bells echo through the fog like the tolling of fate.
The storm has calmed.
But beneath the calm, the world begins to stir again.
And the bloodline of Gravenholt—though unspoken for now—has already turned its gaze toward them.
The shadows watch.
The threads tighten.
And Nathaniel Cross takes his next step into the growing storm, unaware that destiny itself has already chosen its battlefield.
10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuDIV14WyUk
and then Add to home screen.