Bailonz Street 13

Chapter 201. The Gathering (1)

Some things never change with time. The distance between Jonathan and Liam was one of them. Jonathan gritted his teeth, glaring at Liam who stuck to my side like glue.

“Mr. William Moore.”

“Ah, young Osmond. Good to see you looking healthy!”

Liam beamed. A face anyone would find irritating.

Why does he have to make things worse when they could pass quietly? Must be a personality issue.

I stared blankly at Liam before sighing heavily and trudging over to slump on the sofa. Thanks to the electric heating pad on it, my bottom was wonderfully warm. This old man’s really enjoying 21st century comforts.

Germain sat on the opposite sofa. I gestured to Ian. Better leave those fools to their antics and focus on why we came here. Right, the gathering of these Brothers of Huntington or monks or whatever they are.

Germain naturally turned on a tablet PC and showed me the screen. A presentation was neatly completed. When I asked in surprise if he could make things like this, he grinned and replied.

By then, Liam and Jonathan had finished their battle of nerves and taken their seats. I naturally leaned against Liam’s shoulder while checking the materials Germain handed over.

The Brothers of Huntington mainly gathered in Westminster, where they’d converted a luxury house into a religious meeting place. Entry required an invitation, and true to their name as the Brothers of Huntington, they only accepted male members.

“There are no female members?”

“None. They claim to welcome all genders on the surface, but there’s not a single woman. Their logic is they strictly select only those who hold positions in society. Their ultimate goal is eternal wealth in exchange for giving them youth.”

“Wow, more old-fashioned than the 19th century.”

Germain twisted his lips in a smile at my muttering.

Come to think of it, weren’t Germain and Liam exactly what these deranged cultists ultimately wanted – immortality? Living while maintaining their youth as if time had stopped. I had a strong intuition that these cultists must never discover this fact. They’d be immediately dragged off and sacrificed or used as something like cult leaders. Germain might secure the leadership position with his unique way with words, but Liam…

Anyway, we had two invitations. One for Germain, and one for his companion. Liam insisted that should be me. When asked why, he answered cheerfully.

“I can infiltrate or disguise myself, but Jane, you’re rather noticeable.”

Jonathan agreed with that too. Me infiltrating would be like advertising our presence. Honestly, Liam would stand out too, but he must have his ways. To me looking doubtful, Liam said he’d travel in the car trunk.

“Aunt, what about your hair?”

Ian looked at me anxiously. Since it’s a ‘gathering,’ he must be worried about me, looking far from capable of violence, going to such a place. I shrugged.

“Hmm. I’ll wear a wig.”

“Your Adam’s apple?”

“We can fake that well enough.”

Apply liquid latex and pat foundation over it to create a similar shape. Plus it’s winter, so clothes covering the neck won’t look strange.

Liam seemed genuinely excited about this stimulation – meeting cultists – after so long. Ian seemed to be the only one worried about what lay ahead.

Of course, I felt some foreboding too. Not fear about what might happen at the gathering. It was the nightmare from ‘Old Paradise’ unconsciously surfacing.

Surely not, surely my hair would be safe this time.

It had to be.

* * *

A black car cut across the street and headed straight for the mansion’s main gate.

The mansion in Westminster looked like it had fifty rooms even at a glance from outside. While such mansions weren’t rare in central London, I was still honestly surprised. Did people really want to stay and live here in such numbers, for so long? Thinking about how these mad cultists and money extracted from others were plastered all over this expensive, luxurious mansion gave me an unsettling feeling, like entering a snake’s maw.

Was Liam holding up well hidden in the car trunk? I hope he’s enjoying the situation. When else would he get to experience being delivered in someone else’s car trunk?

Just then, Liam spoke up.

“I’ll say it again – we’re not trying to root them out this time. Our goal is just to get their ledgers and member information and get out.”

“Right, too many people to cause trouble. It would be problematic if we got caught.”

I nodded in agreement.

My concept today, with black hair hidden under a wig, was ‘young Asian wealthy person.’ To create an appearance the Brothers of Huntington would find worthy of accepting, I wore a slightly loose suit with a thin sweater layered underneath to complement the figure.

Germain and I got out of the car, leaving the key in. So Liam could recline the back seat and get out. He’d probably start moving when no one was looking around. I hadn’t heard anything about how he planned to disguise himself.

Jonathan and Ian would wait outside. With cultists likely to target Ian after Mr. Thomas, we needed at least one capable person to protect him. In that sense, Jonathan was an excellent guard. How many people could that Germain trust with his personal safety?

People wearing polite smiles welcomed Germain and me, handing us each a crystal glass with a narrow mouth. Looking around, everyone who’d entered was holding glasses. Welcome drinks, probably.

However, given the place, we’d made the following plan before heading here:

Never eat anything they give us.

Plus, I had that heart-stopping experience of naively accepting a dinner invitation only to be drugged with opium tincture.

‘Just try to make me put anything you give me in my mouth.’

So we came fully prepared.

Thanks to sponges held inside our cheeks, Germain and I could naturally pretend to drink what appeared to be wine. Only after confirming we each took a sip did people step aside.

Entering the mansion, there was a strange fishy smell. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. How to describe it – like dredging up sewage from a swamp that had been rotting for years. Mixed with fish and dead deer…

I struggled to hold back my face from instinctively grimacing at the unpleasant stench. Germain calmly pretended to take another sip while looking at me. His steel-blue eyes flicked towards where people were moving. Suggesting we go that way.

“Come to think of it, I’ve seen some of these people frequently while doing business.”

Germain whispered softly.

“In finance. Big players.”

I could see elderly men who looked like they wouldn’t last until tomorrow, and young people attending them. Probably family or distant relatives. Cults always start by recruiting family first.

“London’s gone to the dogs.”

When I muttered this while pressing the glass firmly to my lips, Germain grinned.

We saw massive doors. They opened both ways like an auditorium, finished with sound-absorbing material you’d see in concert halls.

Passing through, a dim interior greeted us. Subtle crimson lighting indirectly lit the space, with bright lights concentrated only on the central platform to draw attention to whoever stood there. People in black clothes bustled around. Not sure why they set such an atmosphere, but thanks to it, people’s gazes grew sparse.

We could find our seats at round tables with name cards standing in rows. We found ours by the card reading ‘Pierre Germain.’

People took their seats one by one. As Germain and I sat down, we used the darkness to remove the sponges from our mouths. We’d just thrown the damp sponges under the tablecloth when a staff member passing by set water glasses in front of us.

Then silver-lidded plates were placed before everyone. There was a note on the plate in front of me. Germain naturally leaned closer to me, covering my hand. Trying not to move my hand too obviously, I opened the note. The blonde man who’d handed me the note had already left through the door.

A familiar handwriting appeared – the strong writing style I’d first seen when starting the ‘game.’ Ink drops were splattered as if hastily scrawled. The message read:

[Wine, sleeping drug, today’s meeting, sacrifice, trap]