364 Red House
The door to the grayish-white old house creaked open, needing no key to grant access.
Inside, chaos reigned, with assorted items strewn about, as if someone had burglarized the place.
Valentine surveyed the disarray and remarked, “Someone’s made off with valuable items from here.”
His gaze fell upon the open and empty doors to the first-floor rooms, evidence of heavy boxes that once occupied the space.
“We’re too late. The entrustee’s companion must have sensed trouble and moved out,” Imre lamented.
The Purifiers fanned out, scouring the cramped area for clues.
Before long, Angoulême discovered a handful of white papers scattered near the stairwell’s edge. He carefully examined them in the sunlight.
Taking a pencil from his pocket, he began to gently shade one of the papers.
Gradually, faint marks emerged, forming a few legible words: “Albert Goncourt… Underground… Riot… Time…”
“Albert Goncourt…” Imre glanced at the paper in the deacon’s hand and couldn’t help but frown.
Albert Goncourt had been the mastermind behind the Trier uprising six years ago, a leader of the Carbonari—a prominent anti-government militant faction.
Angoulême remained silent, urging his team to press on with their investigation.
After thoroughly searching both the first and second floors, they descended into the cellar.
At the far end stood a black iron door, its brass lock gleaming in the dim light.
Angoulême patted the grayish-white humanoid machine by his side and inserted the brass key he had obtained from Celia Bello into its palm.
Immediately after, Angoulême adjusted a few knobs on the mechanical contraption.
From the high-energy pyrokinetic backpack on the robot’s back, a billowing white mist erupted. Steadily, it pushed the rigid machine forward, guiding the brass key into the lock at the correct height.
Watching this spectacle, Imre couldn’t help but sigh, “Deacon, among the Inquisition—no, the entire Church—you’re truly the most fond of mechanical creations.”
Angoulême glanced at his usually laid-back subordinate and replied, “I don’t discriminate, whether it’s a product of the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery or not. I only care about its utility.
“When a robot malfunctions, we can fix or replace it. If a person breaks down, I’ll be dealing with compensation claims and grieving friends and families.”
The Purifiers recognized the deacon’s protective tone and turned their attention to the grayish-white humanoid machine with a smile.
Currently, it could only be used to move things and hammer nails. It could barely walk and run. It couldn’t do any intricate or brain-intensive operations, and it didn’t last long enough. Otherwise, it would have saved them a lot of trouble.
With a mechanical click, the robot turned the brass key, and the heavy iron door swung open.
A thin fog billowed from within, distorting the door and revealing ethereal faces, etched in the mist, contorted with hatred and pain.
The faces were formed by white fog, filled with hatred and pain.
They clawed and cursed at the mechanical creation opening the door, but it remained impassive.
Rays of brilliant sunlight descended one after another, swiftly clearing the fog behind the black iron door.
As the fog dissipated, Valentine and the others saw what was there.
It was a small altar, made of grayish-black stones, rising only halfway up.
Angoulême, after repeated confirmations that the area was safe, guided the robot inside.
He observed a shallow, narrow groove on top of the grayish-black altar, suggesting that something had once been embedded there but was now gone.
“A ring?” Angoulême mused in a hushed tone.
…
In the market district, at 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches, at the entrance of Apartment 601.
Franca sported an exquisite shirt adorned with lace flowers at the collar and cuffs, paired with her beloved beige breeches under the sunlight. Her slippers completed the ensemble as she gazed at Lumian. Franca questioned, “Why are you here again?”
Not wasting any time for his response, she raised her hand and quipped, “If you transform into Muggle, you’re more than welcome!”
Lumian pushed his way into the room and scanned his surroundings.
“I need to discuss something with you.”
“What’s the matter now?” Franca, visibly apprehensive, inquired, “Can’t you wait patiently for the gathering next week?”
Lumian chuckled.
“How about a trip to Trocadéro, specifically the Red House Café?”
“The Red House Café known for hosting women’s orgies?” Franca asked in surprise.
Oh, you remembered it immediately. You must have been thinking about it a lot, right? Lumian replied with a smile, “Yes.”
Franca shook her head.
“Forget it, forget it. Fantasizing about it is enough. No need to actually go. It would be too indulgent. I must maintain control, resist desires, and avoid complete indulgence.”
Then, she scrutinized Lumian and remarked critically, “Don’t tell me you intend to use Lie and Transfiguration to disguise yourself as a woman and infiltrate the orgy for firsthand experience?”
Lumian mocked, “Did you truly think that through, leading you to believe I’d consider such a plan? This is a serious matter!”
He recounted the Rose School of Thought’s failure and his concerns.
“Someone from the Bliss Society mentioned that they’re in contact with members of the Moment Society and the Narcissus Society, who also participate in the Red House female orgies. They want to convert them into believers of the Mother Tree of Desire.
“If we follow this trail, we might uncover the core members of the Bliss Society, or at least eliminate Maipú Meyer and those who were aware of Susanna Mattise’s rough plan.”
Franca nodded slightly and said, “Moreover, we can’t entrust this to official Beyonders. If they extract any information, your cover could be blown.”
With a resolute expression, she declared, “Since it’s a serious matter, we have to be there.”
Then, with enthusiasm, she asked, “When are you planning to go? Do you know the party’s time and the conditions for an invitation?”
“That’s today’s objective. Visit the Red House Café, enjoy coffee for an hour or two while subtly displaying your feminine charm. See if you attract the attention of potential contacts among the homosexuals or identify any women who might be orgy participants. Initiate conversations and establish connections to gather further intelligence.” Lumian understood the importance of a methodical approach, especially in delicate situations like this one.
Franca nodded heavily.
“No problem.”
Lumian produced Lie, in the shape of a silver necklace, and handed it to Franca.
“Use this to alter your hair, eyes, and facial features. You can’t appear in your true form. What if Maipú Meyer is lurking? He’d recognize you as the current boss of Théâtre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons in an instant!”
As soon as Franca finished donning Lie, she said eagerly, “Let’s go now!”
Lumian’s lips curled up.
“I forgot to mention that this mystical item amplifies the wearer’s emotions.”
“Uh…” Franca was taken aback. “No wonder I’ve been feeling so anxious!”
Lumian added with a smile, “Emotions that weren’t there before won’t be amplified.”
“…”Franca, clenching her teeth, retorted, “Well, my desire to punch you has definitely been amplified.”
Lumian ceased his mockery and began to earnestly explain the functions and precautions of Lie.
Franca walked to the full-body mirror and observed her hair rapidly turning black, her pupils turning dark brown, her skin becoming more delicate, and her lines softer.
Compared to her flamboyant beauty, she now appeared more composed and mature. Her facial features leaned towards elegance, giving her an indescribable charm.
Gazing at her altered reflection in the mirror, Franca remained silent for a prolonged moment.
“It doesn’t resemble your true appearance, but it’s still beautiful and charming,” Lumian complimented objectively.
He wanted to say that she had the charm of a Demoness, but he chose not to agitate Franca.
Franca snapped out of her daze and silently changed into non-red boots before walking towards the door.
Upon entering the corridor, she snapped out of her daze and glanced at Lumian beside her.
“If you’re giving me Lie, how do you plan to disguise yourself as a woman? Are you relying on the transformation illusion?”
Lumian replied with a hint of amusement, “Who says I’m masquerading as a woman?”
He led Franca to a new safe house on Rue du Rossignol, retrieved a brownish-yellow ritualistic dog skin, and wrapped it around himself.
Then, he recited an incantation in Hermes.
“Dog!”
A dark light suddenly surged from the ritualistic dog skin, enveloping Lumian completely.
In an instant, a large dog with brownish-yellow fur appeared in the room.
Franca, with her black hair and brown eyes, was taken aback.
She finally understood Lumian’s plan for monitoring the situation at the Red House Café.
After a moment of curiosity, Franca asked, “What does it feel like to become a big dog? Are you sure you don’t feel burdened?”
The brownish-yellow-furred dog rolled its eyes at Franca and opened its mouth. “Woof!”
Are you stupid? Do you think dogs can speak and answer your questions?
Franca clicked her tongue and, with Lumian in brownish-yellow dog form, hired a rental carriage to head to Trocadéro Town, west of Lavigny Docks.
Along the way, Lumian had the urge to bite her several times. From time to time, she would curiously stroked his dog fur, stomach, and head, hoping to find something distinct from a real dog.
After more than an hour, the carriage arrived outside Trocadéro.
Franca paid the fare of 2 verl d’or, and Lumian, in his dog guise, hopped out, behaving as if he had no connection to her. He began to scout the streets for the Red House Café, which emitted a distinctive aroma of fermented grapes.
Soon, he located the establishment near East Lognes Forest.
While the entire building wasn’t red, it sported a magnificent mushroom-shaped red roof. The main structure was beige, adorned with bold graffiti on the walls.
Lumian settled near the café’s entrance, lying down quietly, and watched as Franca, transformed into a black-haired beauty, entered the establishment.