"SO you have a dead body in your house?"

Leon nearly stopped short at how shocked he was, sputtering a little as he turned to me with a twitching smile and generously lifted eyebrows. Then did I realised he wasn't wearing his short, square glasses.

His face looked like it debated whether to laugh or sputter further.

Still staring quite ahead, I shrugged at his piercing gaze, my eyes devouring the Victorian decor instead of him. But I couldn't focus. Because right now, my childhood fantasy of seeing Castle Morning Star and all its secrets was diminished by sure-footed officers, and really the most interesting specimen in the entire bloody castle was the one walking beside me.

Or possibly, the apparent dead body in the library.

I still wasn't sure yet.

He cleared his throat.

I sighed. "Sorry, but I really don't know what else to say, and I rather feel like simple talks about the weather wouldn't cut it. Neither it is my strong suit."

He laughed lowly at my side-eye. "I guess that's mine instead of getting to the point."

"You do like toying a little," I admitted. Then turned to him in earnest. "What am I doing here, Leon? And please be honest. I feel like my soul's astral projected out of my body."

His twitching smile. "Is that a bad thing?"

I shrugged again. I'm not sure myself. I feel like I'm having an attack. Or attack is already happening. It feels like it's panic, but it can also be excitement. Panic and excitement are ridding most of my brain functions of use.

He sighed, loosening his smile a little. "Well, as you've stated, I have run into a bit of a funny story."

"A dead body?" I pressed. He nodded.

"I don't know who she is, where she came from, or why she's there but she's there, inside my library, sitting on my chair like it belongs to her. I found her myself, then called the authorities. You could say she belongs to this house." His eyes roved across the dark red walls and alabaster figures. The antiques are quite nicely put in designated areas to shine by themselves, because though the place looked overwhelming, it certainly wasn't because it was full of things; hardly. It was the atmosphere around it. The dark wallpaper, the sparse, dim lighting.

Leon shrugged. "She fits the creepy atmosphere like she has always been part of the house. Which is ironic, because Morning Star is literally another name for Lucifer. In Greco-Roman civilisation, the name was personified and considered a god, and in some versions was considered a son of Aurora, the dawn. But that's the planetary aspect. In its morning right, Lucifer. The Light Bringer."

All those facts made me blink, nearly losing my grip on the conversation as we shrugged on like this was usual. Instead, I shook my head and remembered the first question that popped into my head. "I thought this was yours?"

He shook his head. "Dramatic as I am, even I wouldn't have bought an estate that had Morning Star on the name. No, it's my grandfather's - my mother's doing really. She wanted a castle to restore to its former glory. A result of a cancophy of pearl and diamonds encrusted friends surrounding a table, I heard. And then she wanted one from a small town with a mass of land, but grandfather didn't want to get one in France because it'd be useless - she already has apartments there already, in Paris. So welcome Little Hodge, Castle Morning Star, you won the bid! A bit of irony there, isn't it? But I guess the bloody walls are part of the theme. She's bought it for sometime now, but it's my first time residing in it. Or anyone in my family for the matter."

He gave me another one of his smiles.

When I couldn't respond, absorbing all of that, he tilted his head, his smile morphing into one of tease. "Do you honestly think I could own a castle?"

I blushed. "Well I don't know!" Then lowered my voice and firmly planted my hands beside myself after a few officers, gloved and in what seemed like clear suits, turned at the volumed exasperation. In a further lowered tone, "Honestly, the past thirty minutes have been so extraordinarily bonkers lately, like the fact that the guy I've been serving cheap ice cream just might own a bloody castle, isn't really so far off to think? And I really don't think that's the focal point of this conversation, sir."

I huffed after such a speech, bright red and bristled and realising a little later toward my tirade that maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't have done that. But Leon smiled as if he motioned 'point taken' and motioned for us to walk again. I pursed my lips, but trudged on. I've no idea just how many hallways he has already steered me in, but I stuck closer to once I started really noticing the macabre interior; from the dark palettes of the paintings, to the pained statues; the people were also lessening from a crowd to just us walking through.

My eyes flickered more intently to the adornments and immediately regretted it.

Statues that look like they're being tortured- check. Paintings depicting murder and more torture- double check.

"We don't own those by the way," he said after following my gaze. His hands were clasped behind his back like a casual 1800s professor or a schoolboy. "Well, not originally. It was left from the previous owners, and my mother, though horrified, felt their authenticity really bring out the name of the place. Though period wise, most of the items are still quite blurry-"

"Are we really going to talk about the disturbing portraits or will you tell me now why you made that puzzle for me and led me here?"

He stared at me again and sighed.

"It was a challenge," he murmured, running fingers through his hair, flickering the ends. "A chance to prove yourself."

I frowned. "Prove myself for what?"

His face held something serious for once, a truly somber expression. "If you were the one who could acquit me of murder."

I nearly stopped.

"Did you murder the woman in your library?"

"No," he said with a wince. "But no one will believe me."

"Why?"

"Well," he hesitated, then stopped, nodding his head at the double doors carved from a shiny mahogany, matching the wooden arch above it that was filled with snickering gargoyles so well crafted they were almost lifelike in their slit gazes. The doors were swung open like a yawning mouth with more officers inside, and finally, the muted sound of murmur, camera clicks, and shuffles of people.

"Will you help me?"

"That's the second time you've asked me." I stepped over the threshold with squared shoulders, heart pounding, voice levelled. "Why do you think I'm still here?"

In a crime scene teeming with officers walking and murmuring and clicking and scratching pens on paper, you really don't notice the body straight away. You get busy first with this fascinating little routine of workers who know exactly what they're doing.

But when you do find the source of the work, you really couldn't look at anything else.

I spotted the walls and walls of books first; messy ones topped each other in corners as if someone had specifically told them to leave the books there. A nice fireplace also adorned with wood-carvings of gargoyles (which I was sensing as a theme for the library), with a portrait of somebody with a villainous moustache looming over it, and a skull, clean and old, and otherwise attached to any body, holding court just off the side of the mantel.

That did not terrify me as much as what was directly under it.

When I did, I took horrific steps back, stomach lurched, and turned quickly, showing my back against it.

But then I swivelled back when I realised I could be in danger of getting killed by it, then realised my silliness, looked every way but its clear trajectory.

Then I just froze, unable to do anything, wits gone. My heart was clogging my throat and my curious eyes couldn't help it, took another peek, I actually gagged.

I clamped my mouth. "Jesus Christ."

"Wouldn't blame you if you hurled." I turned, eyes wide with fright, at the Commissioner. Big boned and big in expanse to one's vision. He looked exactly as my stomach felt; grim.

"One already did and God knows she's probably seen something proper worse. Two good old Christians came in, saw her-" He flicked a thumb and I shuddered. "- did exactly that! Left the room muttering their prayers. All in all, I've had about nine good chaps scared stiff of it, Officer Pritchard one of 'em says it's holy unnatural and refused to work his job and offered to do meaningless shit outside like they were bleeding important. So I don't blame you at all. She gives me the good cold frights too. Gonna have nightmares for weeks!"

I winced every time the body was mentioned like it was actually still alive. Because clearly, terrifyingly, she looked like she was still awake herself. Ready to spring and chat with us lovely, heart-beating folks.

Leon entered with less grandeur, hands still clasped behind his back, eyeing me warily. His smile was more of a grimace this time; half apologetic.

"I see you've met her. She isn't dull is she?"

"Dull? She looks alive!"

Because she did.

She bloody does!

I braved an inhale and stifled my fear, stared- glared, at the body across from me.

As if it would stop her from rising.

The woman in the library was dead, her complexion atoned to that, sat in the lone chair in front of a sure, proper desk; mahogany as well, dark and polished. I understood what Leon meant when he said she belonged there. Like she was part of the decor.

She wore a silk red dress, sleeveless, so showed her great bluish tinted skin. She was on the heavy side, softened chin, big arms, and was sat on the Queen Anne chair like she had always sat on it, regaled tales, fixed taxes and debts on it. Like she was always part of the castle's addition.

A fox woman from her time.

Though she couldn't have been more than thirty odd-ish to forty.

Her hair, corn blonde, was brushed to one side, styled in a wave. Her makeup was composed of thick foundation, red rogue, and flicked eyeliner.

But what was the most disturbing thing of all of that was that her eyes were open, lifeless and wide, the colour of her iris the same as her skin.

And she was smiling.

An in between smile of Mona Lisa and the bloody Joker. Quaint, manic, and imploring.

Nothing like Leon wore.

And she was staring straight ahead. At me.

She smiled like she knew my secret, and with a proper empty gaze, smiled wide like a child; cheeks painfully twisted upward, almost holy unnaturally like someone had punctured two fingers and pushed her skin up, and mouth in a very Tim Burton curve. Flat but bent.

I swiftly turned my gaze anywhere but her once I felt my stomach churn again, clutching my ice cream shirt uniform to settle it and keep my bearings because yes. Yes. I part time as an ice cream shop employee because I need a job, and I've only worn a jacket over my uniform, shoved on my boots, and thought. 'Extraordinary things only need a good jacket and boots.'

I should've... I should've brought a waste basket.

Or Jesus.

"Her smile really just gives your gut a proper kick, doesn't it?" The Commissioner cocked his head, almost thoughtfully, eyes past me but to her.

I nodded, mouth pressed. There were other phrases I could use that would work, but most of them were gibberish screams and violent shudders.

I turned to Leon. He hadn't stop staring at me. "Did you think,"I started in a low tone like she would hear me and rise. "That I could identify her for you? Because she isn't from here. And I live here. I would-"

I glanced at her again, swallowing my bile, but held firm in my scrutiny. Focus, Wendy. I looked past the glamour that was meant to terrify, but didn't get a lot. Middle aged, blonde, blue-eyed(?), on the heavy side. Motherhood perhaps? Nothing distinct about the features.

Though the sultry dress and makeup did say a lot more.

"-I would know," I finished, eyes on him. "She looks like my step-mum's age and she knows everybody. I would've seen her once or twice. She invites people to parties a lot. Even those she really doesn't get along with, and Little Hodge has always been a small town. Her face doesn't ring any bells at all."

The Commissioner nodded. "We're looking into it, Miss- ?"

I straightened. "Wendy Cain. Glendale street, er, from around here."

"Thank you, miss. Well, Leon?"

Leon didn't turn away from his study of my face, only inclined his head when he heard his name. "Hm?"

"I'll better get on. This is still Inspector Brackham's case. I know you'll... you'll solve it, my friend." He sighed, reaching over to clasp a hand on Leon's shoulder that finally moved his attention. "But I want you to tread this carefully. All eyes are on you this time, and it won't be pretty. But I know the truth will still come out." He smiled; a friendly, almost fatherly one. "It's still the first day and all, but keep an eye out for the others. You know you haven't got a lot of fans in the force.

Though Leon's smile looked genuine, it didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you for coming down, Commissioner."

"Not a worry at all. If you ask me, she looks like one of your fan club, eh?" Leon winced. Properly, like he'd been stung. But the Commissioner didn't notice, already moving to the door. "We've got to look at all angles, yes? And it's too theatrical. Even for you." He winked then and I almost made a face. That wasn't tasteful. "Well, I better go. The missus had a heart attack when she got a call last night, er, early morning. Better make sure she hasn't thrown out my things yet."

He tilted his head at me. "Miss Cain." Then with a sweep of his black overcoat, walked out in sure footsteps.

Leon visibly exhaled.

I wanted to reassure him that things will work, and that Commissioner's joke wasn't funny at all, but he beat me to the punch with a question that stopped me cold.

"How'd you figure she was from London?"

"What?"

He stared at me intently, mouth flat.

"You know something. I saw it in your eyes. And London. How did you figure out she was from London, Wendy?"