"He threw himself right in front of the horses!" an old woman shrieked, her voice thin and piercing.
"Looks like the old fool finally succeeded in checking out," a man muttered, leaning in to get a better look at the carnage.
A crowd had already swarmed the spot, a circle of morbid onlookers gathered around the remains of Albert.
Lou stood at the edge of the circle, chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to break skin.
Shit. Shit! It happened. Exactly like the letter. Exactly like the spoiler I saw this morning.
He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white, staring at the ruin on the cobblestones.
It was a scene straight out of a low-budget horror flick, only the smell was real.There wasn't much left of Albert's head. His brains were a gray-red smear across the dark stone, and a single, cracked lens from his glasses lay next to...
Is that an eye?
Lou looked away, his stomach doing a slow, sick roll. The driver hadn't fared much better either, he was crumpled in a heap on the side of the road, unnervingly still.
I couldn't stop it. I mean... I could have.
Then, a dark, hysterical laugh bubbled up in his mind.
Stopped it how? By giving him a speech? By tying him to a chair like a kidnapper? Come on, Lou, don't be a cliché. This was the script. You can't edit Fate when it's already been published.
But another thought, colder and sharper, pierced through the guilt.
What if it wasn't meant to happen? What if the vision wasn't a warning, but a challenge?
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, startling him so badly he nearly jumped out of his skin. It was the man with the mustache, the "Cleanly Dressed" aristocrat.
"You dropped your fabric, lad," the man said softly, extending his hand. In it was the ragged strip of shirt Lou had used to hide his neck.
Panic flared in Lou's gut. He instinctively clutched at his throat, feeling the raw, raised welt of the rope mark. He snatched the cloth and wound it back around his neck with trembling fingers, tucking it tight.
With everyone's eyes glued to the mess on the road, it seemed his secret was safe from the crowd. But the man's eyes weren't looking at the accident but directly at the scarf. He knew.
"Thank you, Sir," Lou said, offering a stiff, awkward bow.
"Seems like you couldn't stop him in the end," the man remarked, his voice unreadable.
"I... I wasn't fast enough. I didn't make it in time."
"It was a worthy effort, nonetheless," the man said, patting Lou's shoulder with a grip that felt surprisingly strong.
What is this guy's deal? Lou wondered. He saw the Lady in White. He knew she was there.
"I know you have a thousand questions, lad," the man said, as if reading Lou's internal monologue. "But I would prefer we postpone the interrogation until this whole business is settled."
"Settled? Who even are you? What do you mea—"
Lou's voice died in his throat. His vision flickered, that glitch sensation returning for a split second.
On the dark cobblestones, leading away from the pool of Albert's blood, were glowing, silver-like footprints.
They were ethereal, shimmering with a ghostly light that no one else seemed to notice. Lou didn't need to be a genius to realize who they belonged to. The Lady in White had left a trail.
"What are you looking at, lad?" the man asked, his voice low, cutting through the background noise of the sobbing crowd.
Lou didn't answer.
His eyes were locked on that shimmering, silver trail, ethereal footprints that bled through the grime of the street, snaking away and disappearing into the shadows of the leaning tenements.
The man gripped his shoulder, giving him a firm shake. "What do you see? Tell me what you see."
Lou hesitated.
Should I really be spilling my guts to a guy who looks like a high-end suspect?
But then again, the man had seen the Lady in White. He was the only one in this entire screaming city who wasn't blind to the supernatural glitch that just murdered Albert.
"Footprints," Lou finally muttered.
The man paused, a slow smile spreading beneath his slick mustache. "A Seer, huh? Interesting."
"A what?"
"Tell you what, kid. That 'Lady' who just beckoned the old man to his grave? She left those footprints you're seeing," the man said, leaning in closer.
"So she was... a ghost"
The man stroked his mustache, his eyes dark. "A Death Spirit."
Lou felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening breeze.
A Death Spirit. Great. I didn't just transmigrate into a historical drama, I'm in a full-blown horror quest.
"We have to find it," the man said firmly.
Find a Death Spirit? Is this guy suicidal, or just insane? Lou's mind raced. "Who's 'we'?"
"'We' is you and me," the man countered. "See, I can spot the bloody woman when she's standing still, but I can't track her. I don't have the Sight for the trail. You do."
Lou stared at him.
This guy knows too much. He probably knows about the visions, the nightmares. Hell, maybe even the 'Blind Star.' He's probably a walking encyclopedia of the mess I'm in. If I want to survive this era without accidentally hanging myself for real, this guy is my best shot at an instruction manual. But can I trust him?
This is a massive pain in the ass. If I follow him, he could kidnap me, sell my organs, or feed me to that pale woman. But if I don't... I'm just a baker waiting for the next vision to kill me.
"So you want me to be your bloodhound?" Lou asked, his voice flat. "Leading you wherever those footprints go?"
"That is precisely what I'm proposing."
Lou made a show of "thinking it over," letting the silence stretch. He knew exactly what he was going to say, but he didn't want to look desperate. "I decline."
There wasn't a hint of surprise in the man's eyes. He just reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy purse.
He fished out a handful of copper and silver. "How do you feel about making a hundred pence just for a little stroll through the city?"
Perfect. Better he thinks I'm a greedy kid than a confused transmigrator.
"Fine. I'll help you," Lou said, eyes fixed on the coins. "But I want the pay upfront. Half now, half when we find her."
"Business-minded. I like that. Very productive," the man smiled, dropping the coins into Lou's hand.
He extended a gloved hand, his grip firm. "The name's William."
Lou took it, the weight of the silver in his pocket feeling like a down payment on his own survival. "Klaus."
"The footprints lead that way," Lou said, pointing a finger toward the narrow, shadow-drenched alley where the silver shimmer vanished behind a row of leaning brick buildings.
"In that case, we'd better get my horse," William replied, his voice dropping into a professional clip.
"A horse?" Lou blinked.
Is he serious? We're in the middle of a cramped city, not the open plains.
"The trail might look like it ends around the corner, lad, but trust me....these things can lead you halfway across the Empire before they settle. We'll need the speed."
Lou gave a stiff nod and fell in line behind him. As they moved, he stole one last glance back at the bakery.
Rachel was there, her face pale and drawn, talking frantically to a pair of City Watchmen who had just arrived to deal with the mangled remains of Albert.
A pang of guilt twisted in his chest, but he pushed it down. He couldn't go back. He couldn't tell her he was going on a ghost hunt with a man he'd met ten minutes ago.
This isn't her story. It's mine. I'm the one stuck in this body, and I'm the one who needs to find out what kind of maze I'm stuck in.
He looked at the man walking beside him. William moved with a certain predatory grace that didn't match his expensive waistcoat.
"Hey, William," Lou said, his modern curiosity finally winning out. "What exactly are you? You're not just some aristocrat with a thirst for bakery water."
William didn't slow down. He just adjusted his baker boy cap and gave a sharp, toothy grin.
"I'm a Spirit Hunter," he said.