March 24th, 2023

Arya's POV:

Less than a measly hour later –most of which was spent in transit, might I add– we had tracked down Mr. Williamson's rather large, cushy office and were busy digging –politely– through his filing cabinets.

"You'd think a guy so esteemed by Scotland Yard would have a secretary to keep track of all this shit," I said, pulling out another novel-thick folder whose spine was wearing thin from the amount of papers stuffed inside. Its tab said it was about the forensics found at the crime scene, and I sprawled back into Mr. Williamson's wheelie chair, kicking it backwards and then swiveling so I could spread this mess out over his desk without disarranging the order he'd put it in.

"The lady at the desk?" Rex asked, sitting crosslegged on the floor by the wall of shelves as he catalogued the sealed evidence boxes and their contents.

"Nah, she was, like, the building receptionist," I answered absently. "I mean someone to make sure he isn't losing his marbles."

"He seems pretty organized to me."

He did at that –while his folders tended to be on the top-heavy side, they were meticulously and neatly composed, sorted, and labeled. A lot of it was stuff we already knew, just in more detail, but at least this gave me the illusion we were helping. And you never knew –maybe we'd find something useful, or come up with a new insight.

"Like, too organized, though," I continued while still focusing most of my attention on the page I was reading. "How long would it take to put this all together, even if he is the guy they only call in for serial murder n' stuff like that? Dude's, like, a workaholic at best. He needs someone to make sure he sleeps and eats and leaves this bureaucratic little man-cave more than once in a blue moon."

"Should they also water him like a plant?" Rex muttered scathingly, and I snorted.

There was silence for a few moments, beyond the occasional rustle of papers and the click-clunk-creak of Rex unlatching boxes to check inside, or the rustle of carpet fibers as he shifted them to one side.

"So what do you think about this?" Rex asked at length, not turning away from his task. "I mean, your guesses are usually right, so…"

Wow, okay. No pressure, I thought with a slight twitch of my brow.

"Dunno," I answered reluctantly, glancing up from my files. "I mean, the fact that all of the victims are displayed in really prominent places and attention is deliberately drawn to them makes it pretty clear that whoever's killing them wants to send some kind of message."

"Like what? Art?"

I hummed uncertainly.

"It feels more… pointed than that. I mean, if we really stretched the point, the animal mutilations are kind of also symbolic of the person," I said, my face scrunching up in thought. "The first guy did a bunch of shady art deals, so –cat burglar? And then the detective was a snake… maybe something about him being a liar? And foxes are like the epitome of what a hunting club stands for, so there's Alysa Morley."

"Bad politicians sometimes pull their heads in like turtles," Rex mused aloud, an epiphany slowly kindling in his eyes. "And then the judge… um…"

I cocked my head as he trailed off and sighed.

"Do you not know that nursery rhyme?" I asked, and he blinked at me. "A wise old owl lived in an oak/The more he saw the less he spoke/The less he spoke the more he heard/Why can't we all be like that wise old bird?"

"…no," Rex said after a moment, flushing slightly. Then he looked down at the page in his hand. "Did you say the rhyme-owl lived in an oak?"

"Yeah?"

"Guess what kind of tree they found him in."

"I'm gonna go out on a totally pun-unintended limb here and say oak."

"Yyyyyyup."

"You know there are easier ways to steal someone's job, not to mention better jobs to steal," an accented voice broke in, somewhat pointedly, and we both jumped. Looking over, we saw Mr. Williamson standing in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at us.

"Uh," I said, realizing belatedly that going elbow-deep into his records without checking with him first and then him coming back to find us basically ransacking his office would look a trifle odd. "I swear we haven't messed with your organizational system."

"I should hope not," he said, removing his coat and hanging it on the hatstand by the door. "Though it does sound as though you've found an interesting train of thought."

"Eh, maybe," I shrugged, beginning to scoop papers back into the file I'd been reading. "How about you? Do we have our interviews lined up yet?"

"Turning my office upside-down didn't sate you for the day?" he asked, and we both flushed. "The two of you are a bit eager, aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah?" I huffed, a tad nettled. "On account of not wanting more people to die and all."

"Fair enough." He moved to help Rex put the shelves back to rights as my partner hurriedly scrambled to his feet. "On that note, why hasn't your partner team joined you?"

"Busy with the crime scenes," Rex said, moving at a double-quick pace with a hint of pink still lingering about his face, as though he could hide the fact he'd been going through them if he just shoved the boxes back fast enough. "We had to figure out how to get here on our own."

"Ah, they did mention that I'd neglected to put the office number in your folder. How'd you find your way around that, eh?"

"Grit, spit, and a whole lotta duct-tape," I answered on reflex, rising from the desk to go replace the folder. When I dusted my hands off and turned back, both of them were looking at me –Rex with the cornered plea in his eyes of oh Death I don't know how to explain around the Witch thing and Mr. Williamson with a hint of steel in his gaze that reminded me that yes, he caught killers for a living.

I gave them both my brightest smile and raised an eyebrow.

"What? The DWMA's resourceful –there's a reason you guys call us in for things like this," I said breezily. "Anyway, what's the news on talking to the club members?"

***Time Skip***

Apparently there were a few members of the club who deigned to talk to us on such short notice, and Mr. Williamson drove us to the club with before driving off to sort out his office with a strained reminder to stay at the hunting club until he or Kilik told us otherwise. There was a slightly manic spark in his eyes that made me wonder if he'd had an idea, but I shrugged it off as Rex and I mounted the steps.

I blinked at the uniformed wait staff inside, however, and paused in front of the glass doors. Rex looked at me askance.

"Arya-?"

"Hold up," I told him, peering at my reflection. I brushed down my coat, rearranged a few wild strands of hair, and then turned to him.

Rex blinked at me, then squeaked as I reached out to push in his red barrettes, adjusting his bangs and neatening up his general hairstyle. I tugged on his lapels as he jerked his arms away from his body, then pulled his skull-ornamented earmuffs off his neck and stuffed them in my jacket pocket.

"Gotta look professional," I told him, and we then stepped into the club, a bit spiffier than we had been a few moments ago. Taking my advice to heart even though he was still looking bewildered, Rex adjusted his tie, trying to smooth it a little neater over his chest.

"The investigators for the DWMA?" I said aloud, catching the eye of the nearest staff member, who quickly ushered us through some rather posh hallways before we fetched up inside a luxurious little conference room –though it was currently unoccupied.

"Your first interviewees will be with you momentarily," our guide said. "Please feel free to make use of the pen and paper."

They bowed themselves out with a short dip of their chin, and Rex took advantage of the momentary isolation to give me a sideways glance.

"Why are we trying to look nicer?" he asked, and I rolled my eyes as I unwound my scarf and left it folded on the seat of one of the chairs at the table.

"These guys place a lot of importance on proper dress, and we're trying to look professional," I said, and he made a face.

"They're probably not that old-fashioned," he said.

…right. My last experience with the British had been in Victorian England.

Eh, looking nice and polished couldn't hurt.

Any further commentary between us was stymied by the entrance of a comfortably middle-aged man, all bluff smiles and tweeds. He took a seat at the long oval table kitty-corner to where we were standing, folding his hands expectantly on the polished surface, and after a glance, Rex and I took our seats across from him.

"Right," I said, clicking a pen and dragging the nearest monogrammed notepad over to me. "Name?"

"Rigby Horace."

"What do you know about either Elwood Ethan or Alysa Morley?"

Here he blinked, and one eyebrow inched upwards subtly.

"Forgive me, but should you not be more concerned about the crime itself…? Where was I when the body was found, what I know about the trophy room, and so on."

"Scotland Yard has already compiled plenty of evidence about forensics," Rex said, removing his hat with a quick glance in my direction before he laid it on the table. "With respect, they're not much closer to catching the murderer than when they started. We need to know about the people involved."

The man's rather stereotypical mustache twitched.

"Yes, I suppose Mr. Williamson does have the home court advantage on you there, to borrow an Americanism," he chuckled. "Ah, well, what's to say? I knew Elwood a very little, as he was not one of the more active members. I believe he used his time here as a way to unwind from the stresses of his job; get out into the great outdoors, reconnect with Nature, that old song and dance. Alysa Morley was a bit more, hmm, active among my set."

My eyebrows slowly rose. That tone implied some very interesting and hitherto unexplored things.

"Was she involved with anyone?" I asked, making a note of it, and his teeth gleamed white beneath his mustache.

"Why, she was involved with everyone," he said, giving us a hearty wink. "Harmless as a butterfly, but nearly as flighty, poor old girl. Still, I've never heard of anyone wishing wrong on her."

I twitched slightly as Rex's shoe poked my ankle, and he leaned in close over my shoulder.

"What context am I missing here?" he whispered.

"I'll tell you later!" I hissed back in a quick undertone, before raising my voice. "Can you give us a list, maybe? It might help us narrow down a suspect."

"Mr. Williamson's already got it, hasn't he?"

"Ah, right." If he did, he hadn't mentioned it yet –but then again, there were a massive amount of files for this case, as I knew very well, having just finished rifling through some of them. Honestly, I was kind of impressed he'd managed to keep it all even a little bit straight. "Well, I guess that's all we can learn for now…"

"You talk about Mr. Williamson like you know him?" Rex half-interrupted, squinting and frowning a little.

"He's familiar with most of the club," the man replied, waving an airy hand. "Privileges of being a consultant, I suppose –they send him in often enough for the high-profile crimes that we get to know each other."

We exchanged glances.

"Did he know Alysa Morley?" I asked after a moment, and he gave another hearty chuckle as he stood.

"Not as well as he wanted to, but that's true of most of us, eh, what?" he asked as a parting shot, sauntering his breezy way out the door.

Rex looked at me as it clicked shut, and wordlessly pointed at the paneled oak.

"Explain the subtext you two were exchanging, please."

"The Brits I know –knew– tend to talk around certain things rather than say them outright," I said. "If I'm correctly picking up what he was putting down, he was telling us that Alysa flirted with a lot of people in the club, but never really committed to any relationships. According to him, she was never serious enough for anyone to get pissed about her rejecting them, but…"

"Considering she showed up murdered, obviously somebody was mad," Rex finished. "I wonder why Mr. Williamson didn't put that in our report?"

"Might not have figured it out by the time he sent the files," I said with a shrug. "Or maybe it was him doing the murdering and he's trying to, like, control the investigation from the inside and whatnot by subtly leaving out information."

"If he was trying to do that, then the information we keep finding wouldn't match up," Rex said, rolling his eyes. "Bring sparse on details does not make someone a murderer."

"Hey, you're the one who brought up his missing pieces of information to begin with."

Rex rolled his eyes, and I slashed a line under my marginal notes and prepared to take some new ones as our next interviewee shuffled in.

Most of the club members in today seemed to be in that hearty, bluff middle-aged sportsperson category, still comfortably before any incoming midlife crises but also well past their reckless twenties.

They also had very little to add beyond what our first guy told us about.

Alysa Morley was a charming young woman with no committed relationships and notably pleasant features –"lovely eyes," one of the other women told us– and Elwood Ethan was a sober, serious sort of man who had occasionally gone out for a shoot on weekends every few months and otherwise enjoyed the armchairs and the magazines. Both inoffensive.

Alysa Morley was on the younger side of her thirties and seemed to throw her flirtations out playfully –less of a femme fatale and more of a good-time-gal, at least according to the people we interviewed. There'd probably be some spicy dramas and jealousy among the younger male members if she did ever hook a boyfriend, but she hadn't, and so that was an investigative dead end.

Still, we had added a little bit to the investigation as we tromped back out under the evening sun, heading for the nearest Tube station.

***Time Skip***

"So, you said over the phone that we shouldn't order until you finished with your spiel?" I asked Kilik, quirking a brow as Rex toyed with his water.

"Yup," Kilik said, looking unwontedly grim. "Got some nasty stuff to tell you guys, so I figured we shouldn't risk making a mess for the restaurant to clean up."

"It's to my understanding that the DWMA –and its students– don't have particularly weak stomachs," Mr. Williamson said slowly, flicking his eyes around at us. I shrugged, although Rex was already starting to look –not queasy, but certainly not comfortable. Fire and Thunder were as inscrutable as ever, although I did notice that they were sitting further away from the edge of the table than they usually did.

"Even we don't usually see cannibalism," Kilik replied as every muscle in my body went rigid, fear stabbing through me like icewater. I automatically threw my magic out in as faint and as far a net as I could manage without a ritual, searching for the tiniest hint of something familiar.

Is he-?

No. No, I'm safe.

There's no other magic here except mine.

Fire twitched, bringing his –her?– head up a little like a dog catching a scent, and I quickly pulled my magic senses back in. Rex was eyeing me when I glanced to him, vague concern in his eyes, and I flashed him a quick smile before looking back to Kilik.

"You sure?" I asked.

"Yeah. We spent the day going over the forensic details with a fine-toothed comb," Kilik said, adjusting his glasses a little. "The mutilations were all likely done with common household items –garden shears, steak knives, screwdrivers, that kind of thing– which makes the owner pretty much impossible to track."

I made a note to see if my dowsing method would work to find aforementioned not-quite-murder weapons.

"All five victims –well, the four that we have heads for– show blunt force trauma to the skull, which may or may not have been cause of death. Seems like the Kishin Egg hit 'em over the head to knock them out, then slit their throats later," he continued. "They could have died from the blow to the head –Rolland Leo and Isaac Wynne probably did– but they definitely wouldn't had regained consciousness before they bled out."

"Which means…?" Rex asked, tilting his head slightly. Mr. Williamson cleared his throat delicately.

"If you are correct in saying there was cannibalism involved-"

"I am."

"-then it is possible that this method of death was meant to keep the ingredients… fresh. Fishermen will occasionally use a similar method by knocking their catch out and then stringing some line through the gills before tossing it overboard: the fish being dragged behind the boat will pass water through its gills, and it's lack of consciousness severely diminishes the likelihood that it will rip itself free before the fisherman makes shore."

"As fascinatingly creepy as that is," I cut in, tilting my head pointedly towards Kilik, "-cannibalism?"

"The political guy is the only one with pieces of other corpses attached to him, which means he's our one and only shot at seeing what these guys do with the bits they hack off," Kilik said. "There were human teeth marks on the ribs."

I mentally filled in the blanks, as everyone else at the table was likely doing.

"Eugh." Rex made a face after a moment.

"I told them to put information like this directly on my desk…" Mr. Williamson groaned, lifting his hand to massage the base of his nose. His voice sank to an indignant mutter. "If they want to hire me as a consultant, then they bloody well ought to use me for the job."

"You didn't know about this?" I asked, little alarm bells popping up as I began to lean as subtly as I could in my partner's direction.

"I have something like five filing cabinets filled with nothing but information about this case –as you very well know, since the two of you were elbow-deep in it this afternoon," Mr. Williamson said, not opening his eyes. Rex and I both winced guiltily. "Furthermore, forensic science is not nearly so fast as the television would tell you. After removing them from the crime scene, it can take days before teams even begin handling the evidence to clean them –sometimes weeks, if they're as stable as bones and there are multiple jurisdictions involved. Besides –when was this discovered, young man?"

"Couple days ago," Kilik answered, and I stopped reaching for Rex under the table.

"Oh. Okay, fair enough," I said, feeling a little sheepish but also still not entirely willing to let that one go as I returned to sitting upright. Communications between departments weren't that bad, were they?

I thought back to the massive, near-neurotic stacks of papers and files in Mr. Williamson's office, and his grumbling comments about altercations with the various police departments he was involved in during our rides in his car.

Okay, maybe they were that bad. Sheesh.

"So, just to recap: our perp or perps hits their victims over the head, presumably drags them off somewhere –do we have last-seen-ats for these guys?– and slits their throat, before pulling off bits of them to eat, and then arranges the leftovers in suitably graphic locations," I said. "Rex and I had this thought earlier, about how those bits, like, symbolize stuff about the people? The cat bulgar was mutilated to look like a cat, the wise old judge was mutilated to look like an owl…"

"And Rolland Leo was missing his sticky fingers," Kilik said, sitting up a little as a spark ignited in his eyes. "Owls are known for hearing, and the judge was missing his ears."

"One of the people we talked to this afternoon at the club said Alysa Morley's eye were her best feature," Rex chimed in, looking excited. "And, well –vixen is the word for a female fox and a derogatory term for a flirtatious woman, isn't it?"

"They're eating the parts that mark –in their mind, anyway– their victims' distinctive traits," I said.

We all grinned at each other for a moment, caught up in the thrill of finally uncovering and pinning down what might turn out to be a vital aspect of the case.

"Remarkable," Mr. Williamson said, and although he sounded complimentary, he was watching us with a slightly foreboding blank expression. "The DWMA truly is remarkable. I've been working on this case for weeks, and the five of you advance it farther than it has been the whole time in a matter of days."

This time we winced as one. Kilik then adjusted his glasses as Rex coughed sheepishly, and I tried not to look as excited as I had been.

"Sorry, man," Kilik mumbled.

"It's just, we are trained for this," I added, turning the glass in front of me around and around on the tablecloth.

"It's basically our livelihood," Rex finished gracelessly. I smacked his foot with mine under the table.

"It's also mine," Mr. Williamson said, voice even more neutral, and Rex cringed as he belatedly got my hint. Yeah, doing this sort of thing on weekends or around homework was a lot different than making a career out of it –quite literally earning your bread by it. We were subsidized by the school, and a decent chunk of missions were just our network of government attachés and informants pointing us in a direction and saying "Sic 'em." Most of the time we didn't even have to theorize like this.

"So," Kilik said in a valiant effort to drag us away from the awkward pause, "Ritualistic cannibalism and animal features. We thinkin' this is a Witch group?"

"I'm leaning towards nah," I said, hopefully keeping my expression smooth as my mind spun frantically towards trying to find a way to make my story sound plausible. "Witches make and use all sorts of freaky ingredients for their experiments, sure, but if this was a coven or something fishing for ingredients… they basically just want to cause problems and chaos forever, right? They don't want to get caught. They'd bury the bodies or sink them in the river or something –not display them in the most obvious places they can find."

"True…" Kilik murmured thoughtfully, scratching at his cheek. "This feels… more petty than what Witches would do. More targeted. More personal."

"There is the issue of the Man With The Magic Eye's presence in London, and his attack on your colleagues," Mr. Williamson pointed out.

"Yeah, but he's an idiot," I said automatically, and then coughed. "Ah, what I mean is, Maka and Blackstar said he was pretty clumsy, right? And he said something about being rusty; getting back into shape. Doesn't sound like the kind of guy who can thread through some of the tightest security systems in London without a trace, is all I'm saying."

"Plus, according to the reports, he basically homed in on Blackstar and the others right from the start," Rex said, backing me up. "I mean, he showed up on the bridge in front of them, talked about how the DWMA's rules were an eyesore, and then pretty much attacked on sight."

"Definitely not the subtle sort, then," Mr. Williamson said with a sigh, before abruptly slapping his hand against the table and standing. "Well, when you're right, you're right; I doubt that he's involved. Still, if this is all, I have quite the backlog of reports to order and organize –not to mention a number of unkind remarks to make to those who failed to direct my attention to this earlier– so, if you'll excuse me…"

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure." I scooted my chair aside for him, a little bewildered.

"Nah, we're done for now," Kilik agreed. "You sure you won't stay for food, though?"

"I've somewhat lost my appetite, I'm afraid."

"Eh, fair enough."

I shuddered. "Yeah. Definitely fair enough."

11.08 AM, USA Central Time