Chapter 32: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 12

"Mrs. Wright," Adams said impassively, "I would greatly appreciate if you did not interfere with the investigation."

Mary Wright stood before the detective, facing him down. She had come to his room once and at least bothered to feign affection, unlike Blake Wright, with whom he had spoken only once. Perhaps the affection wasn't feigned. Who knows. There were so many things he didn't know.

Like this.

I've become impatient and put my foot in it, he thought.

How could he get out of this?

No, that was the wrong question. There was no right question, he had already gotten out of this. Adams was trying hard to appear impassive, but he didn't have the balls to challenge Blake Wright's wife. He would never find work in the kingdom again if she so wished.

He could easily imagine that bastard had that kind of influence.

Rather, he wasn't super rich if he couldn't do at least that. Wealth was its own kind of influence and with it, he could buy all the others.

He had no doubt that Blake was involved in everything. To secure his empire.

He had been close, but the danger had passed. He believed that firmly.

"Mrs. Wright, that's not your daughter," Adams said. "I don't know what or who she is, but your daughter is dead."

He was trying, but he wouldn't get anywhere.

Maternal instinct was a wonderful thing. If she was a half-decent mother, she would be more blinded by love for her children than Violet and Christina were blinded by their love for him.

"Rose is very talented," Mary replied. "She must have faked the corpse, fooling you and the healer."

"That's very unlikely, ma'am."

"Then how do you explain this?" Mary gestured with her arm, glaring at Adams, not taking her eyes off him for a moment. "She's right there. She's right in front of us, alive."

You've just shown that you can do some magic at least, so tell me, what magic can do that? There's magic that can help you fake a corpse, pretend your death, but what kind of magic can do that?

Her voice gradually rose. By the end, she was shouting at the top of her lungs.

And she had big ones, that's for sure. So she really cared, not just about Sam, the other Sam, but about Rose. About all of them. She was a half-decent mother.

That was...

Something unimportant. She would die screaming like everyone else.

"I don't know how to explain it, but..."

"But what? Am I going to insist on whatever I want? That the explanation is something demonstrably impossible? Some detective you are. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Isn't that practically your motto?"

So Sherlock Holmes exists in this world too, or some similar character, he thought, although it was the least of his concerns. Well, it wasn't stranger than other similarities. Like the Bible. Like God and Satan.

"I suppose so, ma'am, something like that. The problem is, to begin with, in defining the impossible and the improbable. A healer who can't detect a fake corpse. How would you explain that, that Rose paid him for it? How would she know who her husband would contact?"

"She wouldn't know, Detective Adams, but I think you're gravely misinterpreting the situation. I'm not suggesting anything to you. I've given you an order. Release her."

The room was emptying. The NPCs had seen more than enough, they more or less understood the situation, and didn't want to get in the middle of the conflict between those two. Adams might never work in the kingdom again. The family members could lose much more, if they attracted her attention and her anger.

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Basically, justified or not, they had no balls.

That was all.

Adams...

He did have them, although only to a certain point. It was obvious that he didn't want to risk too much, but he wouldn't give in with just one push. He kept insisting.

"Please, Mrs. Wright. You have to understand that this is too strange."

He wasn't convincing her, but Adams, of course, was right.

Mary should understand that.

She should have her suspicions. Such unconditional support... Okay, she believed she was her mother or at least family, if she had considered the possibility that it wasn't Rose in the first place, but could there be some hidden motive?

Maybe not.

Maybe he was overthinking it, as usual. Although he was in this situation for thinking too little, for once. Letting his anxiety take the reins, rising to a pace that for now he seemed unable to bear.

Mary pushed the detective aside without saying anything else, rage carved on her face like the sculpture of a Shura, and broke the shackle.

She didn't even touch it, she just had to snap her fingers.

Sam gets up, rubbing his sore wrist. Well, it didn't hurt that much, but since he had the appearance of a beautiful young woman, he had to take advantage of it while he could to evoke pity. To make Adams look like the bad guy in the story.

He made a mental note to learn how to do that. Whatever Mary had done.

He wasn't entirely satisfied. Mom had literally had to bail him out, but it wouldn't happen again. Not only because he would be more cautious, because now he had a good example to remember of the importance of patience, everything in due time.

But because the next time he ended up handcuffed, he would know how to get out of it on his own. He swore it to himself.

Although, obviously, the ideal was not to find himself in a situation like this in the first place.

"Your husband hired me to put an end to these tragedies," Adams said. Did the detective really understand people so well? If he expected Mary to step aside for fear of what her husband might think or do, submitting, he was very wrong. Sam didn't know her well. He didn't know her at all, but it should be obvious just by looking at her face once. Well, he supposed that now that Adams was cornered, he had to try something, haha. "I can't do anything if you put so many obstacles in my way."

"If you can't solve the case without tying a girl to the table because you feel like it, maybe you're not a good detective," Mary replied without thinking twice.

Very good, and now fire this son of a bitch. Come on.

"What's the problem, ma'am?"

"Haven't you heard me? Stop testing my patience. I can end you forever. You'll never find work anywhere, ever."

Very good, very good.

He didn't feel satisfied because it hadn't been due to his own effort... ah, who was he kidding! Who didn't wish everything would go smoothly with minimal effort? Effort was overrated, results were what mattered! He hadn't known it, but he had had a strong card to play up his sleeve all this time. And now he would take advantage of it as much as he could. A much stronger card than the toy he had thrown aside, sending her back to her house. How satisfying! Seeing Adams' face twist with rage and frustration, how could he not be excited, regardless of his effort or not!

"I understand, I'm just humbly asking for an explanation, for God's sake."

Adams bowed before her, grimacing, gritting his teeth.

Hahahaha! kukikikikikakkakakakhhyahhhyaaaaah! He could barely contain his laughter. Ah, patience, yes, patience, now he knew the virtue of patience, hahahaha.

"In the worst case," Adams continued, what a stubborn bastard, he should learn that he had lost, good try, but victory had slipped through his fingers, "she was going to stay tied to a table for a few more minutes. It's not like I had tightened the shackle too much or anything. I wasn't going to do her any harm..."

Oh, shut up already!

It's obvious she doesn't care, you're just wasting oxygen, you fool.

"Or is there? Is there any reason why it doesn't suit her for time to run out, Cinderella's magic? Do you perhaps know who is impersonating her, Mrs. Wright?"

Those were all good questions. He would make sure to talk to Mary in private another day and find out the answer to each and every one of them.

To what extent he could take advantage of her maternal instinct, or whatever was pushing her to go so far for him, her, the person she believed him to be.

The whole world was against him.

It would be, if they knew of his existence. So he had to cling with all his might to everything he could.

Sam decided he had heard enough and took the opportunity to run out of the room. No one tried to stop her, they even stepped aside, as if they were afraid of her. Well, after all, she was supposed to be a ghost.

Losing Rose's form in front of everyone wouldn't reveal him as Satan's son. It wouldn't end this game.

But Adams was too smart for his liking. He would undoubtedly realize who had provided the supposedly buried truth for so many years to Evelyn's mother. He might even realize that it wasn't truth at all.

And that would be just as bad, more or less.

The whole house of cards could collapse.

Sam didn't get as far as he would have liked. He tripped, falling to the floor, a few inches from the door. But what the hell? What had just happened? What had he tripped over?

He glanced back.

A thin blue cord, almost invisible. The blue of magical energy. It looked like the shackle Adams had made, come on.

And, obviously, only he could be responsible for this.

"When did he have time to..."

Sam fell silent quickly.

Because he realized that the others had too, too much silence.

Because he realized that he had heard his own voice.

The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 12: END