Hearing the voice, Houseman regained his imposing air: "At this hour it must be Joe."
As he walked toward the door, perhaps catching the sound of footsteps, Joe's voice came from outside: "Uncle Houseman, it's Joe. I have something important to tell you."
"All right, I hear you."
Just as Houseman reached for the handle, Joe's voice sounded again outside.
"Uncle Houseman, it's Joe, I have something important to tell you." The exact same words repeated.
Houseman's hand froze on the knob; as the spymaster, his vigilance was razor-sharp. The two utterances had identical rhythm and cadence—something nigh impossible for an ordinary kid like Joe.
In the living room, yellow light spilled across the mahogany floor. The young woman behind Houseman saw him freeze and asked, puzzled, "Houseman, why don't you open the door for Joe?"
At that moment Joe's voice came again, louder this time—loud enough for the woman to hear: "Uncle Houseman, it's Joe, I have something important to tell you."
"Uncle Houseman, it's Joe! I have something important to tell you!" By the end Joe was practically roaring.
Houseman's face darkened; he pulled something from inside his coat and barked at the woman, "Hide in the study—now!"
Bang bang bang!
Even as he spoke, the Joe outside began smashing the door: "Uncle Houseman, I heard your voice—why won't you open the door, why won't you open it!!!"
Houseman watched his bullet-proof, steel-cored, mahogany-clad door dent outward in several places. His face grim, he drew a black crescent-moon pendant from his coat.
"Whoever you are, daring to make trouble on Eternal Church territory—I swear you won't leave here alive!" The pendant emitted a strange power that wrapped around Houseman as he seized the handle and flung the door open.
The crescent in his hand flickered with black light, ready to activate at any instant.
Yet when the door opened, the source artifact he'd meant to trigger stalled; he stared at the figure before him, dumbstruck.
Joe's eyes were milk-white, a large patch of livor mortis blotched his left cheek, and the moment the door opened a faint stench of carrion wafted in.
Seeing the door ajar, Joe lunged straight at Houseman.
Buzz! The instant he neared, a black light flared from Houseman's body and a tremendous repulsive force slammed into Joe.
Bang! The next second Joe shot backward, crashing into the wall so hard the plaster caved and spider-web cracks spread across it.
A blow like that would kill any normal man, yet the thing opposite merely stood up again and charged Houseman as if nothing had happened.
The sight confirmed for Houseman that this wasn't Joe—Joe could never possess such a resilient body.
"You dare strike at me? I'll make you regret ever being born!" Black light glimmered on the crescent pendant in Houseman's grip.
Whoosh! A beam of black light shot straight into the charging Joe.
Bang! Joe's body exploded on the spot, scattering putrid flesh across the threshold.
Just as Houseman thought it over, a wisp of grey mist rose from the shredded remains.
At the sight of that grey mist a wave of dread hit him; his face changed and he spun toward the study, desperate to get the woman out.
But the mist was faster—within an instant it filled the entire floor.
The grey fog lingered only a moment before slowly contracting, leaving behind a mural on the wall.
The mural showed a grim-faced middle-aged man and a golden-waved woman lying on the floor.
The only traces left were the dents in the door and the small crater opposite; the flesh from the exploded Joe had vanished… Time skipped to the next day. Harold arrived at the Intelligence Institute with the same mild smile.
"Good morning, Archpriest Harold!"
"Morning, Toro!"
Staff passing by greeted him, and he answered each in turn.
In his third-floor office Harold leaned back comfortably in his chair and opened the newspaper.
[Hoben News: Yesterday a serial killer struck the slums, claiming twenty-three victims. The Bureau of Law is searching for the perpetrator; citizens are urged not to go out alone at night.]
'Everything is moving in the right direction. Joe never showed; looks like Houseman has already been reborn in another world—no, killed by the Ghost Bride, soul devoured, no rebirth at all. Poor Joe and Houseman.' Harold's lips curled as he read.
Tap tap tap!
While he was idling, urgent footsteps raced up from below and stopped outside his door.
Knock knock knock!
The frantic rapping came; Harold replied unhurriedly, "Come in."
Creak!
The office door opened and a woman hurried in, face anxious: "Archpriest Harold, something terrible—Archpriest Houseman is in trouble!"
"What—Houseman's in trouble!" Harold's face filled with shock.
The woman spoke rapidly: "This morning the guards at Houseman's residence came to the Church; the front door was damaged and wide open, but he's gone. They fear something's happened."
"How could this be? A good man like Archpriest Houseman—surely nothing's happened to him." Harold looked distraught, at a loss for what to do.