The World in Dissonance (Volume 2)

Chapter 3: Hell is empty and all the devils are here

Part 1

7:52 AM,

Morning came after a long night of waiting for Dedicatus’s case. Just like the previous night, she had barely closed her eyes, not because she was unwilling to sleep, but because she simply couldn't.

Nevertheless, the lack of rest barely affected her genius mind. While other people's cognitive performance would inevitably deteriorate whenever their bodies were deprived of sufficient sleep, the girl with the medical eyepatch seemed hardly bound by that rule. Her thoughts remained sharp, her reasoning as precise as ever, and her ability to connect seemingly unrelated pieces of information showed no discernible signs of deterioration.

Whether this was an extraordinary consequence of her intellect or simply another peculiarity of the eldest Liddel sister was difficult to determine. Perhaps even Dedicatus herself wouldn't have bothered answering such a question, considering that she had far more interesting matters to attend to.

After all, a certain occultist was waiting for them somewhere on the outskirts of London.

And unlike the previous night, they now had a name, an address, and a rather inconvenient Inspector who would undoubtedly arrive at the same conclusion.

Dedicatus stood beside Laurencia's hospital bed, adjusting the oversized collar of her shirt while examining the little girl's sleeping face. Alyss and Sonya had remained with their youngest sister throughout the night, and although their expressions betrayed their exhaustion, neither had been willing to leave her unattended. Father John had returned to the hospital early that morning, bringing them something to eat before resuming his watch.

"You’re still planning to go, aren't you?"

Alyss's question made Dedicatus turn her head.

"Obviously!!"

"Even after what happened yesterday?"

"Especially after what happened yesterday."

The answer was so casual that Alyss couldn't help frowning.

"Dedicatus, I'm serious."

"So is this one!!”,

For a brief moment, the eldest sister's expression softened. She reached over and gently patted Alyss's head, taking care not to disturb her hair.

"Listen, I ain't gonna do anythin' reckless. We have a lead now, n' I'm gonna follow it. That's all."

"You said something similar before you went to the theatre."

"Did I!?"

"Yes."

"Then I must've been tellin' the truth."

Alyss stared at her twin sister, seemingly reconsidering whether arguing with her was worth the effort.

Sonya, who had been listening from beside the bed, quietly intervened.

"Just promise you'll be careful, Dedicatus."

"Cross my heart!!”

It was an answer delivered with such effortless confidence that nobody in the room was entirely reassured.

Father John, meanwhile, regarded the young maiden with a more contemplative expression.

"Remember what we discussed yesterday. If this man truly has some connection to the Cult of the Anti-Christ, we mustn't assume that confronting him will immediately reveal everything we need to know."

"No worries, Father. I ain't goin' there to ask him to tea."

"Dedicatus."

"Fine, fine!! Imma be careful."

She gave the priest a small smile before turning toward the door.

"Be good, ya two!! Keep an eye on Laurencia for me."

Alyss nodded reluctantly, while Sonya offered a quiet prayer for their safety. With that, Dedicatus departed. She had no intention of wasting the morning.

.

..

...

8:41 AM,

Somewhere near Harrow,

London.

The countryside surrounding London had begun to stir beneath the pale morning sky. Although the district had become increasingly connected to the capital, several isolated properties remained tucked away from the busier roads, their old stone walls and overgrown gardens preserving an atmosphere that belonged to another age.

One such property stood beyond a narrow lane, concealed behind a rusted iron gate and a row of untrimmed hedges.

It was a detached house of considerable age, with darkened brickwork, tall windows, and a steeply pitched roof. Ivy crept along one side of the building, while the front garden appeared to have been neglected for several months. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it at first glance, save for its unusual isolation.

A black motorcar had stopped some distance from the entrance.

Beatrice Ashcroft stepped out first, her posture immaculate despite the uneven ground beneath her shoes. She wore an expression of composed determination, surveying the property with the same attention she might have given an unfamiliar painting.

Dedicatus emerged from the other side, stretching her arms before glancing toward the house.

"So, this is the place."

"According to the information we received, yes."

"Whaddaya think!?"

Beatrice took another moment to examine the windows, the entrance, and the narrow path leading toward the front door.

"I think the property has been selected for its privacy rather than its appearance. The vegetation provides a degree of concealment from the road, and the neighbouring houses are sufficiently distant that ordinary disturbances would be unlikely to attract immediate attention."

"Ordinary disturbances, huh!?"

Beatrice turned toward her rival.

"Do you intend to make that distinction relevant?"

"Maybe!!”

The aristocratic girl sighed.

"That is precisely the sort of answer I expected."

Despite her remark, Beatrice showed no intention of allowing Dedicatus to take the lead. She had already recognized that her rival's decision to bring her along was not merely a matter of companionship. Dedicatus had anticipated that Inspector Virgil Blackwood would pursue the same suspect, and she had arranged matters accordingly.

Beatrice, therefore, had taken responsibility for the initial approach.

It was the most reasonable course of action. She was familiar with the information gathered the previous afternoon, understood the limits of their evidence, and possessed sufficient composure to deal with an official investigation without needlessly provoking its participants.

More importantly, she knew Dedicatus well enough to recognize when the girl was withholding part of her plan.

And this morning, the eldest Liddel sister was withholding quite a lot.

"Before we proceed...”, began Beatrice. "I would appreciate an answer to a rather simple question."

"Gimme yer shoot!!"

"What exactly do you intend to accomplish here?"

"Find out what Edmund Vale knows."

"That is the obvious objective. I am asking what you intend to do once we have found out."

Dedicatus grinned.

"Ya'll see."

"I was afraid you would say that."

Before Beatrice could pursue the matter further, another motorcar approached along the lane. Its arrival was neither particularly hurried nor unexpected, and the moment it stopped, the two girls recognized the man who stepped out.

Inspector Virgil Blackwood had arrived.

His dark coat was neatly arranged, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. He looked first at the property, then at the two young women waiting near the gate.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then the Inspector's gaze settled upon Dedicatus.

"Miss Liddel."

"Yo, Inspector!! What a surprise to meet ya here!!”

"Indeed”, replied Virgil flatly. "I was about to make the same observation."

Beatrice inclined her head with impeccable courtesy.

"Good morning, Inspector Blackwood. I trust your journey was pleasant."

"Miss Ashcroft."

His gaze returned to Dedicatus.

"I had hoped you would have enough sense to remain out of my investigation."

"N’ deprive ya of my charmin’ company!? Perish the thought."

"Your presence is neither necessary nor particularly charming."

"Aw, ya gonna make me cry."

Virgil did not dignify that remark with a response. Instead, he produced a document from inside his coat.

"I obtained the theatre's VIP list yesterday. Several names warranted further examination, and Edmund Vale was among them. Subsequent inquiries brought me here."

"How efficient.”, praised Beatrice.

"I prefer to avoid wasting time."

"An admirable quality."

The Inspector looked at her briefly before returning his attention to Dedicatus.

"Now, if you would kindly explain why you are here, I might be inclined to believe this coincidence is less absurd than it appears."

"Same reason as you, probably."

"Which is?"

"We're interested in ‘dat Good Ol’ Edmund Vale."

Virgil's eyes narrowed.

"That much is obvious. What interests me is how you became aware of him."

Dedicatus merely smiled.

Beatrice stepped forward before the exchange could deteriorate further.

"We received information concerning his identity and residence yesterday evening. We have reason to believe that his activities may be relevant to an investigation we are conducting independently."

"An investigation involving what?"

"That is a matter we cannot fully disclose at present."

Virgil regarded her for a moment.

Unlike Dedicatus, Beatrice was not inclined to provoke him unnecessarily. Her answer was measured, technically accurate, and offered no gratuitous insult to his intelligence.

It was also frustratingly incomplete.

"Very well”, he said at last. "Whatever your private interests may be, I will not permit you to interfere with the execution of my duties."

"Naturally”, replied Beatrice.

Dedicatus raised a hand.

"Sure thing, Inspector."

Virgil studied her suspiciously.

He knew that tone.

It was the tone of someone who had just agreed to something she had no intention of respecting in the manner he expected.

Nevertheless, there was little point in continuing the argument outside the suspect's residence.

The Inspector turned toward the gate.

"Let us proceed."

.

..

...

The front door was answered after the second knock.

A lean, middle-aged man appeared in the doorway, dressed in a dark waistcoat over a white shirt. His hair was beginning to grey around the temples, and his narrow face bore the tired expression of someone who had spent too much of the morning indoors.

His gaze moved from Virgil to Beatrice, then finally settled upon Dedicatus.

"Inspector Blackwood...”, he said cautiously. "What brings you here?"

"Mr Edmund Vale?"

"I am."

Virgil presented his credentials.

"I would like to ask you a few questions regarding your activities and your association with certain individuals who attended gatherings connected to a religious study circle."

Vale's expression remained composed, but his fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the door.

"Religious gatherings? I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else."

"Have I?"

"I am a scholar. I study religious literature, among other subjects. There is nothing unlawful about that."

"Indeed.”, answered Virgil. "Which is why I am here to ask questions rather than make accusations."

Vale glanced toward the two girls.

"And who are they?"

"Beatrice Ashcroft.”, answered the aristocratic girl as she introduced herself politely. "And my companion, Dedicatus Liddel."

Vale's expression changed.

It was subtle, but Dedicatus noticed, so did Beatrice.

The man's eyes lingered on Dedicatus's medical eyepatch for a fraction longer than necessary before he stepped aside.

"If you insist, Inspector. Come in."

The interior of the house was considerably darker than its exterior suggested. Heavy curtains covered most of the windows, allowing only narrow shafts of morning light to penetrate the rooms. The air smelled faintly of old paper, damp wood, and something acrid that Dedicatus immediately recognized as the residue of burnt herbs.

Books occupied nearly every available surface. Several shelves contained theological works, antiquarian volumes, and handwritten manuscripts. On a table near the fireplace rested a collection of objects that appeared, at first glance, to be little more than the possessions of an eccentric scholar.

A brass bowl.

A black candle.

Several sheets of paper covered in unfamiliar symbols.

And a small wooden box secured with a rusted clasp.

Dedicatus examined them without touching anything.

Vale noticed her attention.

"Those are merely research materials."

"Never said otherwise."

"Then I would appreciate it if you refrained from examining my private possessions."

"Of course!!”

Dedicatus withdrew her gaze with a disarming smile.

Beatrice, meanwhile, had already begun forming her own impressions of the room. The books were not arranged randomly. Several volumes dealing with Christian apocalyptic literature had been placed together, while others concerned older religious traditions, medieval grimoires, and the history of ceremonial practices.

The collection suggested sustained interest rather than casual curiosity.

Still, she refrained from drawing conclusions prematurely.

Virgil took a seat opposite Vale.

"Let us begin with a simple question. Are you acquainted with an organization that refers to itself as the Cult of the Anti-Christ?"

For the first time, Vale's composure visibly faltered. It lasted barely a second. Then he laughed.

"That is a rather melodramatic name, Inspector. I have encountered references to it in certain texts, but I assure you that I have no involvement with any such organization."

"Yet several people associated with your theological circle appear to have used that name."

"Scholars discuss all manner of subjects. Studying a subject does not constitute participation in it."

"An entirely reasonable distinction."

Virgil opened his notebook.

"Then you will have no objection to explaining the nature of your association with those individuals."

"None whatsoever."

Dedicatus listened silently.

The conversation was proceeding exactly as she had anticipated. Vale had chosen the most defensible position available to him: he was a scholar, his interests were academic, and any association with the group was purely intellectual.

It was a plausible explanation. Too plausible, perhaps; Beatrice, however, had noticed something else.

Whenever Virgil referred to the Cult of the Anti-Christ, Vale's gaze drifted toward the wooden box on the table.

Not for long, not conspicuously but repeatedly.

She caught Dedicatus's eye and gave the faintest indication toward the table.

Dedicatus understood immediately. There was no need for words between them.

"Say, Mr Vale...”, said the young maiden, her voice suddenly being cheerful. “What's in the box?"

Vale turned toward her.

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Aw, c'mon. Ya got a whole collection of interestin’ things here, n' that's the one object ya don't want anyone lookin' at?"

"It is a private possession."

"Then it must be important."

"Miss Liddel!”, interrupted Virgil sharply. "Please refrain from distracting our witness."

"Gotcha, Inspector."

She leaned back in her chair.

For a moment, the room returned to its previous stillness.

Then Dedicatus spoke again.

"Ya know, I've always wondered about somethin'."

Nobody answered.

"If a fella spends years studyin' the occult, collects old grimoires, surrounds himself with strange symbols, n' keeps a locked box like it's the most precious thin’ in the world..."

Vale's expression hardened.

"...At what point does it stop bein' an academic interest?"

"Enough!!”, Vale finally snapped.

His sudden outburst silenced the room.

Virgil slowly closed his notebook.

"Mr Vale?"

The occultist rose from his chair.

"I believe this conversation has gone far enough. Inspector, you may leave my property now."

"I am not finished asking my questions."

"And I am finished answering them."

Vale turned toward the door.

Dedicatus watched him with an almost sympathetic expression.

"That's a shame."

He stopped.

"Because we haven't even reached the interestin’ part yet.", highlighted the girl with a mischievous grin drawn on her face.

For several seconds, Vale remained motionless. Then he turned back toward them, and something in his expression had changed.

The weariness had disappeared. So had the carefully maintained civility.

What remained was an anger so concentrated that it seemed to alter the very atmosphere of the room.

"You know nothing!” whispered the middle-aged man.

Dedicatus tilted her head.

"Ain’t so sure ‘bout ‘dat tho!!”

"You have no understanding of what lies beyond the veil. You walk through your miserable little lives believing that the world is governed by laws you can observe, measure, and explain."

Beatrice's expression remained composed, although her attention sharpened.

Vale continued.

"Yet those laws are merely the boundaries of your ignorance. There are forces older than your institutions, older than your churches, older than the names you give to the things you fear."

Dedicatus's smile slowly faded. There it was. The change she had been waiting for.

"Mr Vale!”, said Inspector Virgil, rising from his chair. “I strongly advise you to remain calm."

But Vale was no longer listening. His eyes had fixed themselves upon Dedicatus.

"You should never have come here."

The black candle on the table suddenly ignited. There was no match. No hand had touched it.

A thin flame rose from its wick, burning with an unnatural darkness at its centre.

Then the brass bowl began to tremble.

Beatrice stepped back instinctively.

Virgil reached toward Vale, intending to restrain him, but before he could close the distance, every book on the nearest shelf burst outward as though struck by an invisible explosion.

Volumes crashed against the walls.

Loose papers whirled through the air.

The curtains snapped violently despite the sealed windows.

And from somewhere beneath the floorboards came a low, grinding sound, like stone being dragged across stone in the depths of an ancient tomb.

For one suspended instant, nobody moved. Then Vale raised his hand. The wooden table lurched sideways.

Virgil was thrown off balance as a chair hurtled toward him, striking his shoulder and sending him crashing against the wall.

"Inspector!", Beatrice exclaimed.

The room erupted into chaos.

A lamp rose from the floor and smashed against the ceiling. The brass bowl spun violently in midair, scattering its contents across the room. The locked wooden box rattled against the tabletop, its rusted clasp clicking open and shut as though something inside were desperately trying to escape.

Dedicatus, however, did not appear surprised. If anything, she looked almost disappointed.

"Well, ain't that interestin'."

Beatrice stared at her rival.

"Interesting?!"

"Poltergeist activity, Beato. Violent displacement of objects without any apparent physical agent. Though, considerin' the circumstances, I'd wager there's more to it than ordinary psychokinesis."

"It is not the time for an academic lecture!"

"Never a bad time for knowledge my Dear!"

Another violent impact shook the room. A heavy bookshelf tore itself away from the wall and began tipping toward Virgil, who was struggling to regain his footing.

The Inspector looked up. For the first time since they had met him, his expression betrayed genuine alarm. He had no time to escape.

But Dedicatus was already moving.

She crossed the room in a blur, seized Virgil by the back of his coat, and pulled him sideways with all the strength she could muster.

The bookshelf crashed down where he had been standing, its contents exploding across the floor in a storm of wood and paper.

Inspector Virgil struck the ground hard, but he was alive. Dedicatus landed beside him, one hand braced against the floor.

"Ya alright, Inspector?"

Virgil stared at the wreckage. Then he looked at her.

"... What in God's name was that?"

"Someone’s eager to know!?"

Before he could respond, the room shuddered again.

Vale stood in the centre of the chaos, his arm extended, his lips moving in words that sounded neither like ordinary speech nor any language Beatrice recognized.

The symbols on the papers scattered across the floor began to darken, their ink spreading across the parchment as though the pages themselves were bleeding.

The flame of the black candle grew taller.

And from the open wooden box came a whisper; not a voice but several voices, all speaking at once.

Beatrice felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Whatever she had expected to find in Edmund Vale's residence, she had not expected this.

Yet even now, she forced herself to observe rather than surrender to panic.

The objects were moving in coordinated bursts. The violence intensified whenever Vale spoke, suggesting that his gestures or words were somehow connected to the phenomenon. The black candle and the marked papers appeared to be involved, although she could not determine how.

She had no scientific explanation for what she was witnessing. But she could still gather information.

"Dedicatus!", she called over the noise. "The activity seems to intensify whenever he speaks those words!"

"Captain obvious!"

"What? Stop him then!"

"That's the plan, Beato!"

Dedicatus rose from the floor and turned toward Vale.

"Oi, Edmund!"

The occultist's head snapped toward her.

"Look at me."

He hesitated only for a fraction of a second. But it was enough. Dedicatus smiled.

"That's it. Keep yer eyes on me."

Vale's expression twisted with fury.

"You insolent child!"

"Child!? That's a new one."

"You dare mock me in my own house?"

"Honestly!? Ya makin' it rather easy."

The air around Vale convulsed.

A second chair rose from the floor and shot toward Dedicatus, but she ducked beneath it, allowing the furniture to smash against the wall behind her.

She had no intention of confronting him through brute force. That would have been foolish.

Instead, she continued provoking him, keeping his attention fixed upon her while Beatrice carefully moved toward the scattered papers near the table.

"Beato!!", called Dedicatus. "Don't touch the box!"

"I had no intention of doing so!"

"Good!! Look at the papers instead!"

Beatrice understood immediately.

She crouched beside the nearest sheet, avoiding the debris scattered across the floor. The markings were elaborate, arranged in concentric patterns around a central symbol resembling a distorted star.

She recognized some of the imagery from the books in the room. Others were unfamiliar. But one feature stood out.

Several names had been written around the outer circle, connected by thin lines to the central symbol.

Beatrice's eyes narrowed. These were not random decorations. They formed a structured arrangement; a diagram, perhaps a ritual configuration or something else.

Whatever its purpose, Vale had taken considerable care to construct it.

"Edmund!!", Dedicatus called again. "What's the matter!? Ya were so eager to show us the power of yer little collection, but now ya look like ya ‘bout to lose yer temper!"

"I will destroy you!"

"Promises, promises!!"

Vale thrust both hands forward.

The force that followed was unlike anything that had happened before.

Every loose object in the room rose simultaneously. Books, chairs, fragments of wood, and pieces of broken glass hovered in the air, forming a chaotic mass around the occultist.

Then they shot outward.

Dedicatus threw herself behind the overturned table. Beatrice barely managed to retreat behind the doorframe.

Virgil, still recovering from the earlier impact, was caught in the open. A heavy wooden chair hurtled toward him.

Dedicatus saw it coming.

"DOWN!!"

She lunged toward the Inspector, driving him to the floor just as the fragments of broken glasses and the chairs passed over them and smashed against the wall.

The impact sent splinters flying.

Virgil stared at the wreckage, his face pale with shock and anger.

Dedicatus released his coat and immediately rose again.

"Ya really oughta work on yer reflexes, Inspector!!"

He looked at her as though he could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

"You—"

"Save it for later!"

Vale was breathing heavily now.

His expression had become feverish, his eyes fixed upon the three intruders as the room continued to tremble around him.

The black candle burned brighter.

The whispers from the wooden box grew louder.

And for the first time, Dedicatus's expression became genuinely serious.

Whatever Edmund Vale had been attempting to summon, control, or channel, the phenomenon had begun to exceed the limits of his own composure.

That was dangerous... Not merely because of what he might do to them. But because they still had no idea what would happen if he lost control entirely.

Dedicatus slowly straightened.

"Aight, Edmund!! I think we've had enough fun for one mornin'."

The occultist laughed breathlessly.

"You think you can stop me?"

"Nay!!”

Her answer caught him off guard. Dedicatus tilted her head.

"I think ya gonna stop yerself."

For a moment, Vale hesitated. And that was when Beatrice noticed the final piece of the puzzle.

The papers on the floor had shifted during the disturbance, revealing a second diagram beneath the first. Unlike the outer arrangement, this one was incomplete. Several lines ended abruptly, and the central symbol had been crossed out in places.

It was not a finished configuration. Whatever Vale had prepared, it had not been completed properly.

Perhaps the violence was not a demonstration of mastery. Perhaps it was a sign that he was struggling to maintain control.

"Edmund!", called Beatrice, her voice clear despite the chaos. "Your arrangement is incomplete!"

Vale turned sharply toward her.

"What?"

"The diagram! The central configuration has been altered, and several of the connecting lines are missing. Whatever you are attempting, the structure is inconsistent!"

For the first time, genuine uncertainty appeared on his face. Dedicatus's visible eye gleamed.

"As expected of ya, Beato!!", said the eldest Liddel sister. “Well spotted!!”

Beatrice continued, refusing to let her voice falter.

"You are not controlling this phenomenon as completely as you wish us to believe, are you?"

Vale's face contorted.

"Silence!"

The room convulsed violently. The wooden box slammed shut. The candle flame stretched toward the ceiling. And a sound emerged from beneath the floorboards that made even Dedicatus fall silent.

It was a low, guttural laugh... But not Vale's. Something else was in the room, something that had been listening, something that had not yet shown itself.

Virgil slowly rose behind the overturned table, his attention fixed upon the occultist.

"Edmund Vale..." he said, his voice cold despite the chaos surrounding them. "You are going to explain every single thing that has happened here."

Vale barely seemed to hear him. His eyes had turned toward the wooden box. For the first time, he looked afraid.

And Dedicatus, recognizing that expression, understood that their investigation had just taken a far more dangerous turn than she had anticipated.