Chapter 84 …
“Please, tell me whatever you wish, Master.”
“This is a kind of elixir I’ve newly created…”
It was said to grant tremendous physical strength to whoever consumed it and awaken latent abilities beyond normal limits.
Even just hearing the explanation stirred my heart, but in truth, I didn’t care what it was.
My respect and gratitude for my master were so deep that I believed I could consume anything as long as it wasn’t poison.
However…
“Next, Emily, you tell it exactly as you know.”
“…You mean I turned into a werewolf?”
Sherlock nodded, his expression heavy.
“Later, I learned that it was a potion imbued with a spell that transformed the consumer into a werewolf.”
He explained it was a kind of dark magic, and confessed that only later did he realize his master was a ‘peculiar sorcerer’ who repeatedly experimented with all manner of forbidden rituals.
“And as you saw, after transforming, I could not suppress the murderous urges of a werewolf…”
A desire to slaughter indiscriminately.
A betrayal and anger directed toward the master.
The combination of the two led me to kill my master…
“The master’s soul immediately entered the body of the man standing beside us. And that is…”
“Could it be… Enoch Bowen?”
Sherlock nodded.
Enoch Bowen was a researcher in his 30s and a fairly reputable archaeologist at the time, and he had willingly become the master’s disciple, entranced by his erudition.
“My guess is that even now, Enoch’s consciousness may still be dominated by the master.”
Or perhaps, like in Henry’s case, the bodies of ‘Enoch’ and the ‘Master’ are sharing the same vessel.
Sherlock nodded at my suggestion.
“That’s possible.”
“One last question, Sherlock. The name of your so-called master is…”
A foreboding feeling gripped me, and I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“The one who made me a werewolf and seized the body of his disciple, Enoch. The master’s name is…”
Sherlock Holmes looked me squarely in the eyes and completed my sentence.
“Ephraim Waite.”
“…”
My ominous premonition, as always, had not been wrong.
“…Emily? Why does your face look like that?”
Sherlock did not miss the sudden paleness in my complexion.
I wanted to say it was because I had heard that name before… but
‘I still don’t even know if there’s any connection between me and him.’
I could not recklessly tell Sherlock that. He already didn’t fully trust me, and revealing this might only increase his suspicion.
‘Yet, even so, he shared his past with me.’
Feeling the need to reciprocate, I disclosed the information Helena had provided me.
“The archaeology expert Sir Hugo met in America… you’re saying it was Ephraim Waite?”
Ha.
He let out a hollow laugh, then fell into thought before speaking.
“Considering Sir Hugo is the great-grandson of Sir Charles, that would have been over a hundred years ago…”
“If he’s a being who moves between bodies, then whether it was a hundred years ago or two hundred doesn’t really matter.”
“That’s true.”
He exhaled deeply from the depths of his being, then turned to me with a more relaxed gaze.
“Though I didn’t intend it, confessing something I’ve told no one else brings a sense of relief.”
“…”
“If you don’t mind, may I continue?”
Despite his commanding voice, his eyes trembled with a vulnerability almost pitiful, like a penitent standing before a priest, hesitating to confess the truth.
“Of course.”
“…Thank you. Perhaps this story… may be more useful to you than to me.”
“To me?”
“James. James Moriarty.”
“…”
The familiar name startled me for a moment.
“Previously, you asked what kind of relationship he and I had. I wasn’t ready then, but now I feel I can tell you everything.”
And so, I faced yet another unexpected truth.
Shortly after finishing my conversation with Sherlock, I returned to the room where Helena waited.
She had her large suitcase by her side, ready to depart, and looked at me.
“Helena, I think I’ve discovered yet another connection.”
“Another connection?”
I hesitated before answering.
It would be no exaggeration to say that tracking Enoch Bowen and solving the Yellow King’s directives had been possible largely thanks to Helena’s support.
If she, at the forefront of academia, had not combed through various texts to assist me, I wouldn’t have made it this far.
‘Above all, she confirmed Ephraim Waite’s existence.’
So sharing the information I had with her exactly as I knew it was crucial—and, more than that…
A part of me wanted to share this secret with Helena, to lessen the burden of carrying it alone.
“What I’m about to tell you… can you swear to keep it a lifelong secret?”
A selfish question, perhaps, but Helena smiled as always and answered,
“Of course.”
She understood the weight of secrets and oaths, yet never once complained about it.
Grateful to her, I began to speak.
“First, the person Sir Charles met in America… it seems it was Enoch Bowen.”
There was no proof, but strong suspicion indicated his involvement.
“…Really?”
Helena was startled, and then horrified as I continued.
Enoch Bowen and Ephraim Waite.
The connection between them, Charles, and Hugo Baskerville.
Enoch Bowen had been Sherlock’s companion, and Ephraim had been his master.
Helena’s face turned pale.
“…My goodness. And now that master is controlling the body of the leader of the Star Wisdom Sect.”
Finally…
“And, James Moriarty.”
“Why James Moriarty?”
I couldn’t continue immediately, calming my pounding heart before turning to her.
“Emily.”
My true friend, who had never turned away and always embraced me warmly.
Looking into Helena Blavatsky’s gentle brown eyes, I found courage.
“The enmity between Sherlock and Moriarty has been going on for more than a day or two.”
“…Tell me more.”
As she requested, I relayed everything Sherlock Holmes had told me.
Cursed to become a werewolf, Sherlock drifted from one university to another, earning meager lecture fees to survive, while trying to find a way to break the curse through connections with famous archaeologists.
Years passed, but the best he could achieve was learning to control his transformations.
“One day, I worked as a teaching assistant for a professor at Oxford…”
The student in that class was none other than James Moriarty.
On a night of the full moon, when the curse was unusually hard to control, Sherlock went to a secluded forest to secretly release it…
[RAAAWR—]
Unfortunately, Moriarty witnessed the transformation.
“That was Moriarty?”
“Yes. At first, it seemed coincidental, but James suspected from the very first sight that there was something unusual about Sherlock.”
He had people monitor Sherlock’s every move. That was when James was 19, and apparently, after his parents’ murder, he had gradually begun consolidating power in the back alleys.
James photographed Sherlock’s transformation and used it to blackmail him.
‘Holmes, I despise all forms of the mystical.’
‘Monsters like you, worshippers of things beyond reason and logic… you’re all the same.’
He placed spies wherever Sherlock went, tracking and obstructing him.
‘I couldn’t become an official police officer using the investigative techniques I learned from my master because James Moriarty constantly pressured me.’
Eventually, Sherlock began helping Inspector Lestrade, which went well, and now he is an official consulting detective.
‘Thanks to Inspector Lestrade, who doesn’t succumb to that kind of pressure… but Emily, about James…’
Sherlock looked at me with a deeply concerned gaze.
‘Do you think such a man could truly accept you?’
‘What… what do you mean?’
‘Emily, you…’
He hesitated, then continued with difficulty.
‘You carry the same scent as I do.’
‘…’
‘A distinct aura possessed only by those inexplicable by reason and logic, peculiar beings.’
Emily, you are of my kind.
Sherlock’s words stirred a tempest within me.
‘It means that the moment I detect your true secret, there’s no guarantee I won’t oppose you, just as I did with others.’
My true secret.
Though I hadn’t revealed it fully, Sherlock seemed to instinctively understand.
Now, standing before Helena, the one I could truly open my heart to, the tempest grew and enveloped me completely.
“Emily…”
Unable to speak, Helena rose and came to me, gently embracing me as if to prevent me from falling into despair.
“It’s okay, Emi.”
“Helena…”
“I’m here, Sally’s here, Jimmy’s here. So many care about you.”
In her arms, a sweet scent eased the pain in my heart, warm enough to remind me of my late mother.
“James… Moriarty may suddenly turn against you one day. So what if he does?”
“…Helena.”
“I’ll protect you. So will our other friends… no matter what secrets or past you have.”
After holding me tightly once more, Helena let me go, looking warmly into my eyes and murmuring,
“A true friend doesn’t care about such things.”
“…”
Her words gave me yet more comfort and courage.
A week after leaving Baskerville Manor and returning to London, Helena and I went out together.
“Where shall we go?”
I answered briefly to her carriage driver,
“To the Albert and Victoria Museum.”
“Let’s go! Giddy-up!”
With the horses’ cries, the carriage started moving.
I gathered my thoughts as the carriage swayed.
‘My capable disciple, Emily…’
The Yellow King, unusually praising me as ‘capable,’ had extended my remaining lifespan generously as a reward for completing this mission.
And, he gave me the reward I had longed for most.
‘The final piece of the Moon Lens!’
A magical tool capable of gathering moonlight to summon a particular soul, the Moon Lens was finally complete.
However, Helena explained that this alone was insufficient to perform the ritual.
‘The Moon Lens was made with specially tuned glass aligned to the vibrations of the space inhabited by Shub-Niggurath, with two types—concave and convex lenses.’
Created by Shub-Niggurath’s worshippers, it was first found in the remote Gottswood forest of Seven Valley.
One lens had gone missing—likely the one the Yellow King gave me—while the other was moved from a local museum in Seven Valley to the Victoria and Albert Museum.
‘Both must be brought together to finally perform the soul-summoning ritual.’
Yes.
Now, it was time to resurrect my deceased husband, Randolph Carter.
