Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The tale is as old as time, or at least as old as magic mirrors. Queen Ravenna, with a flick of her regal wrist and a shimmer of her silken gown, peered into her enchanted looking glass. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” she commanded, her voice echoing through the grand hall, “who is the most stylish woman in the entire world?”

A beat of shimmering silence, then the mirror, typically so keen to flatter, replied, “Lady News, Your Majesty!”

The Queen’s jaw dropped, her perfectly manicured hand flying to her chest. “Lady News? Impossible! I possess the most exquisite, the most expensive, the most extensive wardrobe in all the realms!”

The mirror’s reflection simply gleamed back, “Ah, but Your Majesty, Lady News is armed with Dressrious. She has embraced the wisdom of the Dressrious Salon, where she receives a bounty of personalized fashion advice, allowing her to curate impeccable ensembles, effortlessly.”

A gasp escaped the Queen’s lips. She’d had enough of this nonsense! Enraged, she swept through her immense wardrobe, casting out every gown, jewel, and slipper, proclaiming them all obsolete.

“Burn them! All of them!” she raged, watching her life’s devotion to fashion turn into a chaotic, regretful inferno. But as the last silk fell to the floor, a pang of regret struck her. What had she done? How would she ever regain her fashion throne?

Then, a whisper from a loyal lady-in-waiting, “Your Majesty, perhaps there is a new magic… a modern enchantment.” With a graceful flourish, she presented a sleek, glowing device – a smartphone, its screen displaying the familiar, elegant logo of Dressrious.

The Queen, intrigued, began to explore. With a renewed glint in her eye, she started to meticulously build an entirely new, essential, and undeniably stylish collection, ready to not just attend but dominate the upcoming Dressrious Salon Soirée. Lady News wouldn’t stand a chance. Let the world behold who truly commands the most captivating style now!

—————————————————————

Mr. Dressrious hummed a cheerful tune as he surveyed the grand Dressrious Salon. Fresh floral arrangements bloomed in every corner, new velvet drapes cascaded from the windows, and the lighting shimmered just right – everything was perfect for the upcoming Soirée. He’d even added a brilliant new feature to help every guest perfect their look before stepping into the spotlight. Yet, a shadow crossed his usually sunny face. A single, uninvited RSVP had arrived: The Queen. How could she possibly show her face? Just last month, she’d announced a crippling new textile tariff in the name of “Make Aesthetics Great Again,” threatening to unravel the very fabric of the fashion industry and jeopardize the livelihoods of his dearest friends, the talented designers and boutique owners. Mr. Dressrious knew he had to do something, but what? One thing was certain: the show must go on, and every Dressrious user would look impeccable!

Chapter Text

The grand Dressrious Salon shimmered under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, the air alive with the gentle clinking of glasses and the murmur of excited conversations.

The Soirée was in full swing, a breathtaking testament to individual style. Lady News floated through the crowd in a captivating, floor-length purple silk dress that seemed to catch every hint of light, its delicate draping accentuating her graceful movements. Report Man, ever the picture of sophisticated charm, sported an impeccably tailored sky-blue suit, the crisp lines of his jacket and trousers paired with a subtly patterned silk tie.

Trevor, shedding his usual understated look, stood tall in a beautifully textured pastel green linen suit, the open collar of his crisp white shirt hinting at relaxed elegance, perfectly complemented by a subtly striped tie in shades of blue and green.

He caught Mr. Dressrious’s eye, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Honestly, Mr. Dressrious,” he confessed, gesturing to his ensemble, “this entire outfit? A Dressrious masterpiece! The new ‘Improve the Outfit’ feature helped me swap out my usual plain blazer for this linen suit, and the ‘Style Recommendations’ guided me to the perfect shirt and tie combination. I feel fantastic!”

The atmosphere was electric, a celebration of creativity and personal expression, as guests savored delectable canapés, sipped artisanal cocktails, and swayed gently to the live jazz music. Then, just as the energy reached its peak, a profound silence descended. The ornate double doors creaked open, and all eyes turned. The Queen had arrived.

The Queen herself wore a pristine, fitted white sheath dress, its simplicity intended to convey effortless elegance.

Mr. Dressrious, forcing a polite smile, offered a greeting. “Your Majesty, you look marvelous in this white dress.”

“I know,” she replied, a touch too loudly, running a gloved hand down her dress. “I picked it myself. No one knows fashion better than me.” (Secretly, Dressrious had been instrumental in managing her extensive wardrobe and suggesting this very dress.)

She cast a condescending glance around the room, her initial pride faltering slightly as her gaze landed on Lady News, who seemed to glow in her ethereal purple attire. With a practiced, insincere smile, the Queen approached. “Oh, you must be the famous Lady News. I’ve heard so much about you. You look… beautiful, just like my pet bird, Lucy. No offense, I love Lucy so much.” A wave of awkward silence rippled through the nearby guests.

Before Lady News could formulate a response, Trevor, with a mixture of surprise and disbelief, stepped forward. “Regina,” he began, his voice carrying through the quiet room, “what are you doing here?”

Lady News’s eyes widened. “You know the Queen?” Trevor’s unexpected reply hung in the air: “She was my ex.” A gasp escaped the Queen’s perfectly painted lips, her carefully constructed composure crumbling under a wave of embarrassment.

“Liar! I do not know this guy in his ridiculous clothes!” the Queen hissed, her face a mask of scarlet fury. Her carefully constructed composure shattered, she pivoted and, with her loyal entourage fumbling to keep pace, stormed toward the secluded Royal section.

A collective gasp, then a wave of laughter, rippled through the Dressrious Salon. The celebratory buzz of the Soirée quickly returned as guests exchanged amused, knowing glances.

Once everyone had settled, Mr. Dressrious took to the stage, a confident smile playing on his lips. He raised his glass to the crowd. “Welcome, everyone, to our Salon! And to this beautiful night, filled with all you beautiful people!” The cheers and applause were deafening. “I’m so thrilled to announce the release of Dressrious 2.24!”

“This update brings a major improvement to our Style Recommendations feature,” he continued. “Now, if our AI-powered stylist searches your closet for the perfect pieces and comes up short, it won’t leave you stranded! It will intelligently suggest the new items you need to complete a flawless outfit. It’s a game-changer for building an essential and stylish collection, especially for fashion newbies!”

He lowered his voice with a playful wink. “But you don’t need to try it right now. Tonight is for celebration. It’s time to enjoy the evening. Let’s dance!”

As the music swelled, the dance floor filled. From her lonely corner, the Queen watched in utter humiliation as Trevor, the very man she’d just disowned, took Lady News by the hand. They laughed and danced together, a perfect, stylish pair.

Chapter Text

The Soirée had been a disaster, and the Queen was determined to forget it. She stormed back to her palace, shedding her ruined composure and elegant white dress. Just as she was about to fall into an uneasy sleep, a glow from her nightstand caught her eye—her phone, displaying a breaking news alert. Her eyes widened as she read the headline.

GOSSIP NEWS: OUR QUEEN’S DARK PAST

Hey Upper East Siders, Gossip News here! Your little birds flew all the way from the Dressrious Salon to tell me about a major scandal. Our beloved Queen felt super embarrassed when a handsome guy named Trevor let it slip that she was his ex. The Queen denied it, of course, but you know you can’t lie to me. My source also told me how it all began.
Way back in high school, before she was Queen Regina, she was just the second beauty, always living in the shadow of a girl we’ll call Lady B. B was the real fashion queen of the school, and it made Regina so jealous. But everything changed at the sophomore year summer ball. Lady B’s heel suddenly broke, and her dress tore apart, revealing an ugly scar on her back for everyone to see. Lady B never came back to school after that. And of course, Regina became the new fashion queen.
My source says a guy who looks a lot like Trevor was seen sneaking into Lady B’s dressing room before the ball. And since that day, he’s always followed Regina around like a loyal servant. I’ll report more about the Queen’s past soon. You know you love me.
XOXO, Gossip News.

“FAKE NEWS!” The Queen’s furious scream echoed through the palace all night long.

————————————————————

The gossip about Trevor’s past with the Queen had spread like wildfire, and the backlash was immediate. Someone from the Queen’s “Make Aesthetics Great Again” group had even called him the first MAGA—and a traitor. He arrived at the Dressrious Salon, his face a mix of frustration and hurt, and found his friends at their usual table. “That’s not true,” he insisted, his voice low. “I would never betray anyone.”

Lady News leaned forward, her eyes full of concern. “So what really happened? Who is Lady B? And we all want to know how the Queen became your girlfriend.”

Trevor sighed. “I would never do anything to harm Lady B. She is from a powerful and respectable family. We’re good friends, and I even talked to her last night when the news came out. She said she doesn’t care about the past, but she’s worried about me getting close to the Queen again.”

Report Man took a sip of his coffee. “But why did you become her boyfriend?”

Trevor looked down at his hands. “I guess she thinks I broke Lady B’s heels. The truth is, I did go to Lady B’s dressing room that day. We were investigating something important, and I can’t say more about it because it’s our privacy. When I left, she felt a bit upset about what I told her. She didn’t think anyone broke her heels; she just thought she was upset and didn’t care while dancing.”

“Later, she had an argument with her family and went to study abroad. The day after she left the school, Regina came to me. She said I was useful. She told me she was running for student council president and needed a peasant like me to improve her image. So, she used me. I thought I could use her resources to help my own career, since I’m from a poor family.”

“She thinks you broke the heels to get close to her,” Lady News said. Trevor shrugged.

“I guess so. But who is Gossip News anyway?” They all looked around the Salon.

“We don’t know,” Lady News replied. “Report Man and I only cover fashion news for the Salon. Whoever is behind this must be a member of the Salon. Maybe they’re listening to us right now.”

Just then, a handsome clerk in a salon uniform walked to their table. “Do you need something?” he asked with a faint French accent. “Café ou croissants?” He smiled at Trevor.

Chapter Text

“How do I look?” the Queen asked, admiring her reflection in the Magic Mirror. She was wearing a new power suit, a flawless choice suggested by Dressrious, the ultimate fashion app.

“Fantastic, my Queen,” the Mirror replied.

“Good. I shall wear this for the press conference later about my new tariff on ugly clothes. No ugly clothes allowed in this country anymore!” the Queen cackled. “Now, tell me some news.”

The Mirror’s tone turned somber. “Your approval rating is down 5 points after the Gossip News report.”

“I don’t care,” the Queen snapped, though her smile tightened.

The Mirror continued, “Some clothes store owners have formed a union to sue you over your tariff on imported cloth. They call it unconstitutional.”

“Ignore them,” the Queen sneered. “They’ll be quiet when I make deals with other nations.”

The Mirror continued, “The Queen of Oz has refused your tariff negotiations, calling them ridiculous.”

The Queen’s smile didn’t waver. “They shall regret it when I make a deal with the Neverlands and the Frankish Kingdom.”

“A bandit group called the Hood has announced they’ll be smuggling all items on your high tariff list to help the poor,” the Mirror reported.

“I will send the army to deal with them!” the Queen roared.

“It seems you’re in a good mood, today,” the Mirror observed.

“Of course!” the Queen exclaimed. “My spy in the Dressrious Salon just gave me good news about my old enemy. I shall make her surrender to me forever, ha ha ha!” Her maniacal laughter filled the dressing room.

Chapter Text

The streets were alive with a gentle bustle on this lovely day. Trevor walked with a determined stride, headphones on, lost in a world of his own. Suddenly, a carriage rounded the corner at high speed, its wheels clattering dangerously close. A hand shot out, pulling him back to the sidewalk with a firm grip.

“Be careful,” a voice with a French accent said. Trevor’s eyes widened. “Hey! It’s you. The French waiter from the Dressrious Salon!”

The man smiled. “You remember me? I’m surprised. That was just my summer part-time job. I’m back in college now.”

“That’s great,” Trevor said, dusting himself off. “I was just about to grab some coffee. Wanna come?”

“Sure.” They crossed the street and headed into the small, cozy café. “I’m Spion, by the way,” the man said, extending a hand. “I’m Trevor.”

As they sat down, Spion looked at him intently. “I know you. Your father is a famous artist, right? The painting in the hall of the Salon is his work.”

“Yeah,” Trevor admitted, a little embarrassed.

“I would be proud,” Spion said.

“Well, I’m just a self-employed programmer. Nothing to be proud of.”

“So, you make apps? That’s cool. I love apps. Tell me about them, I might introduce your app to my friends,” Spion said, pulling out his phone.

“No, not cell phone apps,” Trevor corrected. “I make tools for other developers. What about you? What are you studying?”

“Finance, first-year postgraduate student.”

“That’s awesome! Are you familiar with quantitative finance? I have some ideas about the stock market, but I don’t know much about it.”

“That’s great! We should hang out more. Maybe we could even start a business together,” Spion suggested.

“Great! But why did you have a part-time job at the Salon, not some big bank?” Trevor asked.

“I don’t have recommendations,” Spion said. “I just arrived in this country two months ago. Besides, Mr. Dressrious gave me a very generous offer, and I hoped to meet some celebrities.”

“Yeah, there are definitely a lot of celebrities in the Salon,” Trevor agreed.

“I only know you,” Spion said with a grin. “Most people just ignore the waiters.”

“I’m not a celebrity. My dad is.”

“You are,” Spion insisted. “Not because of your dad, but because of the Gossip News and the Queen.” Trevor cringed.

“Please, don’t. That’s really embarrassing.”

“Sorry,” Spion said. “I just thought you were one of the elite. You went to that private high school.”

“No,” Trevor sighed. “My dad wasn’t famous at that time. We were very poor. He worked so hard to put my sister and me through that school.”

“He’s a great father for caring so much about his children’s education,” Spion said.

“I used to think that too,” Trevor replied, his eyes clouding over. “Then I realized he just wanted to get close to someone.”

Spion’s smile faded. “Who?”

“It’s not a big deal anymore,” Trevor said, finishing his coffee. “I gotta go. A lot of bugs to fix today.”

“I should go too,” Spion said, standing up. “Will you be at the Salon’s party next Sunday? Mr. Dressrious gave me a free ticket for my summer job. It’ll be my first time as a guest.”

“Sure. See you then,” Trevor said. “See you.” They separated at the door and walked in different directions.

“Sois prudent, Trevor, you may have found a cute ear to listen, but you’re talking way too much about yourself and your dad. And for a guy who just met you, Spion seemed to know a surprising amount about your private life. The real question is: who knows who, and what’s his agenda? We’ll see what goes down at the next Salon party. You know you love me.

XOXO, Gossip News.”

Chapter Text

The Dressrious Salon glowed with the "liquid night" theme, a celebration of the release of Dressrious 2.29 and its adoption of the new phone system’s Liquid Glass style. Light danced off the glass walls and mirrored surfaces, making the entire hall feel like a flowing, futuristic river.

Trevor arrived a little late. The Salon was already packed with guests in stylish clothes. He scanned the crowd but couldn't spot Lady News or Report Man, but his new friend Spion found him first.

"You're late," Spion said with a smile. "You missed the big surprise: the Ambassador of the Frankish Kingdom is here, along with the Secretary of Commerce and several CEOs. They just finished their tariff negotiations." He pointed toward a roped-off area. "They're in the Premium Zone."

The Ambassador, a middle-aged man in a pastel orange suit, was deep in conversation with a group of elites.

"Why don't you introduce yourself?" Trevor suggested. "He'd surely be interested in an ambitious young student like you."

"Me? I'm too shy," Spion said.

"I think he's friendly. Isn't he the nephew of Queen Cinderella? I heard her glass slipper story with the King is real." Trevor said.

"Of course! Their love story is a true fairy tale," Spion replied.

Their chat about fairy tales was cut short when they began discussing Dan Blue’s new book, How I Solve The Secret by Wearing Loafers, and a beautiful woman in a stunning silver dress approached them. "Trevor, what a surprise," she said.

"Duchess, long time no see," he answered.

"How's your dad?" she asked.

"He's fine. Got a new girlfriend now, traveling in the Neverlands, kind of busy," Trevor said casually.

The Duchess's smile tightened, but she quickly recovered. "Glad to hear that. I'm here on business for the Duke." She then saw the Secretary of Commerce walking toward her with a lady in a deep red dress. "Enjoy your night," she said to Trevor, then walked over to them.

Trevor overheard the Secretary introduce the lady as the Ambassador’s wife before they all entered the Premium Zone.

"How do you know a Duchess?" Spion asked.

"Her daughter went to the same private school as me. We weren't really friends." Trevor looked around the room and spotted Report Man and Lady News sitting at a bar inside the Premium Zone.

"Have you seen Mr. Dressrious?" Trevor asked. "The Premium Zone looks like it has better food and drinks. I hope he'll let me in."

"No, I haven't," Spion replied. "I heard he's working on the next version of Dressrious." Spion glanced over the velvet rope and saw a guard at the entrance.

Just as Trevor was contemplating how to get in, a loud crash echoed through the room, drawing everyone's attention.

"Looks like a waiter knocked over a wine glass or a plate," Spion said. "It happens a lot at these parties."

"Take the chance!" Trevor said, seizing the opportunity. "Let's go!" He rushed toward the entrance.

Spion tried to stop him, but Trevor was too fast. He waited for the guard to look away, slipped past the rope, and Spion, with a reluctant shrug, followed.

Trevor ran quickly but collided with a waitress with chestnut hair. Spion seemed to recognize her and almost said something, but she quickly ran away in a panic. "Strange," Trevor mumbled as he walked to the food table.

"Look at those apples," he said. "They're bigger and sweeter than any others I've ever seen."

"Indeed," the Ambassador in here too, he took one from a silver tray. He smiled at Trevor. "They’re a special offer from the White Palace. The Queen insisted I try one. I guess she's trying to bribe me." He took a bite. "Mmm, good." But suddenly, he gasped, clutching his throat.

"Ambassador?" Trevor and Spion watched in horror as the man fell to the ground, convulsing in pain. He was dead in seconds.

"Oh my god, the apple is poisoned!" someone screamed.

Chapter Text

A collective gasp, followed by a stunned silence, seized the Dressrious Salon. Then, a crescendo of panicked whispers and shouts erupted. "Someone call an ambulance!" "Call the police!" "Is he really dead?"

People rushed from every direction, surrounding the fallen Ambassador. His wife, witnessing the horror, let out a piercing shriek and fainted, collapsing into the arms of a nearby socialite.

"Is there a doctor? We need a doctor!" the Secretary of Commerce bellowed, his face pale with shock.

The Business Minister of the Frankish Kingdom, his eyes blazing with fury, pushed through the crowd and pointed directly at Trevor and Spion. "What's happening?" he demanded. "Did you poison our Ambassador?"

Trevor, his face ashen with terror, stumbled back. "I don't know what's happening," he stammered. "He ate one bite of an apple, then suddenly..." As he spoke, Spion gently pulled his cuffs from behind, a subtle signal for him to stop talking.

Just then, a distinguished, aged man with a silver-flecked beard pushed through the crowd, accompanied by Lady News and Report Man. "I'm a doctor," he said calmly. He knelt and, with trained precision, checked the Ambassador's pulse. It was gone. He looked at the man's lips, which had turned an unnatural, terrifying shade of black. He then picked up the apple that had fallen near the dead man's hand. The flesh where the single bite had been taken was also a sickening black. "This looks like poisoning," the doctor announced, his voice grave. "The apple may be the source."

"Oh, I ate the apple, too," a woman cried from the crowd. "Me too!" another voice shouted, and soon, a murmur of fear spread as people realized they had all been eating the same apples.

A cold dread spread through the room. "The apples were a special delivery from the White Palace, delivered by the Queen's agents," the Head Waiter stammered, his face ashen.

The Business Minister of the Frankish Kingdom stepped forward, his fury now directed at the Secretary of Commerce. "First, a trade war, then a ridiculous negotiation, and now this? A poisoned Ambassador? Is the United Fairylands trying to start a war with the Frankish Kingdom?"

The Secretary of Commerce held up his hands. "Minister, please, calm down! The ambulance and police are on their way. We need to discuss how to tell the media..."

But as he finished his sentence, a thousand phones across the Salon simultaneously erupted with the same alert tone. It was already too late.

GOSSIP NEWS: POISONOUS POLITICS!

Spotted: The Ambassador of the Frankish Kingdom, mysteriously dead at the Dressrious Salon’s Liquid Night Soirée. Our little birds report a single bite of a beautiful red apple was all it took. Could the Queen have poisoned the poor Ambassador as a warning to all who dare defy her tariff? An insider tells me all the apples were a "special gift" from the White Palace. What's more, my source also reveals a shocking secret about the Ambassador and his wife: they are both regulars at the Salon, but they never, ever attended together before this time. What's the reason behind that? We'll share more next time. You know you love me.

XOXO, Gossip News.

Chapter Text

The Gossip News report had detonated across the Salon, turning the already chaotic scene into a crisis of international proportions. Guests, faces bleached white with fear, huddled together, their earlier chicness replaced by wide-eyed terror.

"We need to discuss how to handle this situation, and we need to do it privately," the Secretary of Commerce insisted, gripping the arm of the still-furious Business Minister of the Frankish Kingdom.

"Is there a proper conference room?" the Minister demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

The Head Waiter, looking utterly professional despite the unfolding disaster, replied immediately. "You may use the private suite on the second floor, Minister. This way, please."

At that moment, the Ambassador’s terrified wife was gently brought back to consciousness. "Madam," the Minister said, his tone softening slightly, "we must discuss this situation immediately. Please come with us." The two dignitaries, the Ambassador's wife, and four tense assistants followed the Head Waiter, hurrying up the stairs.

Meanwhile, the remaining Dressrious clerks scrambled to manage the crowd. "Please calm down!" "Please step away from the body!" "Our food is perfectly safe; I ate those apples myself!" they insisted, though their strained smiles failed to mask their fear.

"What a tragedy," sighed Lady News. She quickly ushered Report Man and the distinguished doctor away from the scene, heading for a dimly lit corner booth. Trevor and Spion silently followed.

"This is Dr. Fit," Lady News formally introduced the doctor. "He's an old friend of my family, and a long-time regular here at the Salon."

"Nice to meet you, Doctor," Trevor said, still pale. "A huge shock. I was literally going to eat one of those apples."

"I believe the other apples are fine," Dr. Fit confirmed, adjusting his spectacles. "I've talked to several guests who ate them, and they show no ill effects."

"So, the poisoning wasn't general—only one apple, and the Ambassador happened to choose it?" Report Man countered, tapping his pen against his notebook. "I don't believe that's a coincidence."

"Perhaps the Ambassador was simply allergic to apples?" Spion offered casually, his eyes scanning the room.

"No, this was clearly poison," Dr. Fit refuted, shaking his head. "The symptoms suggest something extremely fast-acting—perhaps even Dragon's Blood, but I can't be sure without a proper lab test."

Their hushed conversation was interrupted when the Duchess approached. "Hi, Trevor, I must leave now. Please give my warm regards to your father." She then turned, surprisingly, to Lady News. "Lady News, thank you for suggesting Dressrious. It's been a lifesaver since I had to lay off my dresser.”

"I'm so glad to know you like it!" Lady News replied warmly, standing up to wish the Duchess goodbye. "Do come to the Salon often so we can chat more."

After the Duchess had walked a few steps away, Trevor frowned. "The Duchess fired her dresser? That's surprising for her."

"The Duke is facing serious financial issues," Lady News revealed, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The Queen's high tariff has clearly damaged his business."

"I never heard a word about that in the news," Spion said, looking genuinely confused.

"The press is forbidden from reporting any negative news about the Duke's family," Report Man explained with a small, cynical smile. "I guess they still have enough cash to cover up the bad press."

Dr. Fit checked his phone, quickly tapping out a reply before slipping it into his pocket. "I think I need to go now," he said, looking profoundly uncomfortable. "My wife strictly warned me not to stay in places where bad luck is rampant."

But it was too late for anyone to leave. Just as the Duchess and several other guests tried to reach the exit, the main doors were violently thrown open. A dozen armed guards in crisp Prussian blue uniforms stormed the hall. They were the Fairy Bureau of Intelligence.

"FBI! We are taking control of this place for a federal investigation!" the head agent, a bald, muscled man, roared, his voice echoing through the stunned silence. "No one can leave!"

Chapter Text

"Listen up, everyone!" The bald agent, a figure of pure muscle in his crisp Prussian blue uniform, yelled, commanding the hall. "I'm Agent Mulder of the Fairy Bureau of Intelligence, and by the Queen's direct order, I am in charge of this case." His voice dropped slightly, remaining perfectly audible. "Her Majesty demands this case be solved tonight to avoid international conspiracy rumors in tomorrow's news. Now, who is the head of operations in this Salon?"

"Me, sir. I'm Ali, the Head Waiter," Ali responded quickly, stepping forward.

"How many employees and guests are present tonight? Get me a printed list of every single person, and we also need to check the surveillance footage." Agent Mulder's cold eyes scanned the crowd. "I will be investigating everyone."

"The monitoring room is underground, sir. I can show you the way. We have a total of sixty-one people: fifteen staff members—that's six servers, four security guards, three chefs, and two bartenders—and forty-six guests. I can print the full register from my office," Ali stated, reciting the numbers with remarkable composure.

Just then, Trevor noticed the waitress with chestnut hair—the one he’d bumped into earlier—slip back into the room. She was talking quietly with a tall, thin waiter not far from his table.

"Where have you been?" the waiter asked, his voice low.

"To the private suite," she whispered. Trevor couldn't make out the rest, but Spion was watching them intently too.

"Agent Scully," Mulder said, pointing to a sharp-featured female agent. "You go with Mr. Ali to his office. Ensure nothing is altered. Agent Chuck, you go to the monitoring room to get the recording footage."

"This is insane! How dare you hold us here for an investigation! Do you know who I am?" A stout man in a dark carmine suit, whose lapel boasted the Queen's head badge, bristled. "I'm Lord Schwarzwald, chairman of Wolf Tech! I dine with the Queen! I had dinner with Her Majesty just last week!"

"This will be a small chat, My Lord," Agent Mulder replied with a mocking smile. "Less than five minutes for everyone."

"I'll not be saying a single word without my lawyer!" Lord Schwarzwald sputtered, pulling out his ornate phone, a call quickly mirrored by many other prominent guests.

"I guess we have no choice but to cooperate," the Duchess murmured. “Officer, what are we permitted to do while you investigate?"

"Enjoy the party," Agent Mulder said easily, waving a dismissive hand. "Just stay clear of the crime scene."

It was only then that people realized the FBI agents had already secured the area. They had moved the Ambassador's body, drawn a chalk-white outline on the glass floor where he fell, and were now quickly erecting silver privacy screens to isolate the area.

"Is there a quiet room I can use immediately?" Agent Mulder asked a waiter nearby.

"There are private suites on the second floor," the waiter replied.

"No, too far. Somewhere closer."

"You could use the reading room next door."

"Good." Agent Mulder nodded. Moments later, Agent Scully and the Head Waiter returned with thick stacks of printed paper. Mulder quickly took the lists and scanned them.

"I doubt we'll finish quickly," Agent Scully said listlessly, rubbing her temples. "Check the list. This place is complicated. And I had originally planned to take my kids to Yellowstone National Park next week—since the government shutdown, the entrance fees are waived."

Agent Mulder ignored her, reviewing the list. He addressed the Head Waiter once more. "I will use the reading room for questioning. Meanwhile, keep your guests pleased. I don't want these Lords and Ladies starting a riot; their families have too much influence, and I can't afford to offend them. I'll start with your staff first, then the Premium Zone guests, and the rest later."

He then looked slowly around the hall, his cold, assessing eyes settling on each terrified guest. "Once you've been interviewed, you're free to leave... unless I suspect you." He then turned and left with Agent Scully and Ali, the Head Waiter clearly the first person on the interview list.

"Let's move back to our booth," Lady News suggested. "It looks like this will be a long night for us."

Chapter Text

The music—Swan Tiger’s new album, I’m A Showgirl, Show, Show, Show—was back on in the party room, a deliberate attempt to drown out the anxiety. Talk and laughter filled the hall. It looked as though people were trying hard to forget the Ambassador's death, even with the FBI agents still working in the room. What choice did they have but to enjoy the moment?

The only thing that genuinely upset people was that half of the Premium Zone had been isolated, which meant most of the delicious exotic fruits and desserts were now evidence.

"At least the bar is open. I see Daniel is in there, shaker in hand," Spion offered. "Who wants a drink? Tonic for the Report Man, gin for Lady News, and orange juice for Dr. Fit?"

"You still remember our favorites. Very kind of you," Report Man said.

"I already had apple juice tonight. The bar had five Queen's apples for juice and cocktails, so no more juice for health reasons," Dr. Fit said with a beam. "Water is enough."

"Sparkling water, please. I can't drink alcohol tonight; my driver is on vacation, and I'm driving myself," Lady News explained. "I can’t even try Bob's new creation, Frog's Kiss."

"Yeah, I suggest you try Frog's Kiss," Report Man said. "I drank one, really good. It uses tequila with some herbals he refuses to name. And it’s limited; he only has a few of those special herbals."

"I'll try it. Always interested in a new drink," Trevor said. "I'll go with you."

"I can't believe Bob is hiding a new drink from me after we worked together for months," Spion said, feigning disappointment.

"It's the first showing," Lady News said with a grin.

Trevor and Spion struggled to make their way to the bar. The available space was now choked by guests trying to dance or simply move, and at least six FBI agents were walking through the room, surveying everything, while servers moved around with trays of freshly baked desserts.

Spion snatched two small bear chocolates from a passing tray, gave one to Trevor, and tossed the other into his own mouth. "Childish," Trevor grinned.

When they arrived at the bar, several businessmen were already sitting there, chatting loudly over shorts.

"Hi, Daniel, one tonic, one water, one sparkling water, and two Frog's Kisses," Spion requested, leaning on the counter.

"You'll have to wait, Spion. Bob is under interview, and only he can make the Frog's Kiss," Daniel replied, pouring gin into a shaker. "I need to make two Martinis and one Margarita first."

"We can wait."

The businessmen next to them were making a loud noise, then all drank their shots simultaneously. A younger one spoke up: "The tariff war is going to get worse. Last week, I had to sell my last ghost-hunting gear factory in Seres. That was a family business." He looked close to tears.

"Sam, we've all been there. Politics dominate the country now," his long-faced friend said. "Maybe moving the factory back home isn't a bad thing, as long as the government pays a subsidy."

"What I'm more afraid of is her wanting to be a Czarina, to destroy democracy," another younger guy with brown hair said nervously.

"Be quiet," a dark-skinned, older man among them cautioned. "Rumors say she has secret agents in every public place to watch everyone who speaks against her policy." Their voices dropped significantly.

After Daniel finished one Martini for the brown-haired guy, an FBI agent and the Head Waiter, Ali, approached with Bob, the other bartender. "Daniel, your turn," the Head Waiter said.

"Good luck," Bob patted Daniel’s shoulder.

"One Martini and one Margarita for those gentlemen," Daniel quickly pointed to the crowd, "and one tonic, one water, one sparkling water, and two Frog's Kisses for Spion and his friends."

When Daniel followed the FBI agent and the Head Waiter away, Spion asked Bob how the interview went.

"They just asked when I arrived and what I was doing the whole time,” Bob replied, putting two glasses on the counter and pouring spring water into one and sparkling water into the other. "When I told them I took five Queen's apples before the party began for making drinks, they asked more about those apples."

"Do you still have apples? I want to try one apple drink," Trevor asked.

"No, all apples were used out," Bob said as he started preparing a Martini. "We didn't plan to make any apple drink. But once we told everyone those apples were from the White Palace, and delivered just half an hour before the party began, they all got interested."

"Hmm, it's really just one apple that was poisoned," Trevor muttered, looking back toward the isolated Premium Zone.

"You didn't know the Queen would send apples here earlier?" Spion asked, surprised.

"No. We didn't even know the Ambassador and the Secretary of Commerce were attending. They only informed us one hour before the party began," Bob said, shaking the shaker. "Ali said it was the Ambassador’s proposal. He's a premium member here, but I never saw him; he always took a private suite, never came to the first floor. But I saw his wife here sometimes. She attends the reading club and art lectures. A lovely woman. Sorry for her loss. Negroni is her favorite."

"So the Gossip News is true. They did come here a lot, but never together," Trevor summarized, surprised.

"Well, I'm more concerned: since the Ambassador informed the Salon so late, who had time to plan the poison?" Spion said thoughtfully.

"You sound like the FBI," Bob grinned.

Chapter Text

“Who sounds like the FBI?” a new voice interrupted. A waitress with mid-length chestnut hair and a round face approached, carrying an empty silver tray.

“Hi, Snow,” Spion said, turning to her. Trevor looked at her too—she wasn't conventionally beautiful, but attractive with a quiet, mysterious vibe, especially in the Dressrious Salon’s charcoal and red staff uniform.

“Hi, Spion,” Snow said with a sweet smile. “How’s college life?”

“So-so, not as fun as in here,” Spion shrugged.

Snow gave a quick order to Bob, who was cleaning a goblet: “Tequila Sunrise, two whatever sweet tropical cocktails,” She then turned back to Spion. “Came back a lot, but sorry, it’s a busy day. We can chat later.”

Before Spion could reply, Snow quickly offered, “What can I get for you and your friend? You can go back to your booth to wait, and I’ll bring them over.” She wobbled the tray in her hand. “I want to keep busy so I don’t think about the death. It scared me.”

“Alright, we’ll take these two glasses,” Spion said, picking up the two water glasses. “Bob will tell you the order. We’ll meet you back at the booth.” He turned to leave, then swung back abruptly to ask, “Have you been interviewed?”

Snow paused for a second, her smile fading slightly. “Yes. I was rushing to the kitchen when it happened. Didn’t see anything special.” She immediately turned to watch Bob making drinks, effectively ending the conversation.

“She’s very kind; she helped me a lot when I worked here,” Spion told Trevor as they walked back.

At the booth, their three friends were deep in an argument. “But the ending in the new episode leads the suspect to the new doorman,” Report Man said with ecstasy, waving his pen. “The murderer always is an insignificant little character at the beginning, just like last season.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Trevor asked, sitting down.

Spion gave the water glasses to Lady News and Dr. Fit. “Snow will bring us the other drinks.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Fit said.

“Thank you. It’s the podcast show Only Murder in the Club,” Lady News said, sipping her sparkling water. “We are trying to figure out who killed the old doorman.”

“Isn’t it sort of ironic? Since we just had a murder right here in our Salon,” Trevor smiled serenely.

“But I bet the FBI won’t tell us any clues,” Dr. Fit said. “I doubt they can even definitively identify the poison tonight. Due to the government shutdown, they don’t have enough staff to do any proper scientific analysis.”

“But we have a new clue,” Spion said masterfully, lowering his voice. “It could be a murder on the spur of the moment. The Ambassador only informed the Salon one hour before the party began.”

“We know that,” Report Man said calmly. “We overheard the negotiating group talking. The negotiation wasn’t going well, so they decided to come here for a relaxer.”

Spion’s face fell when his clue wasn’t special. Trevor couldn’t help but grin when he saw Spion’s disappointment.

“We also came to a conclusion,” Lady News continued, lowering her voice further. “If the murderer really wanted to poison the Ambassador, it couldn’t be some international conspiracy like sabotaging the tariff negotiations, because the results of tariff negotiations are never the real issue. The tariff war is just a political manifesto for Queen Regina to gain more power domestically.”

“So, whoever poisoned the Ambassador, for whatever purpose, the Queen may take this as an opportunity to accuse the opposition of undermining national policies,” Report Man said confidently.

“That means the Queen is the most likely suspect?” Spion asked, shocked.

“No, Regina likes to use others to do her dirty work. It couldn’t be her, but she will definitely use it,” Trevor said, his eyes distant.

"Here are our drinks," Spion waved at Snow, who approached with their drinks on a tray.

“Enjoy your drinks,” Snow said, putting the glasses on the table. “All staff have been interviewed. Now they’re moving on to the premium guests. I guess they will summon you soon.” She looked at Lady News, Report Man, and Dr. Fit.

“Great, waiting for something always makes me nervous,” Lady News clasped her hands cheerfully.

Report Man took a satisfied drink of his tonic. “Who knows, maybe we can take this as a chance to get some new clues from the FBI.”

Chapter Text

No more than ten minutes after Snow's prediction, the summons began. Lady News was the first of their group to be interviewed. She was back in less than ten minutes.

“They only asked two questions: did I see anything strange, and who did I suspect? Then they let me go. Barely a minute,” Lady News said with a hint of disappointment. “After I left the room, I chatted with the Duchess and others. It seems all the nobles were the same—just one or two perfunctory questions.”

“That's very dismissive compared to how they interviewed the staff,” Trevor said indignantly.

Dr. Fit was next. He took more than ten minutes but returned with a cheerful, beaming expression. “Without surprise, I told them I was the first to examine the body. They asked me if I’d be willing to help them identify the poison as a consultant.”

“What?” Everyone looked surprised.

“They don’t have enough hands due to the government shutdown, remember?” Dr. Fit smiled from ear to ear. “Of course, I won’t get any payment, but it will be a unique experience.”

“Did you agree?” Report Man asked.

“I said I needed to ask my wife first. I successfully convinced her, so yes, I agreed. I’ll sign an agreement to prevent me from leaking anything about the FBI or the investigation until the case is closed.”

“When do you start?” Report Man pressed.

“Right now. They’ll assign me a laptop to work with Agent Chuck—he leads the analysis team. I shall go now.” Before leaving, he winked at Report Man. “I’ll see what I can do to feed your curiosity.”

After Dr. Fit left, Report Man was quickly summoned. When he returned, he did not look like he had been hired by the FBI, but he was certainly energized.

“Agent Mulder realized I’m a men’s fashion reporter, so he asked me a lot about dressing, which didn’t please Agent Scully at all,” Report Man said. “He’s a man of taste; he’s wearing a fine-fabric dress shirt under his uniform, with French cuffs. Both cuffs have the Queen’s head engraved on them.”

“Not surprised, utterly,” Lady News said sarcastically. “He is clearly supporting the Queen’s ‘Make Aesthetics Great Again’ movement. He definitely prefers to wear a dress uniform rather than the unaesthetic combat uniform he's stuck in now.”

“It could be his big chance,” Report Man mused. “If he can please the Queen with this case, he might be promoted to an office head position.”

“Guys, check the news. There’s an official White Palace announcement now,” Trevor said, putting his phone on the table.

Everyone looked down at their screens. “No surprise there,” Lady News read in a low voice. They do indeed imply the opposition: “‘Although the FBI is still investigating the case, our Queen’s determination is stronger than ever. Any dirty political resistance will not stop Her Majesty from continuing the reformation of our nation.’”

“Frankish Kingdom also posted an official announcement,” Spion said, scrolling through his phone. “It only says Queen Cinderella is in mourning and is waiting for the result of the investigation. Meanwhile, the tariff negotiation will pause.”

“But the whole internet is more interested in Gossip News’ report,” Report Man said with full enthusiasm. “They’re pushing a theory about why the Ambassador and his wife didn’t come to the Salon together. Several Salon members pointed out they attended the reading club and lectures with the Ambassador’s wife, but no one saw the Ambassador himself here. So they believe the Ambassador may have come here only to meet someone who couldn't be seen in public, like a secret mistress.”

“Spion, have you seen the Ambassador in the Salon before?” Trevor asked.

“No, I only worked as a waiter on the first floor. Never saw him,” Spion shrugged.

“If the murderer is a professional killer, killing him in a private suite might be easier than in a party, isn’t it?” Trevor asked.

Everyone nodded in agreement. They exchanged theories: Lady News thought the murderer might be his secret mistress, heartbroken that the Ambassador wanted to end the affair. Report Man raised the possibility that the murderer meant to poison someone else entirely.

Their discussion was interrupted when Spion was summoned.

Spion’s departure made Trevor feel nervous. He suddenly realized he and Spion were not supposed to be in the Premium Zone in the first place. But Spion came back shortly, holding a dessert tray.

“Hungry?” he asked, putting the tray on the table. “I saw the Business Minister and the Secretary of Commerce leaving. I don’t think they had been interviewed by the FBI.”

“Yeah, surely,” Trevor said, taking a bear cookie.

They enjoyed the dessert for only a short time before Ali, the Head Waiter, and an FBI agent approached. “Mr. Edson,” Ali smiled at Trevor, his voice soft. “Please come with us to the Reading Room. It’s your turn now.”

Chapter Text

The Reading Room was bathed in a soft, quiet glow. Two tables stood in the middle. Agent Mulder sat opposite an empty chair at one, and Agent Scully sat at the other, a laptop screen illuminating her face. Mulder's table held papers, a notebook, a pen, and a used coffee cup.

“Relax,” Ali whispered to Trevor before leaving. The FBI agent who escorted them remained posted at the door. Trevor walked to the empty chair and sat down.

“So, you are the famous Trevor Edson, Her Majesty’s ex-boyfriend,” Agent Mulder said, his tone mocking.

The cup beside him was cold and empty, betraying no coffee flavor. Trevor wished he could skip the obvious, awkward question. “Yes.”

“Why do you attend the party? What’s your intention?” Agent Mulder leaned forward, speaking the last word firmly and slowly.

“Intention? Just hanging out with friends, maybe meet a few new people.”

“Did you know the Ambassador would attend the party beforehand?”

“No.”

“Do you publicly speak against the Queen’s policies? Specifically, fair tariff, anti-illegal immigration, or enhancing national security?” Agent Mulder stared straight at Trevor.

“What does that have to do with the case?” Trevor shot back, instantly alert.

Even Agent Scully paused her note-taking and looked at Mulder with a disagreeing expression.

Agent Mulder leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. “Where were you, and what exactly did you do when the Ambassador died?”

“I was right there. I saw those apples, wanted to take one, then the Ambassador came up. He told me the apples were from the White Palace and looked delicious. He took a bite, then he fell to the ground.” Trevor recalled the scene, only now grasping how truly horrifying it had been.

Agent Mulder raised his eyebrows, leaning forward once more. “So, you were at the crime scene, you watched the Ambassador dying, and you touched those apples.”

“I didn’t touch any apple,” Trevor snapped, excited and angry.

“Mr. Edson, as we know, you are not a premium guest for this party. So why and how were you standing in the crime scene? What was your intention?”

“I wanted to talk to my friends. They were in the premium zone.” Trevor felt his heart pound against his ribs.

“Friends. Always a good excuse, isn’t it?” Agent Mulder mocked again.

“Did you see anyone else near the dessert table?” Agent Scully asked, lowering her screen.

“Yes, many people. It’s a party; people keep passing the dessert tables all the time. Lots of people gathered around when the Ambassador fell,” Trevor said, his voice calm this time.

“Mr. Edson, you are the highest suspect right now. You showed up in the crime scene where you shouldn’t have been, and you have a clear record of publicly dishonoring the Queen,” Agent Mulder said, writing something in his notebook. “You can contact a lawyer now if you wish, because we need to detain you for further investigation.”

“What? You have no proof! This is insane!” Trevor’s voice rose in fury.

“Mr. Edson, do you want to contact a lawyer or not?” Agent Mulder’s voice was ferocious.

“Fine, I’ll contact a lawyer.” Trevor knew he had no choice at this moment.

“Feel free to contact your lawyer, but don’t leave this room,” Agent Mulder boasted.

Trevor got up and walked toward the windows. The FBI agent stood guard at the door. Trevor pulled out his phone. Who should he call? He didn't have a personal lawyer, but his father knew some, and Lady News could likely help.

He decided to call his father first. Just before making the call, he received a message.

*”Lawyer won’t help you, but I can. Tell them you can help them solve the case. Let them give you time. I will assist you secretly. Only one condition: do not expose me to anyone.”*

The sender’s name, **Gossip News**, shocked Trevor. So many questions flooded his mind: Why? How? Who was this? He looked around—Agent Scully was working on her laptop; Agent Mulder complacently spun his pen, watching Trevor. Could it be Agent Scully?

Never mind that now, he thought, refocusing on the immediate danger. Agent Mulder had orders to solve the case tonight, or at least provide a scapegoat for the media. He wasn't focused on finding the real killer. And Regina didn't care who the real killer was; she just wanted to make political hay. Who was a more perfect scapegoat than him? He showed up where he shouldn’t have, and Regina would undoubtedly be glad to keep him detained for a few days as revenge. Gossip News was right: a lawyer could change nothing yet.

He put his phone back in his pocket, walked back to the chair, and stood, hands on the table, staring at Agent Mulder. “I know you only want to use me as a scapegoat. So how about we make a deal? I won’t leave this Salon, but give me freedom to walk around. I’ll help you solve the case, clear myself, and you get the merit.”

“Interesting. Do you really think you can solve the case, Mr. Edson?” Agent Mulder continued to spin his pen.

“I have no choice, do I?” Trevor countered, trying to sound utterly confident.

“Alright,” Agent Mulder stopped spinning the pen and wrote in his notebook. “I’ll give you two hours to clear yourself—before midnight. If you can’t, you come with us.”

“Seriously? Another civilian to help us? Do we really look this pathetic during the shutdown?” Agent Scully muttered, rolling her eyes.

Agent Mulder paused, then agreed. “You won’t get any information from us; you rely only on yourself. After midnight, if you can’t find the killer, you come with us. You’ll still have a chance to contact a lawyer then. Don’t try to leave; there are FBI agents at all entrances.”

“Deal.” Trevor agreed immediately.

“You can go now.”

Trevor left the room. Ali was waiting outside. He gave Trevor a slight smile, then went into the Reading Room. Trevor walked toward the restroom. The corridor was quiet and empty. He quickly pulled out his phone and replied to Gossip News: “How can you help me?”

A link was immediately sent back. He tapped it. It was a video footage about the party hall.

Chapter Text

Trevor stared at the video clip on his phone. It was only 86 seconds long, recorded by a static camera in the left corner of the Premium Zone. There was no audio, and with so many people passing, it was hard to see them clearly on the phone’s small screen.

Trevor zoomed, moving the frame, and noticed one key event: at the 10-second mark, a waiter carrying two trays collided with a dessert table in the regular guests' zone, not far from the premium area. Food and trays crashed to the ground. Waiters and clerks rushed in to help, creating instant chaos that drew a lot of attention.

Trevor remembered this moment distinctly. He and Spion had used the confusion to slip across the barrier. He moved the frame to the barrier: he saw himself and Spion rush across, then bump into a chestnut-haired waitress—Snow. He then walked toward the dessert tables where the Queen's apples were displayed, and the Ambassador walked up almost simultaneously. The video ended there.

Was that all? He thought, dragging the progress bar back to the moment of the crash. He paused the video just at the waiter created the distraction. At the apple table side, he could clearly see the back of a chestnut-haired waitress standing right beside the apples. Her right arm seemed to raise momentarily, then she quickly turned and left the area, moving against the flow of people looking at the crash. She didn't pause or look at the noise made by the falling trays, unlike everyone else. She then collided with Trevor.

Snow? He immediately texted Gossip News: “Is that Snow?”

Gossip News replied instantly: “I don’t know. I can only show you clues. You solve it by yourself.”

He also got a message from Spion: “HRU? We saw Ali take another guest away, but you’re not back.”

“Restroom, omw,” he replied. On his way back to the booth, he thought about Snow. Spion knew her well and could help him question her. But how could he mention it without revealing his source?

The party hall was much calmer now. Few people remained, and no one was dancing or walking. Groups simply sat, chatting or relaxing. He rejoined his friends.

“Finally, you’re back. We were worried about you,” Lady News said with concern.

Before Trevor could figure out how to tell them what had happened in the Reading Room, Report Man said, excited, “Now, I can tell you what I discovered!”

“Report Man met Dr. Fit in the restroom right after you left and insisted on waiting until you were back,” Spion explained.

“So, I met Dr. Fit,” Report Man began. “He told me the analysis team had finished their work and he was free to go home. I asked him what he could say, and he just kept repeating he couldn’t say anything. So I threw my theory at him: I suggested the murderer might have poisoned the apples at a specific time, and the Ambassador was just unlucky enough to be the first to take one. He still couldn’t tell me anything about the case, but then I switched topics. I said, ‘Isn't it a shame to throw all those good apples and desserts away?’ He paused, and he said, ‘Yes, all good apples. Totally a waste.’” Report Man paused dramatically, looking at everyone.

“All the apples taken by the FBI as evidence are fine; they weren't poisoned!” Report Man continued. “So I threw a new theory at him: I asked, ‘Is the apple just a trigger?’”

Everyone looked puzzled. Report Man explained, “The murderer couldn’t guarantee the Ambassador would take the single poisoned apple, and they couldn’t poison all the apples, which risks killing the wrong person. The apple can’t be the only source of the lethal dose.”

“What was Dr. Fit’s answer?” Trevor asked urgently.

“He still just said, ‘I can’t discuss the case.’ Then, when he was washing his hands, he said, ‘No one washes apples with Wolfsbane juice.’”

“They found Wolfsbane juice on the apple? What is that?” Trevor demanded.

“I did a quick search,” Report Man replied. “Wolfsbane juice is a powerful plant toxin, sometimes used in medicine, but lethal in the wrong dose or when mixed with other things. The other things could be on his lips; remember, his lips and the apple turned black.”

“Lips?” Trevor thought aloud. “Other things on what he had eaten before?”

“But other people still could have been accidentally killed by eating the food at the party,” Spion reasoned.

“The secret mistress!” Lady News exclaimed excitedly. “A kiss could also transfer the other part of the poison to the Ambassador’s lip! And in such a way, the murderer could guarantee only the Ambassador was poisoned.”

“So the secret mistress is the murderer,” Trevor said, just as excited. “We can ask Ali who the secret mistress is. He is the Head Waiter, he must know.”

“He may not tell us. He can’t divulge any Salon guest’s private matters,” Spion cautioned.

“Well, it’s getting late now. We should go. Maybe we can ask him tomorrow, or ask Mr. Dressrious—it’s about a murder; surely he can tell us,” Report Man suggested.

“I can’t go,” Trevor interrupted, and quickly told them about his confrontation with Agent Mulder and the two-hour deadline.

“He can’t do that! He has no direct proof,” Report Man said angrily.

“I can contact the best lawyer now. She has a lot of experience dealing with the FBI,” Lady News said, pulling out her phone.

“But they only want to use Trevor as a scapegoat,” Spion worried. “He may still be detained for a while. We need to help him solve the case tonight.”

“Then let’s go ask Ali right now. We are certainly willing to help you, Trevor,” Report Man declared, standing up.

Chapter Text

Ali wasn’t standing at the door of the Reading Room.

“It’s locked,” Report Man said, trying to push the dark ebony macassar door. “They must be done with interviews.”

“He might be in his office. Let’s go to the basement,” Spion suggested, leading the way.

The lights in the basement hallway flickered on, responding to the noise they made. Ali’s office was the first door on the left side of the staircase.

“Ali, are you in there?” Spion knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

They all crowded into the small office. Ali was making a cup of tea. A closed laptop and a statue of an Arabic warrior sat on his desk. “You’re all still here? What can I do for you?” he asked, surprised.

“Ali, we need to ask you something important about the Ambassador,” Spion started.

“I’m not sure I can help. I don’t know much about him. The FBI agents are still searching the kitchen and yards, checking garbage cans for the poison, I guess. Why don’t you ask them?”

“They won’t help us,” Spion said, quickly explaining Trevor’s predicament. “We need to help Trevor solve the case tonight, or at least find something to clear him.”

“I need your help, Ali,” Trevor pleaded.

“That’s nonsense. I will talk to Mr. Dressrious. He can tell the FBI that we all know you well, and it's fine for you to enter the Premium Zone freely. We can tell the FBI you can go anywhere in the Salon,” Ali offered kindly.

“That might not help,” Report Man grinned. “You’d just be telling the FBI that he had the opportunity to commit a crime anywhere in this Salon.”

“We have a theory that the murderer might be the Ambassador’s mistress. Do you know who she is?” Lady News asked delicately.

“What?” Ali considered the question for a moment. “That’s impossible.”

“Why? Who is she? Did she attend the party tonight?” Trevor pressed.

“No. Because there was no mistress,” Ali paused, looking slightly uncomfortable. “He came here with different women every time.”

“Oh, dear,” Lady News gasped.

“He used this Salon as a whorehouse?” Spion said, mouth agape.

“We don’t judge our customers,” Ali said, frowning slightly.

“Regardless, he couldn’t bring a prostitute to a party like this. The murderer must be someone else,” Ali concluded.

“Did he have an affair with any of the staff? A waitress?” Trevor asked carefully.

Ali frowned again. “Impossible. He never wanted any disturbance here; he was cautious all the time. Besides, he was not kind to any servers—arrogant, actually.”

Report Man, who had been thinking hard, asked, “Did the Ambassador come to the party hall directly, or did he go to a private room first?”

“Yes, he went to a private room first. He took a shower. He was there for no more than half an hour,” Ali said.

“Haha! That could be the chance the murderer had to transfer the other part of the poison to the Ambassador!” Report Man exclaimed.

“What other poison?” Ali looked confused.

“Who serviced him? Who might have been near him at that time?” Trevor urgently asked.

“Snow White,” Ali said. “You don’t think it’s her?”

“Where is Snow now?” Trevor continued, his voice tight.

“She is taking care of Madame Perrault, the Ambassador’s wife,” Ali said.

“We need to find her! The Ambassador’s wife may be in danger!” Trevor said anxiously. He turned to Spion. “Remember I collided with her just before the Ambassador died? She said she was rushing to the kitchen, but I think she was rushing to escape the crime scene before anyone noticed!”

Chapter Text

“It can’t be. She’s kind to everyone,” Ali shook his head firmly. “In fact, she’s a good friend of Madame Perrault.”

“Even so, she might have seen something. We need to talk to her,” Spion insisted.

“Where is she now?” Trevor asked, trying not to sound too demanding.

“She’s in a private room on the second floor,” Ali explained. “Madame Perrault felt exhausted after meeting with the dignitaries and requested a place to rest. Snow is looking after her.”

“Can we talk to her right away?” Lady News asked, trying to ease the tension. “We promise we’ll be polite.”

Ali reached for his badge to call Snow, then paused. “No. We’ll go to the room together. Madame Perrault might not be asleep, and she may be able to tell us more.” Ali gestured toward the door with an open palm.

As they all left the office, Ali locked the door, leading them to the elevator for the second floor. He continued, “Snow and Madame Perrault are quite close. They usually discuss books and art. They’ve been friends for nearly two years now. Madame Perrault even invited Snow to her manor in southern Frank for her birthday three months ago. I hope Madame Perrault can convince you to drop the idea that Snow murdered her husband.”

None of the friends spoke. If Snow and Madame Perrault were truly friends, the situation was far more complicated than they first assumed.

The corridor on the second floor stretched endlessly, covered with a soft purple carpet and scented heavily with violets. Ali led them to the private suite where Madame Perrault was resting.

Ali knocked only twice. The dark ebony door opened, revealing Madame Perrault herself, dressed in a cream nightgown embroidered with the golden Dressrious flower on the breast.

“Ali? Did you bring my wine yourself?” Madame Perrault asked, surprised. Her expression turned to confusion when she noticed the group standing behind him, with no wine bottle in sight.

“Madame, is Snow here? We have a few urgent questions we need to ask her,” Ali said.

“I asked her to fetch me a wine. She should be back soon.” She eyed the group. “Come in, we can wait for her.” She walked back into the room, picked up her phone from the coffee table, quickly typed something, and put it back down.

Everyone filed into the room, seating themselves awkwardly on the white sheepskin sofas surrounding the coffee table.

“What exactly do you wish to know? It’s very late, and I hope it doesn’t concern my husband’s death. I truly need my rest,” Madame Perrault said in a surprisingly calm tone.

“Madame, I’m deeply sorry for your loss, but I need your help,” Trevor said, leaning forward. He quickly explained the impossible situation he faced with the FBI. “We think Snow might have seen something crucial. She could help clear me.”

Madame Perrault looked at him, sighed, and then said peacefully, “There is no need to bother Snow. She knows nothing.” She paused, her eyes growing distant. “I did it. I poisoned my husband. Because he was a monster.”

A stunned silence filled the room. The air was thick with sudden, terrifying tension.

“He was a monster, a bastard,” she continued, her voice hardening. “I know he had affairs with countless women. He promised me he would change, but he never did. I told him I wanted a divorce last month, and in return, he beat me.” She rolled up the hem of her nightgown, revealing bruises—black and blue—on her legs. “My back, too.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

“That bastard!” Report Man whispered, his voice full of anger. The others shared the same fury.

Lady News immediately moved to sit beside her, taking her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“He didn't want a divorce because he relied on me and my family’s diplomatic connections. He was utterly incompetent; he was only Ambassador because he is Queen Cinderella’s nephew. And his family never helped Queen Cinderella when she lost her father and lived miserably with her stepmother and stepsisters. They only came calling when she married the crown. He has no real access to the Queen privately. So he refused the divorce. And, truthfully, I couldn't afford a divorce either. It would be social suicide for a noblewoman. My son is only twelve, a sensitive age. It would bring him shame. Killing him was the only way to relieve me from that tragic marriage.” Her voice shook violently, a wet, rattling sound that gave way to a ragged sob.

“Madame,” Trevor stammered, completely speechless. He felt sympathy for Madame Perrault, yet something about her confession struck him as strange.

Madame Perrault took the tissue from Lady News, quickly dried her face, and checked her phone. When she spoke next, her voice was completely resolved. “I’ll tell the FBI everything. I don’t want innocent people to be blamed.”

Chapter Text

“Madame, with all due respect, may I ask—” Report Man began, his doubts visible, but Madame Perrault cut him off.

“I shall tell more to the FBI, not to you.” She stood up. “I will change clothes first, then I will plead guilty to the FBI. I hope they’re still downstairs.”

They all stood, ready to leave.

“Thank you, Madame,” Trevor said, his voice hesitant.

Sensing his compassion, Madame Perrault offered a faint smile. “Don’t worry about me. I have diplomatic immunity.”

The group waited silently in the corridor outside the room. Trevor’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out—a message from Gossip News. He walked a short distance away to check it.

“Girlfriend?” Spion joked.

The message read: “Wolfsbane juice mix Alkaline powder is the poison, frog bile is the cure.”

Trevor’s mind raced. The FBI found Wolfsbane on the apples and Alkaline powder on the Ambassador’s lips, but what did the cure mean? Could they actually cure the Ambassador? He hoped not.

He quickly typed: “What does the cure mean? Do I need frog bile? Where to find it?” No reply came.

Moments later, Madame Perrault emerged. She had changed back into the deep red dress she wore at the party, with a matching cashmere shawl draped over her neck and shoulders. Clutching a forest green crocodile skin bag in her hand, she looked like a glamorous rose against the gloomy hour. She paused only to speak to Ali: “Ali, keep the room for me; I may come back tomorrow.” Then, turning to the group, she announced, “Now, let’s go,” leading the way.

No one spoke a word as they arrived in the lobby. Two agents guarded the area casually, chatting. Ali spoke to them, asking for Agent Mulder, and one agent immediately radioed for him.

Agent Mulder and Agent Scully stepped out of the black FBI SUV parked in the Salon’s front yard. The moment they entered the lobby, Madame Perrault confronted them.

“Officer, I am Catherine Perrault, the wife of the Ambassador of the Frankish Kingdom. I confess I poisoned my husband, the Ambassador.”

Agent Mulder’s jaw clenched slightly. He could see his promotion dream crushed in endless diplomatic red tape if Madame Perrault indeed was the murderer. That was the last thing he wanted.

Agent Scully, ever calm, spoke first. “Madame, we appreciate your honesty. Would you be willing to come with us for further investigation?”

“Certainly,” Madame Perrault replied, sounding relieved. She walked quickly toward them. “I will go with you to the FBI, but I demand an arrangement to send me back to my home country, Frank. My legal counsel and assistant shall discuss the details with you tomorrow morning.”

Agent Mulder paused, thinking. He glanced at Trevor, a subtle smile playing on his lips. “Madame, do you happen to have the poison vessel right now? We believe it was a spray bottle, but we couldn’t find it. We need it as evidence.”

Madame Perrault hesitated, her relief dissolving. “I... I don’t remember where I threw it. I was too panicked at the time.”

Agent Mulder’s confidence returned. He addressed Madame Perrault directly. “Madame, no need to rush to the FBI just yet. There are still many doubts surrounding this. We can find a quiet place to chat more. If you’re trying to protect someone, rushing this won't help them.” He then called out to Ali, “Ali, may we use the Reading Room?”

“You don’t believe me?” Madame Perrault’s voice rose, losing its composure.

“Madame, we need a fully formal confession supported by the evidence so we can close the case properly, please,” Agent Scully soothed.

As Madame Perrault was escorted to the Reading Room by Agent Scully and Agent Mulder, the group quickly hurried to the elevator hall to discuss in urgent whispers.

“She’s trying to protect Snow, obviously,” Report Man stated first.

“She didn't have time to throw any poison if it was her. She was busy chatting with guests throughout the party,” Lady News confirmed.

“Snow poisoned the Ambassador, and Madame Perrault is the accomplice,” Trevor realized suddenly. “They are very close. Snow absolutely wanted to help her friend escape that miserable marriage.”

“But if the FBI figures that out, it won’t help anyone. Snow doesn’t have diplomatic immunity,” Spion considered, frowning.

“If the FBI arrests Snow, I think Madame Perrault will plead with the judge, and surely Mr. Dressrious and I will too. The Ambassador deserved it,” Ali said with quiet conviction.

“We are all willing to help,” Lady News agreed. “But we need to find Snow first so we can discuss a strategy.”

“Where is she?” Ali asked.

“Ali, you’re the Head Waiter,” Report Man reminded him.

“Oh, right.” Ali quickly pressed his badge. “To Snow,” he said. After a beep, he spoke, “Snow, where are you? We need to talk.”

“In the staff lounge. What’s wrong?” Snow’s nervous voice answered through the badge.

“Nothing, I’ll come to you.” Ali ended the communication. “To the staff lounge then.” The four friends and Ali took the elevator to the basement where the staff lounge was located.

Chapter Text

In the Reading Room, things were not going as Madame Perrault planned. She recounted her suffering, telling the two FBI agents how much she hated her unfaithful husband, especially after he beat her. She cursed him, praying to the Gods to punish him, and when no deity answered, she decided to kill him herself.

“Why choose this party? You had plenty of time to poison him at home; why here?” Agent Mulder didn’t buy the story and kept pressing for the execution details.

“There were many people coming and going at the party; it wouldn't be as noticeable as at my home.”

“And why are you rushing to confess now, if you planned so thoughtfully not to be noticed?”

“I don’t want an innocent young man to take the blame for me. You know that well, Officer,” Madame Perrault stared straight into Agent Mulder’s eyes. Having faced numerous tough negotiations for her incapable husband, she was practiced at finding the weakness of an opponent.

“Mr. Edson is still a suspect, Madame. He could be your accomplice.”

“Nonsense. As I told you, I did it all by myself.”

“Madame, with all respect, you couldn’t have poisoned your husband at the party,” Agent Mulder said, a slight, almost triumphant smile touching the corners of his mouth. “You are a distinguished guest; everyone was trying to get a moment to speak with you. You didn’t have the time to spray poison on the apples. You must have had help—an accomplice.”

He was right. Throughout the party, she had been glued to CEOs, board members, lords, and a duchess—all for business and the ridiculous tariff war. This was not the environment she had intended for the evening; this party was supposed to be for designers, artists, and writers. It was her husband who had deliberately brought his negotiating group and tycoons here after learning she would attend. He wanted to parade their 'happy marriage' publicly and remind her that she couldn’t escape his grasp.

She had wanted revenge. She had already told the agents she kissed her husband to transfer powder to his lips and sprayed juice onto apples at the party, perhaps dropping the bottle in a washroom in her panic. However, no matter how much she wanted to be the killer, she truly didn’t have the window of opportunity.

It was Snow. Snow had confessed everything to her after the meeting with the dignitaries. Snow had once told her she would help free her from her monster husband, but Madame Perrault never thought she would actually go through with it. That’s why, when she saw her husband dead, she had lost consciousness—not out of grief for him, but worry for Snow. The first thing she thought of was how to help Snow escape. That was why she had asked Snow to bring a bottle of Burgundy, hoping they could formulate a plan together. When Ali and the group came, she feared they had uncovered Snow’s crime. She sent a message to Snow telling her to wait an hour before returning to the room. Her plan was to use her diplomatic immunity to confess, lure the FBI away, and buy Snow time to escape and hide. She left a note explaining the situation. It was her fault, ultimately; if she had possessed the courage to divorce or stand up to her husband, Snow wouldn’t have been involved.

“Oh, you don’t know how quickly and unnoticeable a woman can use a spray bottle for a touch-up, do you? I don’t see a ring on your finger,” she said sarcastically, aiming for a distraction.

Agent Mulder adjusted his posture awkwardly, momentarily unsettled by the personal jab.

“I think it’s too late to get any productive results tonight. The analysis of the security footage should come out tomorrow. Then we shall see whether Madame had the opportunity or not,” Agent Scully said to Agent Mulder, closing her laptop with a sigh of exhaustion.

“Oh, right,” Agent Mulder conceded, giving up the interrogation. “Madame, do you want to come with us to the Office, or stay here? We will send agents to guard you if you wish to remain.”

“To your Office, please. I’ve always wanted to visit an FBI Office,” Madame Perrault said, now sounding almost joyful.

The lobby still felt warm and bright when they came out from the Reading Room, contrasting with the cold, dark world outside. Agent Mulder gave the order for all FBI agents in the Dressrious Salon to withdraw.

Just before they exited the lobby, a bright, trembling voice stopped them.

“Officer, I’m Snow White, and I confess I poisoned the Ambassador.” Snow stood at the center of the lobby, holding a shiny red apple in her right hand.

“Snow…” Madame Perrault cried out in shock.

“Miss,” Agent Scully began, her exhaustion briefly giving way to irritation at the sudden complication. Agent Mulder completed the thought for her: “Miss, could you please repeat what you just said?”

“I have the bottle you are looking for,” Snow took a small, clear spray bottle with an owl symbol at the top from her uniform jacket pocket. “I poisoned the Ambassador because he is a despicable jerk—unfaithful, a wife-beater, and he sexually harassed me. I wanted him dead. So I touched Alkaline powder to my lips and kissed him after he took a shower in the private room, and then I sprayed Wolfsbane juice on the apples when I saw a chance to draw attention during the party. I’m happy he died a horrible death in front of all those bigwigs, so they know he was just a pathetic little pig.” Her voice was trembling with rage, thin and broken as she finished, gritting her teeth in silent fury.

“Miss, could you come with us?” Agent Mulder walked cautiously toward Snow.

“I would rather be dead than face a flawed trial.” Snow raised her right hand, bringing the apple to her mouth, and took a large, deliberate bite.

“No!” In Madame Perrault’s raw, sorrowful cry, Snow’s lips immediately turned black. Both the apple and the spray bottle dropped from her hands onto the maroon carpet of the lobby, and she fell instantly to the floor.

Chapter Text

Madame Perrault dashed to Snow, embracing her tightly and crying, “My stupid girl, I had a plan! Why?”

Both Agent Mulder and Agent Scully put on white gloves and approached the two women. Agent Scully tried to comfort Madame Perrault.

“Go away, all of you!” Madame Perrault shouted, trying to push them back.

Agent Mulder quickly picked up the apple and the spray bottle dropped on the ground, then stepped further back with Agent Scully.

“What’s happening… oh, no, Snow…” Ali rushed over from the party hall. He knelt beside Snow, then glared at the two FBI agents. Pointing at them, he roared, “Did you do this? Did you compel her to die?”

“We’d better go,” Agent Scully muttered.

Agent Mulder spoke rapidly into his voice recorder clipped to his uniform: “Suspect Snow White committed suicide out of fear of prosecution by ingesting a poisoned apple. Her confession matches our hypothetical reconstruction of the crime. She possessed the criminal tool. Witness: Madame Catherine Perrault.” He then took a rapid photo with his phone before getting into the FBI SUV after Agent Scully.

Ali watched the taillights of the last FBI SUV disappear past the gate. “Now!” he yelled toward the party hall, then turned to the mournful Madame Perrault. “Madame, hold her loosely. We’re bringing her back.”

Madame Perrault stopped sobbing, stunned. “Pardon?”

Ali desperately tried to open Snow’s mouth, forcing his fingers inside. Just then, Bob rushed in, a glass of green, bubbling drink in his hand. Trevor, Spion, Report Man, and Lady News all emerged from the party hall, crowding around.

Ali successfully removed the blackened piece of apple from Snow’s mouth. “She didn’t swallow it,” he explained to Madame Perrault. He took the drink from Bob and carefully poured it into Snow’s mouth.

“What is that? What are you doing?” Madame Perrault was utterly confused.

“It’s the drink mixed with a large dose of frog bile. It will force her body to expel the poison,” Trevor explained.

“It’s all Trevor’s idea,” Ali said.

“And thank Bob for making the potion,” Trevor added humbly. Bob blushed, unnoticed by most.

“Will it work?” Madame Perrault asked, her voice tight with confusion and hope.

Suddenly, Snow’s body lurched, and she vomited a large amount of green liquid onto herself, Madame Perrault, and Ali.

“Oops,” Ali mumbled. The smell was undesirable, but everyone was smiling now.

“It worked!” Lady News cheered, pulling a sheaf of tissues from her clutch and handing them to Ali and Madame Perrault.

“We’d better give her room; she’s still weak,” Ali said, feeling Snow’s faint but steady breathing.

“Bring her to the couch,” Report Man suggested, pointing to the red velvet reception couch near the entrance.

Ali tried to hold Snow, scooping her up from Madame Perrault’s arms, but struggled.

“Let me,” Spion volunteered. He easily lifted Snow and carried her to the couch.

After Spion laid Snow down gently, Madame Perrault asked, “You all planned this together?”

“We didn’t have time to inform you, Madame,” Ali said.

“Did you come up with this?” Madame Perrault asked Trevor gratefully.

“Well, yes, but we all helped,” Trevor said, and began explaining what happened after she entered the Reading Room with the FBI.

The group had found Snow and Bob in the staff lounge. It turned out that when Snow went to the party hall bar for a bottle of Burgundy, it was sold out, so Bob took her to the cellar to pick one. That was when Snow received Madame Perrault’s message, which told her to hide for one hour. She decided to wait in the staff lounge.

The hour was late; most guests had left, and staff had gotten off work. Bob closed the bar and went to the staff lounge to pick up his bag. He was surprised to find Snow still there, and when the group arrived, the two were discussing… frogs.

“I got the idea from a guy I met last week who told me he was once transformed into a frog by a wicked witch in his childhood. Since then, he started to like frogs,” Bob said.

“Wait, that’s why you named it ‘Frog’s Kiss’?” Snow asked, amazed.

“Yeah. Turns out it’s not a great name for marketing. I only got five orders tonight,” Bob replied, disappointed.

“Snow… we need to talk,” Ali broke in, hurrying to explain. “Madame Perrault told the FBI she poisoned her husband, and she’s being investigated right now.”

“What?” Snow was shocked. “Where are they? I need to go; she shouldn’t do it.” Snow said anxiously.

“Were you just talking about a frog?” Trevor asked, momentarily forgetting their main concern.

“Frog’s Kiss. Do you like it?” Bob asked hopefully.

Honestly, Trevor didn’t think it was bad, though he wouldn’t order it again. Instead of commenting, he asked, “Did you put some frog bile in it?”

“How did you know? Only a small dose for each to make it a little bitter,” Bob said, happy someone finally appreciated his invention. “I only told Snow the secret when we went to the cellar. I can’t add too much because it would cause vomiting.”

“It is a lovely drink, but we can discuss it later,” Report Man interrupted them.

“I need to tell the FBI it was not Madame Perrault; I did it,” Snow said urgently.

No one was surprised by her confession except Bob. “What?”

“Calm down. You can’t go to them right now; we need a plan,” Ali said, holding her arms.

“Madame Perrault is trying to use her privilege to buy you time, but we think the FBI will still find out the truth soon, so we all want to help you,” Lady News said kindly, stepping close to her.

“I did it alone. I don’t want her to take the blame,” Snow said with tears in her eyes. “I’m not afraid of the charge or death. I only wish she can be happy.”

“Woah, no, no, we don’t talk about death right now. We are all willing to plead with the judge for you,” Ali said.

“Maybe we can use death,” Trevor suddenly suggested. Everyone looked at him, confused.

“If the suspect is dead, the case is closed. The FBI won’t investigate it anymore, and they certainly won’t put a dead body on trial,” Trevor said.

“What kind of ridiculous plan is that?” Ali asked angrily.

“We can bring her back,” Trevor explained, getting excited. He turned to Bob. “Do you still have the frog bile? Doesn't it cure poison?”

“Yes, I do,” Bob said excitedly. “Frog bile causes nausea, which can eliminate toxins. Are you familiar with Potions too?” he looked at Trevor with anticipation.

“Ahem,” Spion interrupted. “Are you suggesting Snow takes the poison in front of the FBI agents, waits for them to leave, and then we use the frog bile to bring her back?”

“Yes,” Trevor nodded.

“That’s too much of a risk,” Ali disagreed.

“It only works quickly. You can’t wait long when the toxins flow throughout the body,” Bob warned.

“I’m willing to take the chance,” Snow said firmly.

“Do you still have the poison?” Trevor asked.

“There are still some Alkaline powder on my lips, and those apples are still in the hall. The FBI just took all their equipment away but left the food on the tables,” Snow said.

“So, we can do it,” Trevor said confidently.

When they returned to the party hall, no one was there. The apples on the tray were shining. Snow picked one up. Bob immediately started to make the antidote. They waited in the hall until they saw Madame Perrault and the agents emerge from the Reading Room.

Chapter Text

Snow woke up, relieved to see she was surrounded by friends. “It worked! Did the FBI leave?” she asked, sitting up immediately.

“Yes, they left. Let’s hope they closed the case,” Madame Perrault said, sitting beside her.

“I don’t want to spoil the fun, but I think we have to continue pretending Snow is dead,” Report Man explained seriously. “Someone may inquire about her—reporters, bloggers, gossipers. We probably have to host a fake funeral.”

“You’re right. We need to hide her, too,” Madame Perrault agreed. “This is our secret now.”

“I wouldn't expect anything less. I can’t work at the Salon anymore, can I?” Snow said disappointedly.

“You can’t, I’m afraid. Too many people visit here every day, and we can’t even let the other staff know,” Ali said. He glanced at Bob, unsure if he could be trusted.

“I won’t say anything,” Bob pledged immediately. He then looked at Snow, confusion clouding his eyes. “But I’m still wondering: how? Why? Snow White poisoned the Ambassador? You’re so kind and sweet to everyone.”

“Because of love,” Snow gazed at Madame Perrault admiringly.

“We’re in love with each other. She’s the reason I want to divorce,” Madame Perrault said, looking at Snow with adoration.

“I knew it!” Lady News clapped and cheered. “Just look at how caring you are for each other! It’s enviable.” The men, though less adept at reading romantic cues, were nonetheless happy for the couple.

“I wanted to help her break free from her miserable marriage, but I didn’t know how. So I went to the temple to pray to Athena. The High Priestess gave me a pack of Alkaline powder and a bottle of Wolfsbane juice and told me mixing them would poison a man to death. She said the Goddess permitted it. That’s why I got the courage to do it,” Snow continued her explanation.

“The Gods answered. Thank Athena,” Madame Perrault prayed to the sky, then gave Snow a tender kiss on her forehead.

“Well, I think it’s really too late now, isn’t it? We all should go,” Ali said to the group.

“Yeah, we should go,” Trevor said awkwardly.

“We should go to room clear this and take shower.”Madame Perrault looked at vomit stain on her and Snow’s clothes.

“Me too,” Ali said, examining his own stained jacket. “And Bob and I need to clear up and close the party hall.”

“See all you guys at the Halloween party then,” Lady News called out cheerfully.

The group dispersed. Madame Perrault and Snow White walked hand-in-hand toward the elevator hall. Ali and Bob headed back to the party hall. Lady News strode toward the parking lot.

“I’ll call a taxi. Want a lift?” Report Man opened the riding app on his phone and asked Trevor.

“Sure,” Trevor said, then turned to Spion. “How about you? Report Man and I live in the Lower East Side. Where do you live?”

“I live far out. I’ll ask Ali if I can crash in the staff lounge,” Spion replied.

“Bye then.” Trevor said, walking toward the garage with Report Man.

Spion watched them for a moment, then turned and headed toward the party hall, looking for Ali.

A bright champagne-colored ladybug car passed Trevor and Report Man. Lady News waved goodbye from the window.

“The taxi will be here in ten minutes,” Report Man checked his phone.

“It’s really been a tough night,” Trevor sighed.

“Indeed.”

“At least we solved it—solved the case, saved Snow.”

“Yeah, but somehow, I still feel a little doubt.”

“Like what?”

“The High Priestess. The Gods stopped answering any prayers since the Industrial Revolution. Why now?”

“Maybe the High Priestess just wanted to help, acting in the Goddess’s name.”

“That goes against everything she stands for as High Priestess. So either the Gods truly started interfering, or someone, a mortal, made her do it.”

Trevor considered Report Man's words. He realized there was another doubt nagging at him: Who is Gossip News? It couldn’t be Agent Scully, as he first suspected, since she had no reason to assist Snow's elaborate stunt, nor could she have sent him the second, crucial message. He pulled out his phone, typing a message to Gossip News: “Thank you for the help.” He tapped send, but the message failed. The receiver account doesn’t exist.

Chapter Text

The lights were twinkling, and several bats flew above the building occasionally. The main structure of the Dressrious Salon was wreathed in mist. Vampires, monsters, killer clowns, and all different kinds of macabre creatures surged inside. It was finally Halloween party time.

This year, thanks to the shocking death of the Ambassador of the Frankish Kingdom, the event attracted more guests than usual. The sensational news of the murderer, Snow White’s dramatic suicide, also helped attendance. A memory board dedicated to Snow White stood in the lobby, covered with flowers offered by customers and staff who appreciated her service.

Trevor, wearing silver-colored armor, offered a bouquet of white chrysanthemums. He had avoided her actual funeral, afraid he might accidentally leak their secret.

“Thank you,” a tall, thin man in a glow-in-the-dark skeleton costume stood beside him. “Did you know her?”

Trevor looked at him. The man wore a glowing Dressrious flower badge on the left breast of his costume, identifying him as a Salon clerk. “She serviced me several times. She was so kind,” Trevor tried to look sad.

“Gods are unfair,” the clerk said, sincerely mourning, tears in his eyes. “Those FBI agents pushed her; they wanted to end the case in a hurry, so they pinned the blame on her.” His words were choking with tears.

Trevor, feeling uncomfortable at keeping such a painful secret, was relieved when Ali arrived. “Mr. Edson, welcome, please go inside,” he said, then turned to the clerk. “Go get a rest, John. Let me handle the door.”

“He seems truly sad,” Trevor observed, uncomfortable that John was kept in the dark.

“Little John is from the same orphanage as Snow, and she introduced him to work here,” Ali said, measuring Trevor with his eye. “I see you’re dressed as a Murder-bot.”

“Yeah, I even have the mask. Check this out.” Trevor pressed a button on his smartwatch; a soft, silver-colored face mask popped up from the back of his collar. He pulled it over his head. He was now a fully armored murder-bot.

“Envy you. I only got this silly costume because Mr. Dressrious insisted it be easy for guests to see in the darkness,” Ali grinned. “We have a special game after the dancing. You’ll see. Go on, your friends are all inside.”

Trevor nodded and entered the party hall. The entire room was decorated with Jack-o'-lanterns and packed with costumed guests, making it hard to find a familiar face. Trevor took his mask off. A bearded pirate in a shabby 17th-century military uniform walked up to him.

“Gotcha,” it was Spion. “Are you an armored knight?”

“Murder-bot. Have you watched the TV show?”

“No, too busy for school. I have a paper on deadline.”

“Poor pirate, you should be working on your paper, not out here,” Trevor joked.

“How could I miss a Halloween party? Come on, Lady News booked a booth. We have some bloody dessert.” Spion led the way.

“Did you really use the money you earned on the stock market to buy the party ticket? Which stock did you buy?”

“I don’t give advice about the market, because I can’t guarantee success. I don’t want to lose a friendship over a bad stock tip.”

“I won’t blame anything, I promise.”

They arrived at the booth. Lady News and Report Man were already seated. On the table were three plates of bloody dessert: a big-eyed, cute baby cake, which had already lost two arms; one plate of seven red eyeballs; and one plate of arms and legs shaped like fries with, hopefully, ketchup.

“Ew, that looks yummy and delicious,” Trevor said ironically.

“It is, indeed. Try the baby; the skin is white chocolate,” Lady News suggested.

“You’re a knight? I’m not familiar with the armor. Which country, which era?” Report Man looked over Trevor’s costume.

“Murder-bot. I’m a murder-bot from the future.” Trevor looked at Report Man in a dark brown inverness cape, a deerstalker hat resting on the table. “You’re a detective from the 19th century?”

“Sherlock Holmes. The case we solved woke my detective dream.”

“Guess who I am; neither of them guessed right,” Lady News asked eagerly.

She was wearing a dusty blue vintage dress with several blood stains. “I don’t know,” Trevor shook his head.

“Elizabeth Bennet, the most famous zombie hunter in the 18th century,” Lady News said proudly.

“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of zombies and monsters you can hunt tonight,” Trevor grinned.

“Let’s get some food first, then we can have some fun. Hope no one gets killed tonight,” Spion said, cutting off one of the baby cake’s legs, letting the red sauce flow out.

Trevor forked an eyeball, chewing. “Sweet, like sticky rice. I think the dark red part is pudding.”

“No, it’s real blood,” Report Man said, smiling as he saw Trevor’s eyes suddenly widen. “But chicken’s.” Everyone laughed, revealing teeth stained crimson. Blood-red juice dripped from their knives and forks. This night was definitely going to be creepy fun.

Chapter Text

The light was dimming when the sharp tone of a saxophone rose. A band—formed by a zombie with an exposed brain, a mummy with a bloody mouth, a clown with a drooping left eye, and an alien with a bulbous head—took the stage. Their music made the whole place go wild.

“Let’s finish the heart, then go dance,” Lady News said, her fork in hand, staring at the small, dark heart on the plate. It was the only remaining piece of the baby cake they had cannibalized.

“I think it’s just a chicken heart, totally fine. We even ate the baby’s intestines, whether they were chicken or duck,” Report Man concluded.

“You take it; I’m done with any chicken organs,” Trevor said, wiping his mouth.

“Okay, let the hunter do the dirty job.” Lady News forked the heart gently and chewed it. “Mmm… a little salty. I think it’s salt-baked chicken heart… not bad.”

“Let’s move our bodies… Swing!” Spion stood up, cheering.

“Trevor, shall we?” Lady News quickly put on a black leather eye mask. Then she told Spion and Report Man, “You two dance together first, then we’ll switch.”

“No, Sherlock never wears a mask,” Report Man rejected with a wry smile.

Trevor put his murder-bot mask on. He gestured toward the booth behind theirs, then headed to the dance floor with Lady News. Spion took the hint, covered his left eye with an eye patch, and walked to the booth. There, five girls in clown costumes, all wearing heavy Gothic makeup, were chatting. He invited them to dance; one with green hair agreed, taking his hand to follow Trevor and Lady News.

The floor was crowded with men, women, and monsters swinging left and right. The good thing was everyone wore a mask. Even if a real monster were hiding among them, you would never know.

Trevor realized it was a good time to discuss their secret. Leaning close, he whispered to Lady News: “Do you have any news about Madame and Snow?”

Lady News brought her mouth to his ear and replied in an equally low voice, “I only know Madame returned to Frank to deal with everything her dead husband left her, and she also changed back to her family name, Charmeur. Snow is probably hiding in a place Madame arranged.”

“That sounds good. I never dared to ask, afraid the FBI might intercept our messages.”

“But the case brought more trouble to Frankish society.”

“How is that possible?” Trevor raised a hand, leading Lady News into a turn.

“The Frankish Kingdom is facing fierce social conflicts nowadays. Queen Cinderella is the only person who can hold the country together. Conservatives think Madame dishonored the royal family and the nation, reformists sympathize with her, blaming stubborn noble customs, and extremists blame her for using Snow to achieve her own goals.”

“Wow, she must bear huge pressure. It surprised me that Gossip News didn’t mention they were lovers in its report.” Trevor led their steps to the left.

“That wouldn’t have helped, or it might have made things worse, especially for Madame’s son.”

“Right.”

The music ended, replaced by a new, intense melody. “Switch partners!” Lady News took the hand of a hairy snowman nearby. Trevor was picked by a green wicked witch.

“I’ll take the lead. Let’s do the Lindy,” the witch said, her hand on his waist. The voice was familiar.

“Bella?” Trevor was taken aback. “You came back?” He tried to remove his mask in case Bella didn’t recognize him.

“No need, I know it’s you, Trevor. That’s why I came close to you.” Bella led him in a swing. “I saw you offer the white mums. Do you know the waitress?”

“Yeah. I didn’t notice you; you really surprised me. Why didn’t you tell me you were back?”

“Am I not telling you now? Besides, I just arrived yesterday and wanted to check out this salon, which has gotten a lot of attention lately. I even downloaded the app—never thought about using an app to manage my wardrobe.” They executed a quick turn.

Trevor followed her lead, then asked, “How long do you plan to stay?”

“Months. I’m engaged.” They stepped back, then held together. Bella showed Trevor a fancy diamond ring on her finger.

“To whom? When is the wedding?” Trevor had many questions but struggled to follow her lead.

“I’ll send you an invitation. You’re all invited—you, your sister, and your dad.”

“Are you sure?” He turned again.

“Yeah, why not? I want everyone close to me at my wedding.” Bella seemed surprised by his question.

“But the Duke…”

Bella covered his mouth with one finger. They both turned this time. Then, Bella asked quickly, “Stop talking about me. How about you? Are you seeing someone? Who was the lady dancing with you before? You two seemed quite close.”

“She is Lady News; we’re just friends.”

“OMG, the Lady News, the fashion queen? Get close to her. I want to dance with her next time, introducing my jewelry business to her.”

“I can introduce you.”

“I don’t want to owe you a favor,” Bella grinned.

Trevor thought she still needed him to get close to Lady News, so technically she still needed his help, but he didn’t want to argue with Bella. No one could argue with Bella.

Step by step, they slowly swung toward Lady News. When the music changed, Bella swiftly stretched out her hand and took Lady News as her new partner.

Trevor didn’t want to dance with a hairy snowman. He awkwardly stepped back, looking far to the right, pretending not to see the snowman’s huge, hairy hand. He accidentally stepped on someone’s shoe. He turned back and froze. What stood in front of him was probably the most beautiful creature in the party, perhaps in his whole life, or even the whole world.

She was wearing a diamond-studded eye mask, a starlight hair cover over her brown hair, and a sheath dress made of purple and blue glitter flakes.

Trevor wanted to apologize, but he was speechless. The lady didn’t say anything; she just raised her hand, waiting for him to invite her to dance. It was a ferocious zombie who walked toward them that woke Trevor up, making him realize the opportunity. How could he let the horrible zombie take the fairy in front of him? He took her hand and lowered his body, officially inviting her to dance.

After a few steps, his heart was still racing. Her hand was so soft, and her scent reminded him of the sea and the beach, sunshine in summer. “Hi, I’m Trevor,” he finally managed to speak.

The lady still said nothing, just looking at him and following his lead. She didn’t seem good at swing dancing; she stepped on his shoes several times, which made her face blush, but he didn’t mind. Her blushed face made him blush too. Thank the Gods he wore a full-face mask.

“I have a booth with my friends. Do you want to sit? We have delicious desserts, not much left, and they’re probably getting cold now, but I can order new ones. Or a drink? Do you want a drink?” He spoke a lot, but she only kept looking at him. Her eyes were clear and bright, like the deep ocean.

After a turn, Trevor started to wonder what she was dressed up as. Most guests were monsters, comic characters, or dead historical celebrities. But she just looked like herself—a princess, a fairy, a goddess.

“Who are you dressed up as? Some historical figure? A queen? I’m not good at history.”

She still said nothing.

He observed her carefully. She had pointed ears, which he hadn’t noticed before. The ears looked so real; he couldn’t find any makeup traces in the dim light. He felt her back; her spine was quite protruding, but she wasn’t as thin as those over-dieting celebrities.

“Your ears… are you dressed up as an Elf Queen?”

She swiftly pulled her hands away from Trevor and touched her ears. She looked panicked, then turned around, squeezed past the crowd, and strode quickly out of the room.

Trevor snapped out of it and rushed to the door. The lady was already there, flanked by two bodyguards wearing sunglasses and heavy black bucket hats. One of the guards draped a dark gray suede overcoat over her shoulders. The other gently placed the matching black bucket hat on her head. She looked back at the hall. Seeing Trevor standing there, she briefly lifted her eye mask, offered him a pure, luminous smile, and then disappeared with her bodyguards.

Chapter Text

Trevor felt depressed, wondering why she left in such a hurry without even leaving a single shoe for him. His hands still held her scent, though: Aquatic. She likely favored an aquatic perfume. He plodded toward the bar, still consumed by thoughts of her. Report Man sat at the counter, chatting casually with Bob, a half-empty red drink beside him.

“Wanna drink, Trevor?” Bob said warmly. “No Frog’s Kiss, I’m afraid. All sold out—turns out it really fit the Halloween vibe.”

“What are you drinking?” Trevor asked Report Man.

“Bloody Mary, Halloween special. I ate those olive 'eyes.' It’s more spicy than usual.”

“Any normal drink? Nothing spicy or made with organs?”

“Dark Lord,” Bob replied. “Just vodka, cream, and black coffee. Daniel can make it.” Bob turned to Daniel, who was chatting with two girls in demon costumes on the other side. “One Dark Lord, Dan.”

“Right after the Demon’s Martini, for the ladies—my treat,” Daniel called back to the demons.

“Have you been dancing?” Trevor asked Report Man.

“No, I did a little research, then came here to chat with my tailor friends.”

“You did research at a party?”

“I am just looking for any news, any signs about the Gods answering prayers.”

“Did you find anything?”

“No, most of it is just students praying for passing exams or patients praying for health—that doesn’t count. However, I did find something interesting. Are you familiar with this year’s Nobel laureates?”

“No. I only know last year they awarded two AI guys.” Since there was no Nobel Prize for computer science, Trevor certainly wasn't interested in it.

“This year, the economics prize was awarded to three economists, one of whom is Michael Maker, who wrote a book named Athena’s Gifts. According to this book, he believes Goddess Athena still guards the Earth. He credits her with leading the Enlightenment and Industrial Revolution, as well as many innovations and technology developments.”

“But that doesn’t sound like the Goddess would intervene in an individual affair, let alone a murder,” Trevor lowered his voice on the last word.

“Are you still talking about the murder?” Bob whispered, jumping in. “I feel awful keeping it from others.”

“A secret is not a secret if more people know,” Report Man said with a grin.

“It’s about Little John. Snow was like a sister to him. He blames himself for getting off work too early that day. Now he’s taking boxing classes and going to the gym frequently. I’m afraid he may do something stupid,” Bob said, frowning and looking at Trevor.

Daniel brought a black drink in a double shot glass to Trevor, interrupting their conversation. “Wait until I light it.” The drink had a skeleton latte art on top. He used a lighter to ignite it, and a green flame shot up. “The Dark Lord is calling.”

Trevor drank it all in one gulp, feeling a wave of warmth and energy. He and Report Man left the bar with a plate of fried calamari. Their booth was empty, but after five or ten minutes, Lady News came back.

“Trevor, I chatted with your high school friend, Lady Bella, in her booth. We arranged a coffee talk next Thursday,” Lady News announced.

“I know,” Report Man said, surprising both Trevor and Lady News. “Gossip News reported it a half hour ago.”

Trevor and Lady News quickly checked their phones. There wasn’t just a report, but a photo showing a group of green wicked witches with Lady News in the Salon’s booth.

“Spotted: Lady Bella, the successful jewelry entrepreneur and the one-and-only diamond-encrusted daughter of the Duke of Orange, crashing the Dressrious Salon Halloween bash. Forget the Queen's patriotic little plea for homeland investment; B.'s trip home is about a much bigger piece of business: a massive, sparkling engagement ring spotted dazzling everyone in the room. Who is the lucky gentleman who managed to pin down our notoriously untamed Duchess-in-waiting?

But wait, there's more. Rumor has it she's planning to expand her Rome-based brand to conquer Istanbul next, potentially bringing a "diamond agreement" to two rival countries. A wedding this ambition demands attention—and a guest list that makes royal events look like a peasant's picnic. When is the date, B.?

You know you love me,

XOXO Gossip News”

“I’m surprised who told Gossip News this. She told me one of the Sultan’s concubines favors her jewelry, so she was just considering expanding to Istanbul,” Lady News wondered.

“She probably told many people about this,” Trevor said.

They talked about Bella for a while, then changed the topic back to the Nobel laureate’s theory about Athena. The music shifted to a tango sound. Four couples were still dancing. Spion was dancing with a vampire.

“He is really a good dancer,” Lady News praised, watching Spion.

As the sound faded, the lights dimmed. Unexpectedly, a harsh voice shocked everyone, and in rapid sequence, all the lights went off. The whole hall plunged into darkness.

“What’s going on?” People whispered, muttered, and looked around, using their phones for light. A shadow flew across the ceiling. Dozens of bats chirped above. Then all the lights turned green.

To a bassline, a gigantic head levitated onto the stage. Mustache, top hat, round face—it was Mr. Dressrious.

“Greetings, my dear guests. I hope no one was scared,” everyone cheered and laughed. “I hope you all have an unforgettable Halloween night. We have another special game for everyone who wishes to stay after 10 p.m. The game is sponsored by Minchesters. So, let me introduce the CEO of Minchesters, Sam Minchester.”

The head disappeared, and all lights returned to normal. Spion hurried back to the booth. A man in a dark field jacket stepped onto the stage. He briefly introduced himself and his ghost-hunting gear company, Minchesters, then explained the game:

“You will form a team with your friends, then receive a map and ten candies from the staff at the door. The map displays rooms and sections on the first floor, basement, and backyard of the Salon, which you can explore to find more candies. However, the rooms and sections have staff guarding them. You need to pay one candy to enter and find as many candies as you can in two to five minutes, depending on the size of the area. By midnight, everyone returns to the party hall. The teams with the most candies shall win. The prize is our latest Ghost Hunting Kit Premium Edition, all made in the Fairylands!” Some in the booth area cheered loudly at his last words.

“That sounds really fun!” Lady News was excited. “Are you all staying?”

“Of course. I knew we’d be late, so I booked a room tonight,” Report Man said.

“Me too. Spion and I booked a twin room,” Trevor said. Spion nodded.

“Great. Let’s go hunting for candies!” Lady News stood up excitedly, leading them toward the door.

Chapter Text

The entrance was crowded. Teams waited in line for staff to distribute maps and candies. After a long wait, Lady News finally secured their map and a black plastic bag containing ten candies.

“The Reading Room and Boutique have long lines; I bet the Barber Shop and Cafeteria are the same. Let’s head to the yard—it’s bigger and has more sections,” Lady News suggested, rushing them toward the backyard. “I’m so glad I chose hunter boots rather than heels tonight.”

The yard had fewer teams. It was divided into sections by tents lit with fairy lights. They swiftly headed to the nearest one, Tent No. 2.

“One team at a time,” a clerk in a glowing skeleton costume, holding a big candy bag, instructed.

“Four of us,” Lady News said, handing over their map and one candy. Other teams quickly arrived, forming a long queue behind them. The clerk stamped their map and said, “One minute.”

They entered the tent. It was pitch black inside. They used their phones for light and saw a single coffin. When they stepped close, it suddenly opened, and a vampire sprang up, screaming at them in fright.

“The candies are inside the coffin,” Spion said, immediately grabbing them.

“How many?” Trevor asked.

“Five,” Spion replied, dropping the candies into their bag, which Report Man held.

“Go! Quickly, to the next one,” Lady News ordered. They left the tent and ran.

They raided ten tents over the next twenty minutes. All were similar: each contained five candies hidden in a monster’s nest, mouth, hands, or pocket. The queues grew longer in front of the tents, and every time a team left, the clerk went inside to replace the candies.

“Only the last one left in the yard: the mini-maze,” Lady News said, checking the map.

The mini-maze was surrounded by an inflatable wall, looking like a spooky castle from the outside. Five teams were already in the queue. “Five minutes. There are ten candies in total. Find them all, good luck,” the clerk smiled as it became their turn.

The maze was not difficult. They easily picked up eight candies along the way, found in broken pottery, tucked into corpses, and lying in a witch’s pot.

“Only two left, and less than two minutes,” Lady News waved her phone, looking around frantically.

“There! That bat’s two eyes are candies,” Report Man pointed his phone’s light toward a bat perched on the tall maze wall.

“How do we get up there?” Trevor asked.

“Ride on my shoulders,” Spion grinned at him.

Trevor climbed onto Spion’s shoulders, reaching out for the bat, but the bat suddenly flew away, scaring Trevor, who retracted his hand and nearly fell.

“It’s a drone,” Trevor said, looking at the drone-bat one arm's length away, trying to catch it. Spion unsteadily held him, saying, “Don’t move so fiercely; you’re too heavy.”

“Abandon. We have no time. Go!” Lady News said, rushing toward the exit.

Trevor jumped down. They all ran out, feeling deeply unsatisfied.

“We go to the first floor first. If there are still long queues, then we head to the basement,” Lady News suggested, looking at the map.

Unfortunately, the Reading Room still had a long line. They went to check other rooms, and fortunately the Cafeteria had few teams, so they entered without a long wait. The Cafeteria was a large area, allowing three teams to enter per turn, but only for three minutes. All candies were placed openly on plates on tables, turning the challenge into a pure race to see which team could grab the most. Spion proved agile, ravening a lot of the candies, leaving little for the other teams.

“Probably fifty. That was the easiest part of the game,” Spion said contentedly.

Next, they rushed to the Barber Shop, then the Boutique. Both places were dark, filled with mannequins dressed as creepy monsters. Some mannequins even made scary sounds when approached, but that barely phased the team anymore. They calmly and composedly plundered all the candies they could find on the displays and mannequins.

When they went back to the Reading Room, they met the group of Gothic makeup clowns. Spion said hello to them. The one with green hair waved back and called him over.

“You guys go line up; I’ll catch up,” Spion told Trevor.

Minutes later, Spion found them in line waiting to enter the Reading Room. He held up a candy bag. “She gave me all of their candies,” he announced.

“Wow, lucky! You must have charmed them,” Trevor said.

“Of course,” Spion beamed. “They’re from Oz, here traveling for a week.” He handed the bag to Report Man.

Report Man started transferring the candies to their main bag, but he found a card inside. “She even left you her phone number!” he giggled, handing the card to Spion.

“Well, I did charm them indeed,” Spion said, slipping the card into his pants pocket.

“They gave us probably sixty candies,” Report Man estimated, glancing at their gain. “We have more than two hundred now.”

“Cheers! I can smell the prize,” Lady News said, full of fight.

The team before them left the Reading Room. The clerk went inside to replace the candies. One minute later, she came out and welcomed them to enter. “Five minutes. There are twenty candies. Good luck.”

The room was dark, lit only by light filtering in from outside. They used their phones to look around. All bookshelves were covered by curtains decorated with Halloween sprites. Five to seven child-sized, bald murder dolls sat on chairs beside the reading tables. All made an eerie laugh when they approached.

They checked the dolls and plundered ten candies.

“Where are the other ten?” Trevor wondered.

“They could be behind those curtains, on the bookshelves?” Lady News walked to the bookshelf close to her, tried to lift the curtain. “It’s fixed. I guess they don’t want us to mess up the books.”

“Look at this. A Sphinx guards the way to the tiered seating. A box is on the top seats,” Report Man said, pointing his phone toward the box.

When they stepped up to the Sphinx, it opened its mouth. A tablet was visible inside, the screen lit up. It emitted a deep, ancient voice that seemed to vibrate the floor:

“Harken, O’ mortal seekers of ephemeral sweetness. Before thee lies the ultimate reward. Solve this riddle, and I shall grant thee passage. The answer must be correct, or I shall consume thee whole, body and soul.”

“Can we just take the stairs? It doesn’t look difficult,” Spion said, pointing at the spacious seating area.

“Noooo,” a sudden, sickeningly resonant voice crashed through the room. A large, pitch-black figure detached itself from the window curtains nearby, its shape blurring the air around it as it walked toward them. Where its head should be, two menacing red orbs glowed with hostile intent. The air around them turned icy cold. They didn't just scream in startled surprise; they screamed in pure, visceral terror, their fear echoing in the sudden, absolute silence of the Reading Room.