"Of course it's in the hands of those that ran your family out of town," Ethan said in a tone expressing his disappointment.
He turned away for a brief moment, then spun back around sharply. "How do we know this isn't just some bullshit to make up for all the money we've paid you so far? You could be a fraud for all we know."
Valerie's face went red. "Excuse me? A fraud? Do you have any idea how insulting that is? I'm a Hemilton! We've been practitioners of sealing magic for generations, and you dare stand there and…"
Eduardo's calm voice cut through her indignant rant. "Was Jenner the Hemilton who lived at the Black Rose Manor on Linkford Avenue?"
Valerie stopped mid-sentence, blinking in surprise. "Yes, actually. How did you…"
Eduardo then turned toward Ethan's confused expression. "Master Ethan, the day the seal was placed on you, your father asked me to drive him to that exact location. The girl could very well be telling the truth."
Ethan's eyes remained fixed on Valerie, with every ounce of annoyance in his gaze. "Do you have any idea how we find this Jamen Le Gris fellow?"
Though he was glaring at Valerie, the question was meant for Eduardo.
The butler answered. "Yes. He's one of the known ones. Jamen is the Le Gris handling the family's racetrack gambling."
"Good," Ethan said. "We're going to meet with this Le Gris now, and we'll get this grimoire." He turned his attention back to Valerie. "Given that this is in the hands of a gangster, how would we identify that it's the real thing when we see it?"
Valerie composed herself, and spoke seriously. "The grimoire has a black leather cover with silver Hemilton family crests embossed on all four corners. You'll know it when you see it."
Ethan nodded. "Starting now, you will receive nothing more in payments until this whole thing is done."
Valerie opened her mouth to respond, but Ethan had already turned away.
"Eduardo, get the car ready," he said, while heading toward the stairs. "I'm going to change."
A few moments later, Ethan and Eduardo left the premises in the vintage car. Not long after their departure, Francesca emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of perfectly golden pancakes.
She walked toward Valerie with asmile.
"They've gone to get the grimoire, eh?"Francesca said casually, setting the plate down in front of Valerie.
Valerie's eyes widened. "You were listening?"
"Of course, love," Francesca replied, wiping her hands on her apron. "But I know not to get involved when it's something the men can handle."
Valerie watched as the older woman turned to head back toward the kitchen. "When then do you get involved?"
Francesca paused mid-step and turned back with a false smile "For your sake, I hope you're able to do that spell when they return with that grimoire."
Then she continued on her way without another word.
Valerie stared after her, feeling slightly unnerved. "Did she just… make a threat?" she wondered. Her gaze dropped to the plate of pancakes in front of her, and she found herself genuinely unsure whether eating them was a good idea or not.
——
The drive was mostly silent.
Ethan stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past while stuck in thoughts . He has this irritation on his face.
He truly despised the fact that his father had gone all the way to find a Grand Caster just to seal these parts of him.
Grand Casters were seen as those at the pinnacle of sorcery, and for good reason. Every spell in common use today had been created by one of them at some point in history.
Anyone belonging to any talent level could potentially reawaken. It didn't matter if you were a caster with E-level talent or one with S-level talent. The possibility was always there, however slim.
And when someone reawakened into the Grand Caster class, they didn't just gain more power. They awakened the ability to directly manipulate a specific type of magic.
It could be fire magic. It could be sealing magic, like in Jenner Hemilton's case. Or it could be something as abstract and powerful as gravity or space manipulation.
All while maintaining the other random spells they knew beforehand.
Ethan clenched his fist, still staring out the window.
—-
Eventually, Eduardo and Ethan arrived.
The area wasn't exactly the low part of town, but it certainly wasn't high-class either.
The betting house itself was a two-story brick building with narrow windows, iron-barred on the lower floor.
Smoke drifted from a chimney on the roof, and the muffled sounds of men shouting and laughing could be heard even from the street.
Eduardo and Ethan made their way toward the entrance.
Inside, two men sat at a table counting stacks of money with the ease of long and habitual practice. There were also two men stationed out front, with their arms crossed while watching the street with sharp eyes.
They were all werewolves. The Le Gris family as a whole was a large pack, one of the more organized ones in Grayfort. They'd built their reputation on loyalty and muscle.
One of the men inside, a stocky fellow with a cigar clamped between his teeth, nudged the other with his elbow.
"Upper area folks incoming," he muttered, nodding toward the window. He'd noticed the cut of their suits and the vintage car parked outside.
The other man, leaner and sharper-featured, raised his head and glanced out the window. He saw them too.
"Tell the lads out front to let those two in," he said.
The cigar smoker stood up to leave, but before he could take more than a step, the other man gestured for him to come closer.
He leaned forward and plucked the cigar right out of the smoker's mouth.
"Oi!" the smoker complained, reaching for it instinctively. "What's that for, Harold?"
Harold held the cigar between two fingers like it was evidence of a crime. "The ones approaching may be customers with loaded cash. You think they want to smell that?"
The smoker, whose name was Dennis, scowled but didn't argue further. He turned and headed toward the front door.
Ethan and Eduardo were let in without issue.
Harold, the more cordial of the two, stood up from the table and approached them with a polite smile. "Good evening, gentlemen. Here to place some bets? We can even sell you the right tips if you're interested."
While Harold spoke, Ethan's eyes swept the room. He could tell they had mana in them, all of them. But their presence didn't feel particularly intimidating.
Eduardo's voice was calm and direct when he said, "We came to see Jamen Le Gris."
The two men glanced at each other in understanding. It wasn't uncommon for certain rich folks to prefer dealing with Jamen directly. Bigger bets, private arrangements, that sort of thing.
Harold nodded. "Right this way, then."
They were led through a narrow hallway and up a creaking staircase to the second floor. At the end of the hall was a door with frosted glass, and Harold knocked twice before opening it.
Inside was a modest office with a large desk, a few chairs, and shelves lined with ledgers and bottles of various liquors.
Jamen Le Gris sat behind the desk. He was a broad-shouldered werewolf with dark hair slicked back and a face that had seen more than a few fights.
The moment he saw how well-dressed Ethan and Eduardo were, his expression shifted into one of interest.
"Well, well," Jamen said with a grin, leaning back in his chair. "Fancy visitors today."