This essential update brings you general bug fixes, notable performance improvements, and the exciting next chapter in the A Salon Story narrative.
Mysteries of the Dressrious Salon — Chapter 43
Professor Antonius’s funeral was held on Tuesday afternoon. The Professor’s ex-wife, Claudia Medici, and his daughter, Julia Antonius, opted to keep the service simple, notifying only the professor’s closest colleagues, students, relatives, and the team who helped solve the case. As Lady News and Report Man both had inflexible business appointments, Trevor, Spion, and Bella attended to pass on their deepest condolences to Claudia and Julia.
“Thank you so much. If you hadn’t investigated his death, we might have been kept in the dark forever,” Claudia said, grasping Bella’s hands gratefully. “He wasn’t always a good husband and father—addicted to work all the time—but we are very proud of him.”
“Thank you for letting us know my father was a hero,” Julia said with a sorrowful smile.
“He always was a hero. He was brave and had integrity; he was a mentor for my life,” Bella said. She had met Claudia and Julia several times back in Rome when the professor invited her to his villa as a student. Time had passed, and the marks of age now appeared on Claudia’s face, but Bella still found her aristocratic, conveying a sense of dignified luxury, even wearing a black dress with her hair covered by a black palla draped over her shoulders. Julia, a rebellious teenager in Bella’s memory, was now tall and elegant in a forest green dress, a fresh student at Imperial College, just like Bella herself years ago.
“He was a great man. We hope the police will hunt down the entire criminal gang. May his soul rest in peace,” Trevor said sincerely. “Have you retrieved his flash drive?”
“Yes, and the police also made a copy,” Claudia confirmed. “It’s his diary, but it also contains many research documents. We hope it may help capture the criminals.”
“He was working on a document translation job for a guy named Victor, who that bitch Olivia introduced,” Julia hesitated, looking at her mother. Seeing no objection, Julia continued, “It seems Victor belongs to a secret society, and they are looking for Pandora’s Box.” Julia’s words captured everyone’s immediate curiosity. “They wanted my father to help them find it. My father believed they created COVID-19, and now they want to use the Box to start massive wars, or release a plague more powerful than the Black Death. He had a massive argument with Olivia about it last Monday, but that bitch took Victor’s side. That’s why my father didn’t trust her anymore and came to the Dressrious Salon to change the topic of his book signing.”
“This sounds much bigger than we thought,” Spion commented. “Is the Box really supposed to exist?”
“According to the document, the Box was shipped to the Fairylands by a witch on the Mayflower,” Julia said with a grim smile. “If you are interested, I can send you the document later.”
“Please send it to my email. I’ll look at it,” Bella said, concerned. “If that Box is in the Fairylands, none of us may be safe.”
During their conversation, Claudia saw the Academy President approaching. “Excuse me, I need to speak with the President,” she said, walking over. “Bernd, I haven’t seen you in a while.” They kissed each other on the cheek.
“Julia, how is your college life? I haven’t visited the college for years; I hope everything is fine,” Bella said. “Come, let’s have a girl talk.” She led Julia away to a sofa.
Trevor looked around, seeing Claudia chatting happily with the President. “Never thought Claudia knew the President. They look pretty close.”
“They worked together at the Julian Institution in Rome before,” Spion supplied.
“How do you know?” Trevor asked, surprised.
Spion paused slightly, then said, “Ah, I did a little research about the President before I applied to the Academy. I didn’t want to study in a university with awful management.”
“I never thought you were so meticulous,” Trevor teased. Then he saw a girl staring at Spion with a smile. “Look at three o’clock. She’s smiling at you.”
Spion looked, spotting a girl with glasses in a black dress waving and smiling at him. “That’s Emily, one of the professor’s students.”
“Go talk to her. She’s definitely interested,” Trevor joked.
Spion patted Trevor’s shoulder and went over to Emily.
Realizing he didn’t know anyone else in the room, Trevor went to the dessert table, took a glass of wine and a cup of cake, found an empty sofa, and settled in to enjoy his solo moment.
The room belonged to the restaurant connected to the cemetery, decorated with stylized underworld elements. In front of him was a fireplace carved with a hellhound. Naturally, there was no flame, so a statue of Charon the ferryman was placed inside, symbolizing the gate to the underworld.
Trevor drank, ate, and stared into the fireplace. His vision became blurry, and he soon fell asleep. He dreamt of a dark, volcanic land where fire erupted from the ground occasionally. A man in golden armor walked with a man in a dark robe. He heard the man in armor say, “Romans used to be my favorite—the arena, the gladiators. Now, their culture is reduced to little more than clothes and pizza. Even their sacred football has fallen into a noticeable slump.”
“Be patient, my dear nephew,” the man in the robe said.
“I don’t know how long I can tolerate her overbearing attitude. We are supposed to rule the world together, but she objects to my proposals constantly,” the man in armor said bitterly. “My followers’ mission is not going well. They were hindered by the mortal named Trevor, and we still don’t know his fate. Perhaps she is behind it.”
“We shall see. Be patient,” the man in the robe just repeated casually.
Trevor wanted to hear more, but a voice pulled him away. “Trevor, wake up. I’m leaving.”
Trevor awoke; it was Spion, nudging him with his shoulder. “I have a class later. Want to go to the Academy with me as we planned, or just continue sleeping here until Hades invites you home?” He chuckled.
“I’ll go with you, then we hit the gym,” Trevor said. “Let’s go say bye to Bella first.” They found Bella still chatting with Julia and some of the professor’s postgraduate students. They said their goodbyes and left.
Meanwhile, in a secure building far away from the cemetery, James Style was greeted by a full-bearded man in a black suit. “Agent Style, welcome to the FBI in New Athens.”
“Director Marshall, nice to meet you.” Style shook hands with the Assistant Director in Charge in New Athens. “Has the criminal been transported here?”
“Not yet, still on the way. You can wait in my office.”
“Good. I was in a great mood for my nephew’s wedding tomorrow, but that all vanished when I received the call this morning. My vacation is ruined,” Style said, smiling bitterly.
“We are surprised too. She is related to a criminal organization responsible for several crimes across the nation. The local police are transporting her and the evidence to us. Once we uploaded one piece of evidence—the flash drive belonging to the professor she killed—to the Database, we were informed it relates to a FIA case you are investigating.”
“Possibly. I haven’t seen the files or any of the evidence yet. When my friends told me about the case, I never thought it would relate to my agency work.”
“One of your friends wouldn’t happen to be named Trevor?”
“Yes. You know him?”
“Heard of him, he helped us solve a case before,” Director Marshall said. Realizing there were some less-than-flattering details in that previous case, he decided not to elaborate. “Well, that’s a long story.”
They walked toward Director Marshall’s office, but a bald man came running in a hurry.
“Agent Mulder, what’s wrong?” Director Marshall asked.
“Chief, I finally found you! The police van escorting Olivia Holle was hijacked five minutes ago!” Agent Mulder panted.
“What? How?” Director Marshall demanded, grasping Agent Mulder’s arms.
“It happened at a busy intersection. Six or seven men riding motorcycles attacked the van.”
“Can we trace them?” Style asked immediately.
“No. Once they freed her, a dense fog appeared, and we don’t know where they ran. One guard managed to take a photo of their motorcycles as they retreated.” Agent Mulder showed them a photo on a tablet.
The grainy photo, seemingly shot from the ground, displayed three motorcycles. They had no license plates, but they all bore the same symbol: a rounded shield and a spear.
“Do you recognize the symbol?” Director Marshall asked Style.
“Yes,” Style confirmed grimly. “It means they belong to one of the most dangerous international criminal organizations: the Arms of Ares.”