In the Seventh District, near the Eiffel Tower, the area was a mixture of bustling commercial streets and fortress-like structures, mostly monasteries and religious chapels.
After parting ways with Nobber near the Eiffel Tower, Hoffa headed home.
However, the strange sensation of being watched, which had been lingering since the day began, returned. He stopped abruptly, standing on the asphalt road amidst the howling night wind, and turned to look behind him.
No one was there.
He frowned and activated his mental field. Instantly, the world turned into a monochrome sketch of black and white lines. Like a radar, his mind scanned the surroundings. Still, there was no trace of any living being.
"Strange," Hoffa murmured.
Deactivating his mental perception, the world returned to normal.
His forte was mental prowess and perception. Ever since he had come to terms with his inner void a year ago, his senses and intuition had significantly sharpened. Even top-tier wizards like Dumbledore and Grindelwald couldn't evade his detection. If he actively scanned for someone, he doubted anyone could escape his notice—not even under an Invisibility Charm.
Could it be that woman from the Ministry of Magic? Hoffa wondered.
He knew something was off.
The best approach was to remain calm. Having some experience in such situations, he maintained a bored, vacant expression as he pretended to drift aimlessly among the crowd. He stopped in front of a darkened display window, seemingly out of curiosity.
It was a closed and under-renovation fashion boutique. Folding his arms, he stared at the window display. On a faux-marble pedestal sat a delicate pearl necklace. Its gleaming hue reminded him of Durant's dancers—captivating but cheap.
Without raising his head, Hoffa glanced up at the reflection of the passing crowd on the glass.
There it was.
A tall, slender figure in dark clothing behind the shadow of a tree. As soon as he spotted it, it vanished.
Hoffa glanced at the residual magic on his gloves. He had plenty left. Deciding not to conserve it any longer, he immediately entered Phantom Step, blending into the air like a ghost.
He weaved through two streets lined with black vintage Mercedes-Benz cars and arrived at a tree-lined residential area. Only then did he reappear.
Through the swaying shadows of the trees, he could see a group of German officers in black uniforms standing on the street, whispering to one another.
At the sight, Hoffa quickly lowered his head. This was the height of German dominance, and the Gestapo was a common sight in occupied territories.
The Gestapo didn't notice Hoffa. Avoiding drawing attention, he hurried to a row of shopfronts, took out a set of keys, and unlocked one of the wooden doors.
Inside was a modest yet comfortable residence. Though small in size, the floors were covered with ornate wool carpets, and modern amenities like a refrigerator and television were present. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the lack of environmental awareness of the era was evident in the lion's head and ivory ornaments mounted on the walls.
By the door was a pair of rattan slippers, ready to be worn, but Hoffa didn't bother. He staggered to the sofa and collapsed onto it.
This was Hoffa's temporary home, situated in a German-occupied area. Most of Paris outside this zone faced routine inspections daily.
Half a year ago, Nobber had purchased this house from an Italian Muggle. Since then, they had used it as a safe house, gathering various bits of useful and useless information here.
After lounging on the sofa for a while, Hoffa removed the mechanical glove from his arm and tossed it onto the marble coffee table.
Clang!
The heavy glove landed with a thud. On the table, alongside the glove, lay stacks of crumpled banknotes from various countries and a black pistol.
He closed his eyes, trying to nap, but the earlier conflicts of the night weighed on his mind, keeping him awake. Opening his eyes, he stared blankly at the chandelier, lost in thought.
The house was silent and dark, with only Hoffa present. The high ceilings, about three meters tall, occasionally carried the faint sound of marbles rolling above, as if tempting him to investigate the upper floor.
In the corner, a grandfather clock ticked steadily.
After about ten minutes, the persistent ticking started to irritate him.
Creaaak!
With a heart-wrenching sound, the clock's gears twisted and warped under the effects of a Transfiguration spell, rendering it silent.
Hoffa picked up the pistol from the table, examining it intently. Dusty memories suddenly surfaced in his mind.
For some reason, he thought of Sylby. At that moment, he felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Sitting in a wheelchair for hundreds of years—how had he endured the endless passage of time?
Using magic to silence the clock, the room plunged into complete stillness. Only faint laughter and cheer could occasionally be heard from the homes of nearby German officers.
He tossed the gun aside, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Standing up, he poured himself a glass of water and turned on the television.
Although it was 1942, lacking the internet or advanced technology, rudimentary information systems were already in place, making it possible to catch up on the news.
However, understanding everything required translating German, something Hoffa wasn't in the mood for.
The flickering black-and-white screen displayed scenes of Hitler with his arm raised, delivering a rousing speech. Soldiers marched in unison, and banners adorned with the swastika hung from rooftops.
The visuals began to lull Hoffa to sleep.
Click.
A faint sound came from the entryway—the sound of shoes being changed.
Half-asleep, the sense of being watched surged again.
The chaotic haze of sleep vanished instantly as rationality took over his mind. Hoffa's eyes snapped open, and like a spring, he launched himself off the sofa. Without thinking, he entered Phantom Step.
Thud!
A dull sound echoed.
"Ah!"
A sharp scream filled the room but was abruptly cut off, as if someone had pressed the mute button.
Hoffa had caught a shadowy figure and slammed it hard against the refrigerator in the dining area. The impact caused the fridge to shake violently, toppling decorative items and ceramics that shattered loudly on the floor.
The faint sense of being followed, lingering throughout the day, had finally materialized into a concrete threat. To his surprise, the stalker had not only tracked him but even infiltrated his home—an impressive display of stealth.
"Got you!"
Hoffa clutched the warm, soft figure tightly and snapped his fingers with his free hand.
"Lumos Flock!"
Four or five glowing lights floated from his palm, illuminating the room.
But as Hoffa saw the stalker's face, the fierce expression on his face froze into one of confusion.
He had assumed the stalker was the bald woman from the Ministry of Magic, but it wasn't.
The person he had pinned by the neck was a young girl, slightly younger than himself. She was slender, dressed in a loose, filthy nun's habit that seemed to belong to a nearby monastery.
Her appearance was strikingly unattractive. Her face bore poorly applied makeup, her cheeks bulged unnaturally, and a long, disfiguring scar stretched across her features as if left by a fire.
A stranger.
"Who are you? How did you get in?"
Hoffa kept a firm grip on her neck, not daring to relax. Anyone capable of tailing him all day and breaking into his home was surely not as weak as they appeared.
"Let… let go first!"
The nun clutched his arm, feebly pounding on it twice.
Hoffa refused to loosen his hold. "You must have some special concealment ability. If I let go, you'll vanish into thin air, won't you?"
"N-No!"
The scarred nun's face reddened as she rasped, "I'm not here to cause trouble. Let me go first!"
She spoke in halting English, the accent awkward and unfamiliar.
Hoffa hesitated for a moment but ultimately decided to release her.
As soon as he let go, the girl slumped to the ground, sitting cross-legged and clutching her neck while coughing violently.
"Cough, cough…"
After a prolonged fit of coughing, she croaked, her voice hoarse, "Are you crazy? Jumping at people like that scared me to death!"
"Who are you? What do you want?" Hoffa demanded coldly. "You have ten seconds to explain."
"Don't you remember me?"
The scarred nun looked at him with a mix of irritation and disbelief. "We met two hours ago."
"I've never seen you before," Hoffa replied bluntly.
The unfamiliar girl waved a hand in front of his face. "Seriously? You really don't remember me?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I've never seen you. Get out of here now, or I'll call the authorities," Hoffa said sternly.
"Haha, that's funny. A wizard calling the police."
The nun chuckled.
Hoffa's face darkened; he felt like she was mocking him.
Seeing the growing impatience in the man's eyes, the nun quickly added, "Alright, it seems you really don't remember. Let me explain. I was locked in a room by that werewolf, and he was planning to eat us. You saved us."
Hoffa paused, then recalled that he had indeed rescued a few people at Durant's bar. But it was a casual act, something he hadn't given much thought to—certainly not enough to remember the faces of those involved.
The nun continued, "I wanted to properly thank you, but I couldn't find any decent clothes that fit, so…"
"So you decided to follow me instead?"
Hoffa's voice was laced with sarcasm. "If that's the case, you had a hundred other ways to thank me, but you chose the absolute worst. Who sent you to follow me?"
"No one. I came on my own. I wanted to find someone to help us. Me and…"
Mid-sentence, the unfamiliar nun abruptly covered her mouth. Her eyes darted around the room. "Me and… a friend of yours are wandering outside. We wanted to ask if we could borrow something from you."
As she spoke, her gaze flitted nervously around the house, making Hoffa even more wary. It didn't matter if she were a scar-faced woman or a stunning beauty; sneaking into someone's home uninvited was unacceptable. He had too many secrets to risk being exposed.
Without a word, Hoffa reached for the door, intent on pushing her out. But the nun blocked the door, speaking earnestly: "Don't push me. Do you even realize you're about to die?"
"What?"
Her words startled Hoffa slightly.
"It's true. I'm here to warn you."
"Fine, then tell me—how exactly am I going to die?"
The nun thought for a moment, then spread her hands. "Well, you'll die, shatter into pieces, turn to ash, something like that."
Hoffa's eyes widened.
The nun patted his shoulder. "But don't worry. If you lend me something, you won't die."
"What do you want to borrow?"
The nun pointed to the coffee table. "That."
Hoffa turned to look and saw his magical enhancement gloves and a pile of francs on the table.
At that moment, he finally understood. Not only had she snuck into his house to steal, but she was also spouting nonsense to mess with him. His expression grew darker.
"Why should I lend you money?"
The nun replied earnestly, "It's for your own good."
Pausing for a moment, she added, "You may not understand what I'm doing now, but in a couple of days, you will."
"What nonsense."
Hoffa was visibly annoyed. "I'm not running a charity, you fraud!"
He pressed down on her shoulder again, this time determined to push the intruder out the door.
The scar-faced nun angrily slapped Hoffa's hand away. "Fine, fine! You ungrateful fool. Don't push me—I'll leave on my own!"
As she left, she muttered under her breath with a cold laugh, "You'll regret this. Don't blame me for not warning you."
But just as she stepped toward the door, a series of hurried footsteps echoed from outside.
Hoffa's face changed. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back inside.
The scar-faced nun nearly stumbled and fell. Flushed with anger, she snapped, "What the hell is your—"
Before she could finish her sentence, Hoffa clamped a hand over her mouth. His expression had turned deadly serious as he raised a finger to his lips.
"Shh."
The startled nun stared at him with wide eyes. Moments later, a loud knock sounded at the door.
(End of Chapter)
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