It was said that angels and demons had descended on the earth a hundred years ago.

It was said that they were still here.

And the proof of that was the heavenly blessings and the demonic curses that pervaded humanity, all the kingdoms of ice and desert, of grass and sea.

Marco Vermilon was one of the lucky ones, a lad gifted with an angel's blessing. It was said that he was the most blessed in the Kingdom of Araya. The holy power he held equalled that of one entire troupe of the holy army.

Despite his tremendous talent, he wondered why he could not see the soul of the dead priest before him now. Is he in heaven already? So quickly? Is he already at peace with his death? His casket was made of oak wood, its sides adorned with the holiest symbols, painted in gold. His name was Father Pietro and he was loved by the whole of Araya. That was why thousands of its common folks showed up in his funeral in Gallagher. It was like a parade, stretching the whole Pilgrim Road, leagues long.

Though blessed and holy, everyone still ends back down in the soil. Marco realized. Not even holy power made the priest immortal.

After the eulogy, the wooden casket was winched down to the ground. The presiding priest held a blessed artifact in his hand, enchanting it with a prayer and making it glow. A protection charm, to keep demons and grave robbers away from Father Pietro's body. He placed it on top of the coffin where its light seeped into the engravings of the wood.

Marco heard the whispers behind him saying, "Was he really murdered?"

"I presume it was so."

"Then was it really the Ghost of Vermil? He's done some heinous offenses in the past."

"Shh, the Earl's family is right there. Do you want to lose your tongue?"

Marco was about to turn to them, just to etch their faces in his memory but Mother's firm hand clasped his shoulder, keeping him in place.

"It doesn't concern us," she stated. "The ceremony is nearly done, then we would not have to deal with this again."

It does concern us. Marco thought.

As they exited the graveyard, three men in gray suits caught up to them.

"Miss Vermilon, can we have a bit of your time? We are inspectors from the Force."

Mother's face twisted darkly before calm washed over her. She took a deep breath and turned. "I don't think this is a good time, Mr. Inspector."

People were looking. If the Earl was here, they would not have dared humiliate her. But she was just the Earl's daughter. Being confronted in this crowd was enough to rattle her demeanor. Mother was always like that. Despising the stares of people. Detesting negative attention.

People also stared at Marco but mostly because of the scar on his cheek. It missed his left eye by a hair's breadth, tainting his face with a long dark line. A gift from the Ghost of Vermil. He saw the inspector's eyes fall ever so slightly on his imperfection. Marco was good at catching simple gestures like that.

"I'm sorry but the clergy had demanded an immediate investigation. We don't have a warrant to search your residence or to arrest anyone. But we would like to have a conversation, if it would please you."

"I am the Earl's daughter," she muttered so faintly only Marco could hear. "Let's come into our carriage then."

"Thank you, my lady."

They were smarter than they looked. If it were in any other situation, Mother could have refused them. But amidst this crowd, she had no means of escape.

Marco spotted a shadow move in the trees as they boarded a carriage. He had an urge to check it but Mother urged, "Marco, please come up now, I hate all these eyes. They stare at us as though we killed him."

When Marco glanced back at the trees, he had lost sight of it. There's no way, he thought. We are miles from home.

"The initial investigation revealed it was an accident," the other inspector began as soon as the carriage moved. His name was Ivan, based on their introductions. He had dark circles under his eyes. All of them had except the third one. This incident had clearly exhausted them.

"All is settled then."

"But we still wanted to look into these rumors that someone could have had a hand in this 'accident'."

"Get to the point then," she snapped.

"An hour before Father Pietro fell down the stairs, someone was with him. A lad just a little younger than your son here. About fourteen years old. Or maybe his age. They are calling him the Ghost of Vermilon."

"Are you accusing Marco of having killed Father Pietro?" Her voice turned coarse and grating.

"He is the most blessed in Araya."

"Then we would like to ask if you have another son?"

"No," she answered more calmly.

Another inspector named Greg cut in, "The townspeople are saying otherwise. Problem is we don't have records of him. No birth registration, no school papers. Nothing. Seems like we are searching for a ghost."

"I only have one son, Inspector. Tell them, Marco." She placed her hand over his.

"He is at home," Marco replied.