The poppyblood killer

Chapter 8

Screams pierce the air as the guests discover Hawthorne's body. I rush to Sherlock's side, and John joins us as well.

- Was it him, John asks.

- The poppy suggests as much. We must investigate at once, Sherlock says. I glance around the room.

- Was the Poppyblood Killer really here with us just moments ago, I ask in my head. The thought sends a chill down my spine. Guests scatter, some calling for help, while others demand explanations.

- Wait. Where's Sebastian, I ask in my head. I scan the panicked crowd but see no sign of him. My breath catches in my throat.

- Kira, what's wrong, John asks.

- My friend was just here, but now I can't see him anywhere, I say.

- Lord Starwind. Maybe he left early, John says.

- I warned him that the killer might strike tonight, but, I say.

- There you go then. He probably heeded your warning and left, perhaps even to alert Scotland Yard, John says.

- The Poppyblood Killer never hides his victims. If Starwind had been attacked, we'd know by now, Sherlock says. Their reassurances make it a little easier to breathe.

- Thank you, I say. My heart drops as reality sets in.

- But if the Poppyblood Killer was here. Then what about Clare, I ask.

- We need to investigate Lord Hawthorne's death and search for any trace of Miss Clare. Although I suspect she's no longer here, if she ever was, Sherlock says.

- You think it was bait, John asks.

- Quite possibly, Sherlock says.

- But why. Why would the Poppyblood Killer want us here when he struck. I need to investigate the murder scene to piece it together, I say in my head. I cross the room to the grand windows.

- The Poppyblood Killer was right here with us. He got into the gala, killed Lord Hawthorne, and then escaped unnoticed. But how. We were only admitted with invitations. Could he have used one of the windows, I ask in my head. Sherlock joins me, his magnifying glass in hand, inspecting the window frames and glass panes.

- The windows might seem an improbable point of entry, but let's not dismiss any possibilities prematurely. Observe closely, Sherlock says. Sherlock angles the magnifying glass toward a section of the frame, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

- Notice the faint scratches here, almost imperceptible. they suggest an attempt to force the window open, but it was abandoned, Sherlock says.

- So, he didn't use the windows, I ask.

- Indeed. The scratches are old, likely from a prior attempt at entry. Our killer must have had a more direct route tonight. Kira, might I borrow you for a moment, Sherlock asks. He walks over to the body, kneels alongside it and picks up the poppy that was on Hawthorne's chest.

- Yes, I ask.

- Can you confirm that this matches the poppy found on Miss Clare's bed after her abduction, Sherlock asks. He holds out the poppy, and I accept it carefully.

- I'm sure Sherlock already knows the answer, but it's gratifying to know he values my opinion enough to ask for it, I say in my head. I take a closer look at the poppy.

- Yes, I'm fairly certain it, I say. The flower's mild sweet scent reaches my nose, and I stop.

- What. Have I smelled this before, I ask in my head. My vision becomes blurry, and I start to feel dizzy.