The Whispering Verses Chapter 1083: The slum hotel

Most of the vampires living in Huntington City are engaged in vineyard and winery operations or related upstream and downstream industries. The church is naturally aware of their existence, but as long as they do not **** human blood, the church has also acquiesced in the vampires mixing with humans locally.

The compatriot mentioned by Mr. Bernhardt is Orland Wilson, a broker who lives in the west of the city and introduces local winery business to out-of-town wine merchants. Mr. Wilson is a three-ringed sorcerer. He is 34 years old and is proficient in divination, but he is still unmarried.

He was not particularly close to Mr. Bernhardt, but due to business reasons, he would visit Mr. Bernhardt's manor every New Year.

"He went out to visit friends in the New World this spring and accidentally got a rather troublesome relic, which was a dagger. The Pantanal Voodoo Society didn't know how they knew about it, and they wanted to take it away. The relic was bought, but Wilson didn’t want to sell it to them, so he approached me and hoped that I could take over the relic.”

Mr. Bernhardt said that not only is he powerful, but he also has the title of Viscount of Kasenrik. Will Pantanal Voodoo attack a noble noble like him?

The carriage soon took the two of them to Red Wine Lane, where Mr. Wilson lived. This area is also the largest red wine trading center in the east of Huntington City.

Mr. Wilson lives alone at No. 20, Red Wine Lane, in a three-story building with no attic. Mr. Bernhardt told Schade that Mr. Wilson used the first floor as his office and the second floor and above as his living quarters.

The two got out of the carriage talking and laughing, but after Mr. Bernhardt knocked on the door, no one opened the door after waiting for a long time.

"Is it possible that you are not at home?"

Xia De said to the vampire seed Lord who was dressed decently, wearing a black cashmere coat and holding a cane. The latter frowned slightly:

"Wilson took the initiative to invite me here. We agreed to meet at 10:30 in the morning."

"It is now ten thirty-one."

Xia De gave a more precise time:

"Did something happen suddenly and made me go out? Let's ask the neighbors."

The two asked the neighbors living on both sides, but none of the neighbors had seen Mr. Wilson today. However, the little boy selling newspapers across from No. 20 told Shade after he bought a newspaper that a man had entered the house about half an hour ago, but left soon after.

The boy did not know the owner of the house, so based on his description, Mr. Shade and Mr. Bernhardt did not know who had left the house half an hour ago.

But Mr. Bernhard already felt that he had lost face. He specially invited his friend Shade, whom he had not seen for a long time, to visit here, but he was blocked at the door and could not go in. This made him feel quite embarrassed.

"Wait a moment."

Standing on the doorstep of No. 20, Mr. Bernhardt pricked his finger with a fine needle, squeezed out a drop of blood and wiped it on the crack of the door. Then, the drop of blood seeped into the inside of the door like a living thing.

"I want to see what he did."

The middle-aged Viscount snorted, then half-closed his eyes, as if he was concentrating on controlling the drop of blood.

Schade then opened the newspaper in his hand to read the local news, but before he finished reading the first page about this year's economic growth announced by the Ministry of Finance of the United Kingdom at the end of the year, Mr. Bernhardt suddenly said :

"Oh, it seems we encountered some accidents."

"What's wrong?"

"To be precise, Wilson may be dead."

Shad looked at Mr. Bernhardt in surprise:

"Then let's go in and have a look."

He knocked on the door lock, and with a click, the door lock bounced open.

Mr. Bernhardt sighed deeply:

"I didn't expect this to be the case in advance, so I won't delay your affairs."

"Of course not. Rather, I happen to want to have further contact with the Pantanal Voodoo Society."

After pushing the door and entering the room, Mr. Bernhardt led Shade directly to the office on the first floor. In that windowless room, blood was splattered all around the walls, and the body of a strange man Shade had never seen before was lying on the floor. Judging from the amount of bleeding, even a vampire could survive. It doesn’t work.

Shad stood at the door and looked around. Mr. Bernhardt had already squatted down to check the body, but suddenly stood up again and took several steps back:

"Careful!"

Vines dripping with blood grew crazily from the corpse, and in just a few seconds, it submerged the entire corpse like a snake's nest. They crawled quickly towards the two people at the door, and their crawling appearance didn't look like plants at all.

"It's the Panatar Voodoo Order, those **** guys!"

Mr. Bernhardt cursed in a disgraceful way, told Shade to retreat, and then snapped his fingers——

Pa~

The blood splattered all around exploded with a muffled sound like a liquid bomb. The hot blood splashed again and stained the vines, and the strange blood-red flame immediately burned:

"Blood Flame. Most of the vines summoned by the Ring Warlocks of the Pantanal Voodoo Society are extremely afraid of fire."

Mr. Bernhardt explained, and after the vines were gradually burned by the **** flames, he and Shade walked towards the body again.

Vines emerged from the corpse, greatly reducing the integrity of the corpse. Shade didn't want to use any adjectives to describe this corpse, as this would seriously affect his appetite and sleep quality.

However, when Mr. Shade and Mr. Bernhardt tried to turn the body over, they were stunned at the same time:

"Huh?"

Shad heard the voice in his ear, and Mr. Bernhardt realized something:

"Fake corpse?"

It was Shade who said this first, and Mr. Bernhardt nodded immediately:

"It's indeed fake. It's really amazing. This is the 'blood fake body' that is a unique thaumaturgy of our race. Except for the same race, few people can see through this kind of substitute body at a glance."

"If he is really proficient in divination, he may really be able to foresee this threat in advance."

Shad nodded, and in front of Shad, Mr. Bernhardt dipped his finger in the blood without any scruples, and then stuffed his finger into his mouth.

The middle-aged vampire gentleman squinted his eyes slightly, wiped his fingers and stood up:

"Detective, get out of here first. Wilson was indeed attacked. The Pantanal Voodoo Club killed him and took the relic. But he left me a message in his own blood. He Hiding now, let's go see him and at least know what happened."

"Okay."

Xia De nodded:

"Of course it would be best if this gentleman is not dead, but voodoo can be really cruel."

"How much sense can there be in people who seek power from evil things in subspace? Besides, they are originally a group of natives from the Everglades...I'm not looking down on country people... You know what I mean."

Mr. Bernhardt put on his gloves, and Shade asked again:

"Where is Mr. Wilson hiding? Is it far from here? If it is convenient, we can have lunch together. I also brought you wine."

Mr. Bernhardt smiled:

"Not far away, the Bloody Rose Hotel in the city. He is hiding there, absolutely safe."

The Bloody Rose Inn is located near the Huntington Railway Station, but it is not on the main road, but hidden in a small alley. After passing the low wall with a wanted poster, passing through the clothes hanging to dry in the alley, and crossing the muddy ground, they saw the hotel deep in the alley.

If the "Pink Rose Tavern" that Shade visited in Coldwater Port City was the kind of small inn that would provide illegal services at a glance; then the "Blood Rose Tavern" hidden deep in the alleys of Huntington City "Hotel" is an absolutely serious hotel that you can tell at a glance.

The wooden masonry structure does not occupy a large area. There are even chicken pens and pig pens on the side of the first floor. Rude men shout loud slang in the tavern, and the peeling walls show how old this place is. The dilapidated double-open wooden doors that are rare in this era are used as the hotel entrance, and the interior decoration is shabby, as if it has returned to the era of forty or fifty years ago.

Even if this hotel was running at least one illegal business, I'm afraid it wouldn't be this shabby.

But fortunately, the tables, chairs and benches are still clean, and the pub on the first floor of the hotel also provides decent services. The inside of the tavern was filled with the smell of fermented food and alcohol. It was so shabby that there was no gas lamp, but an old hanging kerosene lamp. Anchors, rusty swords and strange decorations are hung randomly on the walls. This is a hotel in the slums, serving the poor who have no money.

Because he was worried about disturbing Mr. Wilson, who was probably still in a state of panic, Mr. Bernhardt asked Shade to wait on the first floor while he went upstairs alone to find his compatriots living in Room 302.

So Shade, who was holding the newspaper under his arm, ordered a glass of rye beer from the old bartender, then sat at a slightly clean table against the wall, unfolded the newspaper and continued to read under the dim kerosene lamp. Unfinished news.

The shade of that kerosene lamp probably needs scrubbing.

Mr. Bernhardt hurriedly walked up the stairs. The creaking sound made him worried whether the stairs would collapse immediately. Under the landscape oil painting that looked like abstract graffiti at the corner of the second floor, he passed by a middle-aged man with very short hair, only stubble could be seen.

The latter's skin was dark, his eyes were extremely double-folded, and he was also wrapped in an unusual brown old-fashioned robe that was often worn by people in desert areas.

Mr. Bernhardt just felt that this person was strange, but he only passed by him. The man wrapped in an old brown robe walked towards the first floor holding his notebook with its edges slightly rolled up.

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