The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1861

Then, turning to Meade, Jovanni said, "Boss, our car is blocking someone's way. We need to move it."

Meade's furrowed brows relaxed. "Go ahead."

Jovanni nodded and had just opened the door when the two men outside immediately restrained him. Meanwhile, the people on both sides rushed swiftly into the house. Jovanni's mouth was covered when he tried to make a sound.

Meade suddenly sensed something was wrong. By the time he tried to take a look, the Special Unit was already right in his face. He had no time to react and was instantly pinned down.

The others searched the entire house but found no trace of the children. After reporting the situation to Sheldon, he glared at Meade and shouted angrily, "Where are the children?"

Seeing Meade refuse to speak, Sheldon grabbed him by the collar. "You'd better tell the truth, or the consequences will be dire. Your family will also suffer because of you."

At the mention of his family, Meade lowered his head and said slowly, "There's a button in the corner of the room to the left. It leads to the basement. They're down there."

Upon hearing this, Sheldon immediately pressed the button as instructed. Sure enough, a staircase appeared nearby. When Sheldon went down, he saw the children sitting on the floor, staring at him in a daze.

These children, who should have been living carefree lives, had their childhoods ruined by this gang.

He signaled the others to take the children out of the basement.

The team members stepped forward to help the children up. "Don't be afraid. We're taking you home."

Just then, Sheldon realized Wolf was missing when he scanned the group of children. His expression changed abruptly. He turned to Meade and urgently asked, "There should be another child! Where is he?"

Meade shook his head. "One went missing. We realized he was gone when the boat docked, but we didn't have time to deal with it."

Sheldon frowned. The entire operation had been launched specifically for Wolf. They had been monitoring the ferry the whole time, so how could Wolf have gone missing? Even on the road, others had been tailing the van, and no one had seen anyone get out.

He said to the person beside him, "Take them away for interrogation. This is a severe case of human trafficking. We must uncover the people behind them."

"Yes, sir."

Wolf was missing, and the identity of the old man Wolf had mentioned remained unknown. With no further leads, Sheldon felt as though his heart was hanging by a thread.

After handling the aftermath, one of the team members asked, "Mr. Bridger, what do we do now? Wolf's whereabouts are still unknown. If we can't find him, all hell will break loose when Ms. Quinnell returns."

Sheldon frowned. "Deploy more manpower. Send Wolf's sketch to everyone's phones. We must find Wolf even if we have to turn Havenia upside down. Otherwise, we won't be able to go back with dignity."

"Yes, sir!"

No one could figure out why Wolf had disappeared. They had followed Wolf's instructions and arrived as quickly as possible. Could something else have happened that they weren't aware of?

...

Just as the Special Unit was talking, the night grew darker, and the bus was still on the road. The fog, not yet fully dispersed, lingered in the streets.

But Argus, who had been thrown off the bus, knew exactly what he had just experienced. His legs were still trembling as he clutched his laptop bag, not daring to breathe too loudly. He just stared blankly at the bus with the car plate 666, his back drenched in cold sweat.

He had just checked his phone and realized that it was the Spirit Festival today. When he was little, his elders had warned him not to take the last bus, wander night markets, or go to the wet market late at night during those days. If he wanted supper, he should eat it at home.

During this period, it was very possible to encounter those from the underworld visiting their relatives above, and the dark energy would be especially heavy. Big cities usually seemed fine during the day. After all, crowds meant a strong life force. However, it was a different story late at night.

He hadn't paid attention earlier, but now he saw it clearly. The bus' number plate was 666. This was not a bus for the living. It carried unborn souls, and it was looking for replacements.

He had been saved by Dalton!

Argus looked behind him, then ahead—it was like two different worlds. Behind him were office buildings, still lit with countless lights. A few fellow overtime workers, just stepping out of a convenience store with rice balls and coffee in hand, looked utterly drained, their exhaustion painfully real.

But that bus, swaying unsteadily, seemed as if it didn't belong to this world at all. The most chilling part was that no one else waiting at the stop seemed to see it.

Argus panicked. He had gotten off, but what about Dalton? If Dalton didn't get off soon, he'd die on that bus!

Still pale, Argus raised a hand to shout, desperate to stop the bus before it drove away.

Just then, his coworker clapped him on the shoulder. "What are you doing? Why are you spacing out in the middle of the road? That's dangerous."

Argus snapped back to reality and realized he was standing in the middle of the street. Cars were honking at him, and ahead was a construction zone.

But through the bus window, he could still clearly see Dalton's expression—cold and detached, as if none of this mattered.

Argus slapped his own face, then rubbed it. "I… I think I just saw ghosts. And maybe an exorcist."

"An exorcist?" His coworker blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You know, like in novels. Someone who performs rituals and banishes ghosts!"

"Isn't that just a cultivator?" His coworker paled. "Wait, are you saying you saw a ghost?"

As he said it, he, too, glanced around nervously. "T-There can't possibly be ghosts here, right? Maybe you were just seeing things. Big cities are packed with people, so supernatural stuff wouldn't happen here."

Argus shook his head. "I couldn't have been imagining it! I got on that bus, and an old woman almost strangled me! It was that man..."

He paused, then said firmly, "He didn't seem like a cultivator, though. He didn't have that kind of vibe. Do cultivators even make that much money? He was wearing a seven-figure watch and a custom Frenda suit. And he looked like a damn celebrity."

His coworker burst out laughing. "Argus, you've been grinding that proposal too hard. You were hallucinating. Go home and rest. Someone like that only exists in fiction! A celebrity-looking guy in a million-dollar watch riding a bus? No way."

"Exactly, that's impossible."

Argus listened to their dismissive chatter, his mood sinking because he could still see the bus' afterimage. It wasn't following the normal route. Instead, it passed under a streetlamp and vanished into thin air.

The cars ahead kept moving. No one, except for him, even knew the bus had been there.

But what about Dalton? Argus couldn't just call 911 and say he saw a ghost and there was still someone trapped on the bus, right?

But Argus was too frantic to overthink this. So, he dialed the number anyway.

As expected, the dispatcher just told him to calm down.

Argus grabbed his hair. "I'm not lying! He'll die if we don't save him!"

…

Logically, when evil spirits sought replacements, they would indeed claim a life. But it still depended on who their target was.

Right now, on this bus, the ones desperately trying to get off were the evil spirits themselves. They'd truly drawn the worst possible luck. They shouldn't have made Dalton get onto their bus!

And the driver? He had terrible judgment, picking this stop!

The spirits glared at the driver, who was also in agony. His organs felt like they were being shredded. Just moments ago, he'd been grinning, thrilled at the "haul" of two unlucky souls. But now? He wished he could reverse the bus and choose different victims!

Dalton seemed oblivious to their suffering. His posture remained cool and detached, his expression unreadable. The only difference was that his polished shoe was now resting on the head of a cowering evil spirit.

Then, he asked lazily, "What year is it?"

The evil spirit trembled and curled into a ball. No one on the bus understood why he'd ask such a question. Even low-level wraiths like them knew exactly when they'd died and how long it'd been. There was no way he could've forgotten.

But the spirits knew better than to question him. They just wanted him gone. Stammering, one answered the year.

Hearing their answer, Dalton's brow arched slightly. His dark gaze deepened, swirling like voids.

The driver's grin split his face—literally. His jaw hung loose as he slammed the accelerator, barreling forward without a care. "Let's toss these scums to the wardens first!"

The irony of him calling others "scum" was lost on no one. He'd probably killed more than the rest combined.

"I'll take you deeper into hell, My Lord!"

Dalton didn't respond. His gaze had already locked onto Krishaven's looming gates.

A spirit vehicle charging into Krishaven had to be stopped instantly. The thing was, no one had the guts to barge into Krishaven before.

The driver cackled. "I'll run you all over! Let's see which one of you dares stop us!"

But just as the driver was laughing, the doors flew open.

A mere flick of Dalton's wrist, and the driver tumbled out mid-laugh, along with every other evil spirit.

The spirit vehicle, as if sentient, paused for a heartbeat at Krishaven, then streaked straight into the heart of Ghoulton. Beyond that lay the river of erased memories.

The spirit wardens tried to intercept but failed miserably.

The vehicle was empty now, save for Dalton. The other spirits were all captured by wardens the moment they hit the ground.

They didn't even understand what that spirit vehicle was for. However, it was as if it were searching for someone.

And in truth, Dalton was indeed doing so. After all, that faint, elusive voice calling to him came from the underworld. But just now, that voice had suddenly gone silent, and he had no idea where it had gone.

Dalton lowered his head, eyes settling on the increasingly visible red thread on his wrist. In a flash, his gaze darkened.

Was this a Spirit Token?

With a flick of his hand, the spirit vehicle halted right in front of Ghoulton.

The market's spirits all turned to stare at the spirit vehicle.

A hanged spirit, tongue lolling, nudged the drowned spirit beside him. "What kind of death wish is this? Why would he drive in here?"

The drowned spirit gurgled bubbles. "That's a spirit vehicle. Just wait. The wardens will shred whoever's inside."

"I wonder who's in it." The butcher paused mid-chop, his cleaver embedded in a dismembered leg.

Spirits began drifting closer, circling like vultures. Gossip was their favorite pastime, especially when some reckless living soul tried challenging the underworld's rules.

They thought he might even make a good snack. Today was Ghoulton's night market, after all. Thinking about this, the hanged spirit drooled openly.

Dalton did not disappoint. The moment he stepped off the bus, his living presence was unmistakable. He was too pristine and out of place.

Around him were tattered robes, blood-smeared faces, and missing limbs. But he was dressed in a tailored black suit with a matching dark tie. He was broad-shouldered, long-legged, elegant, and striking.

He didn't look like someone who had accidentally stumbled into the underworld to browse Ghoulton. He looked like someone who had come to host a board meeting for the underworld's officials.

This scene caused all the spirits to freeze.

"This living soul... looks delicious." The hanged spirit's neck creaked as he turned.

A female spirit floated closer. "I'd devour him slowly. God, how is a soul this perfect even real? I don't even know where to begin with this."

Ghoulton had never seen anything like this. The market erupted.

Despite being in the epicenter of the frenzy, Dalton merely raised his right hand, allowing the red thread to glint at his wrist, as he asked, "Where's the soul summoner?"