The room was just like in my dreams. Ewart’s desk by a large window through which morning light shone, an ornate rug that magically had no evidence of Mercy the scorpion’s feast the other day, and a leather couch that looked like the perfect place to nap after a long night of exploring the tower.

“He’s not here,” Charon said.

“Yeah. Watch out for the scorpion, though. It might be here,” I whispered. Whatever type of venom Mercy’s stinger emitted, I didn’t want to experience it first hand.

“God, I forgot about that,” Amelia said and grimaced. She stepped into the office and started looking around. Charon and I followed. “So, what now?”

“Let’s look for anything that could tell us what he wants,” I decided.

I headed for his desk. The drawers were all locked, but there were some papers scattered on the table. I sat down on his chair, which felt slightly wrong, and grabbed some of them. The first one was a handwritten letter by Ewart himself — I assumed so because it was still unfinished.

Jonah,

I am writing to you in hopes of rekindling our friendship. I am aware that your views have changed since we last saw, but I ask you to trust me on this. The flames of the prophecy have finally sparked to life, and you don’t want to — I don’t want you to — burn. You remember the plans we once had, the dreams. While they may be far away still, they are not ready to be abandoned. So please, consider giving me a call. If not to talk politics, then to reminisce our youth.

In other news, a storm is brewing in Chicago. A fight is coming my way. I think that may be the reason I am writing to you now. T—

The letter cut off abruptly, the top line of the T flicking off like Ewart’s hand had jerked writing it. My eyes fell on an expensive-looking fountain pen that had been tossed aside carelessly. I touched the ink on the letter; it left black stains on my fingers.

“Guys. He’s still here, somewhere,” I said quietly.

Amelia and Charon, who had been inspecting some books on the coffee table, straightened up in alarm. We all stayed still and quiet, listening. Charon sniffed the air and frowned. “There shouldn’t be anyone else here,” he said.

“In that case he just left. The ink is still wet,” I said and nodded towards the letter.

“We would’ve seen him,” Amelia said.

“It’s a trap,” Charon muttered.

Before I could react, the door swung shut with a bang and the lock clicked. Amelia ran to it and started chanting her unlocking spell again, but it didn’t work. Charon walked to one of the windows, opened it and looked out.

“It’d be too big of a fall, even with magic,” he said.

The phone rang so loud it made all of us jump simultaneously. “What do we do?” I asked over the ringing.

“Answer it?” Amelia suggested.

I didn’t think it was such a good idea, but the noise was making my head throb. I picked it up. No one said anything, so I greeted: “Hello?”

“I’m impressed. You’re little detectives, all three of you.” It was Ewart Kane. He sounded more amused than impressed.

“Where’s Killian?” I asked.

“He’ll be a couple of floors down, when he gets here. But it’s not a… ah, child-friendly event, I’m afraid. You’ll have to wait in my office. It’s quite nice, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll find something to amuse yourselves with.”

“What the hell do you want from him?”

“Nothing too special. He’ll be just fine as long as he behaves.”

“You’re—“ I struggled to come up with a creative insult. “You’re a shitstain.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Good-bye, now. I have guests to attend to.”

There was a click, and the line tooted busily. “Fuck!” I cried and slammed it down.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure something out,” Charon said.

“What if we don’t, this time?” I said desperately.

“We will,” Amelia promised.

“Is there any number we can call? The lawyers?” Charon asked.

“I left the card in the hotel room… Shit, sorry. I didn’t realise we’d need it,” Amelia said.

“The only numbers I remember are Amelia and Fiona’s,” I said. Amelia looked at me wide-eyed. I asked: “What?”

“Fiona. You can call Fiona!” she said.

It was probably a useless idea — I had no idea if she was home yet, or even alive — but it was worth trying. I picked up the phone and dialled Fiona and Elvira’s number, the one that Killian had made be carve into my brain in case of an emergency. For a moment, I was hopeful. I could almost hear Fiona’s voice, almost feel the warmth of her kitchen and smell the fresh herbs she grew.

Alas, no one picked up.

“It’s a dead end,” I said and put the phone down, disappointed. Charon sighed and slumped down on the sofa.

As I looked frantically around the room trying to find anything helpful, I caught a glimpse of a small book by the landline. “It’s Ewart’s contacts,” I said as I skimmed through the pages, which were written in the same handwriting as the letter.

“How would Ewart’s contacts be any help to us?” Charon asked.

“Killian and Dennis trusted him, and they’re on our side,” Amelia said. She walked over to look at the book over my shoulder.

“What was that guy called? The one who ran that restaurant the lawyers took us to?” Charon asked thoughtfully. “Like… Fang or something?”

“Tusk,” I remembered. “But why would he be in this?”

“I can’t imagine there are a whole lot of creature-friendly restaurants in Chicago,” Amelia said. She snatched the book from me and began to go through it. She landed on a page and pressed a finger under a name. “Here. Le Sanglier.”

“Elias trusted him. Have we established that we trust Elias yet?” Charon asked.

“No, but it’s our best shot,” I said.

Amelia gave me the book and I dialled Tusk’s number. I half hoped he wouldn’t answer; what was I supposed to say to him? Hi, you don’t know me, but me and my friends are locked up in some evil coven leader’s lair. He has also kidnapped my uncle and I need to find him so he can teach me magic so I don’t die.

I jumped when someone picked up. “Le Sanglier, János Takács speaking,” they said in a scruffy voice.

“Um. Hi,” I greeted. I glanced at Amelia hoping for advice, but she had none to give. “Can we speak to… Tusk, was it?”

“I’m him,” János — or Tusk, I suppose — said flatly.

“Okay, cool! You know Elias, right? He talked with you last night?” I said. Amelia nodded encouragingly.

“Yeah, I know that son of a bitch. Tried to drag me into one of his messes again,” Tusk growled.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Oh,” I said. That couldn’t be good, right?

“Who are you and what do you want?” Tusk asked.

“My name is Oscar. I’m… well, I’m not friends with Elias. But I know him, and he has helped me and my friends the past week,” I said. “And I was wondering, maybe you could help as well?”

“Why would I do that?” Tusk said.

“Because you’re a nice person?” I suggested.

Tusk laughed heartily. He sounded a bit like Santa Clause. He roared: “That’s funny! You’re funny, little man. You really do not know me.”

“So I’m guessing you’re not a nice person,” I said defeatedly.

“Listen, if you need something smuggled — unlicensed blood, siren tears, basilisk tongues — that’s fine. I can help. But anything to do with this little skirmish Elias and his little foster family have with the coven is none of my business. I’m neutral, like Switzerland. You got that, boy?”

“So… you’re a criminal, but you’re neutral?” I said. Amelia kicked my shin painfully.

“We all have to make our living somehow,” Tusk grunted. Something thudded in the background, like he had set down a heavy object. “I’d love to chat more — not — but I have work to do. So if you’ll excuse me…”

“No! Don’t go yet, please,” I said quickly.

Tusk sighed on the other end of the line. “I have a shipment to unload. Talk fast,” he said.

“Is there anything you could do? Me and my friends, we’re— Well, we’re kind of stuck. And it’s a bit complicated but if we don’t get unstuck I may potentially blow up the whole city.” Tusk was quiet. I quickly added: “Accidentally. I may blow up the city accidentally.”

“Right. And how do you expect me to help?” Tusk said.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But Elias said you’re resourceful.”

“Elias hasn’t known me in years. He has no idea what he’s talking about.”

“Please. This isn’t about whatever you have going on with Elias. My uncle is in trouble, it’s probably life or death.” I was twisting the cord so hard it was a miracle it was still intact.

“And who is your uncle?”

“Killian Monroe,” I said.

Tusk went quiet. So quiet that for a second I thought he had hung up on me. My friends and I looked at each other quizzically. Charon got to his feet to hear better.

“Sir?” I asked.

“Where are you?” Tusk asked. Charon’s eyes widened, and so did mine.

“Tribune Tower, 30th floor,” I answered.

“Of course you are…” Tusk let out another deep sigh that rattled in the phone’s speaker. “Hold on for a couple of hours, will you?”

“A couple of hours? But—“

“Do you want my help or not? Because I will gladly get back to work.”

“No, sorry. Of course. Take your time,” I said, but Tusk hung up before I could finish the last sentence. I put the phone down and sat down on Ewart’s chair again. It rolled backwards a little.

“So… is he gonna help?” Amelia asked. She sat on the desk, which probably wasn’t something Ewart would have wanted.

“Yeah,” Charon and I said in chorus.

“Two hours, though… Are you sure we can wait that long?” Charon said.

“It’s not like we have any other choice,” I said.

The next two hours felt like two days. Amelia kept trying to open the door with magic until it did the same trick that Killian’s door had done to me, except with ten times the force. She would’ve flown out the window if Charon hadn’t caught her. After that, she continued fiddling with her potions.

She set up a temporary shop on the coffee table. It was very simple compared to what I had seen Fiona work with, but it seemed to do the job. She had three big jars and a dozen smaller ones, all bubbling happily as they floated over tiny fires.

“I suck at this,” she said mumbled as I sat next to her.

“No, you don’t,” I said.

“The fires keep going out. It’s messing with the potions,” she said. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. “It’s just… It’s hard to focus right now, you know?”

I decided to leave her alone. Whatever she was brewing was likely to be helpful later, and I didn’t want the potions to blow up on her face because of me. I returned to Ewart’s desk, where Charon was looking at some of the other things that had been left outside the safety of the drawers.

“Find anything useful?” I asked.

“He keeps the juiciest stuff locked away,” Charon said. He smiled tiredly at me.

“What a snoozefest,” I commented.

“Totally,” Charon agreed. His brows knitted together in thought. “There is something, though.”

“What?”

“It’s probably nothing, but—“

Something tapped on the frame of the open window behind us and croaked. I turned around immediately, this time not even surprised to see a pitch black crow.

“Got anything for us, buddy?” Charon asked. Even Amelia ignored her potions to see our visitor. The crow croaked again and hopped to the side a little, as if making way. Charon and I looked at each other. He said: “You know we don’t have wings, right?”

“I don’t think it wants us to jump,” I said.

I went to the window and looked down. I could see the main entrance, though it looked tiny all the way up from the 30th floor. A car parked on the side of the street, a spot I assumed was reserved for important people because everywhere else was full but that space had stayed empty.

Someone climbed out of the car. They wore a thick black coat and a hood, and held a rope. Or at least I thought they did — I couldn’t actually see a rope. Either it was so thin it wasn’t visible to my eye from afar, or it was invisible.

On the other end of the invisible rope stumbled a man. I recognised him immediately. One arm, pinned to his side so he couldn’t move it, long brown hair, the same clothes he had worn the night of Tina’s Halloween party except dirty, bloody and torn apart. As bad as he looked, my chest warmed at the sight. He was alive.

“It’s Uncle Killian,” I said. I poked my head out the window to see him better, so far that Charon instinctively grabbed the back of my jacket to make sure I didn’t fall.

Amelia winced. “God. He looks terrible.”

The car drove away. I kept my eyes locked on Uncle Killian for as long as he was in my view. When he disappeared, I turned around and said: “He’s not dead.”

“He’s not dead,” Charon repeated with a smile. I laughed weakly.

“Guys, look!” Amelia squeezed between us to look out the window.

A beat down truck pulled up in the middle of the street. A stout man hopped out. He had wild hair, a chef’s jacket and judging by the smoke cloud following him, a cigarette between his lips. If I squinted my eyes I could barely see horns stick out of his mutton chops.

“Tusk,” Charon muttered

“What’s he doing?” Amelia asked.

Tusk appeared to be arguing with the guard. I couldn’t hear him over the rain, but he was very animated. “What are they saying?” I asked Charon.

“Uh…” Charon frowned in concentration. “It’s about a shipment. Tusk shouldn’t be out in the open, the guard wants him to go the back way… There are no parking spaces… Tusk wants to talk to someone… The guard says no entry today. Tusk says someone’s expecting him… The truck has to go, but Tusk can come in for ten minutes.”

True enough, Tusk waved at the truck and it drove off way past the speed limit. I wondered if it was just my imagination, or if Tusk really glanced our way before he disappeared just like Killian had.

“So… how sure exactly are you that we can trust him, again?” Amelia asked.

“I think it’s a fifty-fifty,” I answered.

“Okay. Good enough,” Amelia said. She returned to her potions, sealed them and packed them into her pockets and backpack. She handed ones to Charon and I each as well. “They explode on impact. Be careful with them.”

“Thanks,” Charon said. He studied the little jar curiously. The liquid in it was clear, but little bits floated around lazily. “What’s in it?”

“Bits of salamander egg shell, ash and pine bark. It’s a pretty simple potion, but it’ll have to do,” Amelia said. She fidgeted with one of the straps of her backpack. “They’re not, you know, questionable or anything. The ingredients.”

“I know,” Charon said. He put the jar carefully into his breast pocket.

Before I could tell my friends how proud I was that they’d come so far, we heard commotion in the hallway. We all immediately took our potions out and turned to the door. Two voices approached, arguing loudly. I vaguely recognised the other one; it was Tusk, though he sounded somewhat different over the phone.

“I was told by Kane himself to drop these documents off! So why don’t you do your job and open the damn door?” Tusk barked.

“And I keep telling you, he told me that no one goes in or out!”

“Do you not think that out of all people I might be the exception? Do I have to remind you of my services — you’ve had your share of them over the years.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“No. I’m stating the obvious.”

“Look, I can call Kane but I just don’t think—“

“I’ll give you a twenty percent discount.”

“What?”

“For the rest of the year.”

“Make it fifty.”

“Thirty.”

“Thirty-five and a free case of those Hungarian chocolates.”

“Jesus, you’re killing me… Fine.”

The door rattled. We all tensed, and I raised my potion. Charon wielded a floor lamp that had a long heavy metal pole. The door opened and closed, and Tusk stepped forward.

Tusk wasn’t very tall — 5’6 at best — but he was heavy and burly. The large ivories that had earned him his nickname were more prominent up close, his mouth stretching unnaturally big to accommodate them. His eyes were old and resentful. Even though I was several feet away from him, I could smell Le Sanglier’s kitchen on him.

“Well,” he grunted. “The door’s open. I did my job.”

“Wait, what?” I said when he turned around to leave.

“I told you, I have work,” Tusk said. He started walking away, and I followed him. The man he had been arguing with — a mousy fellow in a guard’s uniform — looked at us dumbfounded.

“You only agreed to help when I mentioned my uncle! Don’t you want to save him?” I pointed out. He took such brisk steps he was hard to keep up with.

“I agreed to help when I realised you’re a stubborn brat and would have kept calling me,” he answered.

“Well, yeah, but—“

“If I were you, I’d leave the building and let the adults do the fighting, but I have a feeling you’re just dumb enough to stay and try to do it yourselves.” Tusk stopped. We had arrived at the elevators. “I don’t really care either way.”

“You can’t be serious,” Amelia scoffed.

Tusk glared at her. “What did you say, little girl?”

“This isn’t just about Oscar’s uncle! You know there’s a war starting, and it’s going to affect all of us. Are you really going to stay out of it?” Amelia asked.

“Yes. As far away from it as I can,” Tusk said in a low voice.

“Well. Then you’re a coward,” Amelia decided. I wanted to stomp her foot and tell her to shut up.

“A coward?” Tusk raised a bushy eyebrow.

“Yes! You can’t seriously think you’ll be able to continue your business same as usual when all Magik-born are threatened?”

“Threatened by what, exactly?” Tusk asked snidely.

“Um…” Amelia retreated. Her cheeks were tinted pink.

“That’s right. You don’t know anything,” Tusk spat. The elevator dinged, and he stepped in. As the doors slid closed between us, he said: “Think twice before you risk your lives for nothing.”