Charlaine, bless her heart, was still nervous about this whole investigation. "You sure about this, Jam? We're just going to...walk into another ambush?" I glanced at the doorway of the basement, our only way in and out. There was no way the twins could pull a fast one like that again, not if they wanted to be in one piece. But you never know with magic. It can do crazy stuff, make things appear and disappear, warp reality itself.

"We gotta see what happened. Bureau's gonna be here soon. Ain't nobody needs those suits messing everything up."

We took another slow pass through the room, making sure to scan every corner. The place was littered with old machinery, rusting tools, and dusty debris, all of it just as I'd remembered it. Unlike me, Charlaine wasn't relying on sight. Reaching into a worn pouch on her belt, she fished out a vial filled with shimmering dust; a pale lavender that seemed to glow even in the dim light.

"What's that?" I asked her.

"It's a tracking dust, Jam. My grandma gave it to me. It follows the magical traces of whatever it's dusted on."

With a muttered incantation, she uncorked the vial and flung a handful of the stuff into the air. It swirled for a while, then defied gravity, arcing gracefully through the room before converging near a spot on the dusty concrete floor. We both stared at the swirling cloud for a moment, then I pointed my flashlight back in the general direction we needed to go.

With newfound purpose, Charlaine strode towards where the cloud had settled. Kneeling down, she brushed away rubble to reveal the outline of a broken bottle, its jagged edges glinting in the narrow beam of the flashlight. Beside it lay a single, worn rosette half-buried in the dirt. It shimmered. The leather was a deep, sun-bleached brown, weathered and cracked with age. The intricate stitching, though faded, depicted a stylized claw, sharp and menacing.

"Wait a minute," I said, my voice tinged with excitement. "This looks kinda familiar…" I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. Inside, nestled amongst my IDs and credit cards, was another rosette, identical to the one we’d just found. This one, however, still looked far newer, the leather supple and the stitching bright. It depicted the same stylized claw, but with a bold inscription circling it, “Fangs and Fur - 50th Anniversary.”

Charlaine snatched the rosette from my hand and flipped it over in her fingers. "I don't remember you being a fan of country music, Slate," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Hey, who said I wasn't?" I chuckled, a little embarrassed. "I just never thought I'd be carrying a keepsake from some dusty old saloon.” I shrugged and let out a sigh.

"So, a bar," she said, slowly nodding her head. "Maybe that's where the magic comes from?"

"Could be," I said. "But why would the mage hang around that place? Doesn't sound very magical, does it?"

"Maybe not," she said, her gaze flitting from the rosette to the dusty floor. "But then again, this isn't your regular honky-tonk either, I've been told..." She looked at me, her brow furrowed. “What are we going to do with this thing, Jam?”

"Yeah, well," I said. "It's the best lead we got, isn't it?" I gestured toward the cracked and chipped concrete walls of the basement. "Let's go and have a drink, shall we?"

The rain pounded against the weathered exterior of Fangs and Fur as we stepped inside. Warm light spilled from the saloon, welcoming us into a world of flickering lanterns and twangy country music. Patrons, a mix of humans, shifters with subtle changes, and even a hulking troll nursing a mug of ale, crowded around worn wooden tables. In the corner, hunched over a steaming plate of ribs, was Krabat. There was no love lost between us, and based on his withering glance the feeling was mutual. Charlaine, however, received a nod from the mage, a hint of friendliness in his stoic expression.

Millie, the weathered bartender, greeted us with a tired smile. "The usual, Jam?" She placed a shot of Tequila in front of me. I nodded.

Charlaine, staring at the bottle with a disapproving grimace, shook her head. "I'm on duty," she said, "Cappuccino, please."

"This ain't no Starbucks, honey," Millie rumbled, but shuffled over to the espresso machine anyway. I took the glass, the burn of the booze a welcome relief against the chill of the rain seeping in from the open doors. When she returned, I ordered a refill.

"Thanks, Millie. Also, mind helping me out on something?" I pulled out the leather rosette. "This yours?"

"That thing? You know that I gave those out to the staff and friends for the anniversary." She smiled, but her eyes lost a little bit of their usual warmth. "This one's been through the wringer. Where'd you get it from?"

"Well, we found this one down in a basement." I laid it on the bar. "Part of a case. It seems a little...well, worn. Like it was buried in the dirt for a while. Perhaps with someone who likes to sleep in a grave during the day, eh?"

Millie glanced at Charlaine, who was carefully examining the cup she'd just received. "We've been friends for a long time, Jam. Are you accusing my staff of murder?"

"Ain't accusing anyone, just asking questions. Like, who had this rosette? Any idea how it got down there?"

"Don't know, sheriff. I handed out dozens of these. Maybe it was lost, maybe it was dropped. There's a good fortune teller on the next block. I hear she knows all about things lost and found."

I shrugged. "Not a bad idea," I said, pushing the glass towards Millie for another shot. "We got nothin' to lose." I saw her smile, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. She was right, there were dozens of staff and regular, no way to narrow it down by just looking at it. It could be a guest. Or the bartender, the bouncer, maybe even Millie...

Charlaine took a cautious sip of her cappuccino. The frothy drink felt out of place the rough-and-tumble atmosphere, but so did my deputy. Lowering her voice, she leaned towards me. "Alright, how do we approach this?"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I shrugged, my expression stoic. "Casual. Ask around, see if anyone recognizes the rosette."

Charlaine scanned the bar, her gaze settling on a group of burly men with tattoos. Taking a deep breath, she pushed off the bar stool.

"Excuse me, messieurs," she began, her voice polite yet firm. "Don't mean to bother you, but I was wondering if any of you might recognize this?" She held out the worn leather rosette, its sun-bleached brown catching the warm glow of the lanterns.

The men squinted at it, their conversation stalling for now. "Can't say I have, miss," rumbled a man with a beard as thick as his arms. "Looks like some kinda old belt buckle."

"Could be a souvenir from a rodeo or somethin'," another man chimed in, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Charlaine offered a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thanks anyway. Maybe someone else..."

Krabat strolled over, his boots clicking on the wooden floor. He was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Hey, Charly. Haven't seen you at Fangs & Fur before."

My deputy didn't answer, she just stared at him, her eyes narrowed. The mage leaned in, his black eyes boring into Charlaine.

"You're looking for something." It wasn't a question. "Well, I just happen to be a bit of a collector. May I have a look?" He ran a hand through his white hair, a gesture that seemed to defy gravity itself.

"What exactly is this thing, Krabat?"

He tilted his head, an unsettlingly graceful movement, as he examined the rosette. "Something that belongs to the past."

I watched Charlaine, her face a study in controlled irritation. She took back the rosette and put it into her pocket. "It's from here, right?" she said, her voice tight. "Fangs and Fur."

"You've been sniffing around, haven't you?" He smiled, a slow, predatory grin. "I also have a keen sense of smell," he said, his voice a silky whisper. "And a fondness for relics. Especially relics with a bit of a story behind them. So you're saying you found this thing in your attic?"

"We didn't say that, Šajatović," I interjected. I hoped it would throw him off base. He hated that historians had figured out his birth name.

"Or maybe," the mage continued, ignoring my jab, "it was a gift. From a friend. Someone who knew you were looking for something. A friend who's quite fond of the past, and the secrets it holds." His eyes flicked to Charlaine, a hint of mischief lurking in their depths. "Don't you agree, Deputy?"

"You're not just a collector, are you, Krabat?" I said, my voice low and dangerous. "You're a player and you know more than you care to admit."

"Now, now," he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'm only trying to be helpful. After all, the mayor asked me to, didn't she?"

Krabat's words hung in the air. But before I could press him for more, a new kind of trouble erupted. Bruno, a thickset human with a shaved head and a scowl, was winding up, fists clenched, ready to go. Across the table from him, Grog, a hulking ogre with a beard like a tangled forest, was just as ready. It was an ugly scene.

“You wouldn’t know an arm wrestle from a tea party,” Grog said, his voice like gravel grinding.

“You sayin’ I’m a liar, green giant? I’ll show you a liar!"

Looks like we had ourselves the start of a good old fashioned bar fight. The whole damn bar was buzzing with anticipation. The human was a walking, talking, beer-guzzling disaster, ready to pick a fight with his own shadow. The ogre was twice his size and twice as pissed off, his green skin turning a shade of purple as Bruno’s braggadocio went on and on. I’d seen it all before.

A small part of me wanted to just watch, see if Bruno stood a chance. But then again, it was my job to play peacemaker. My nature, even. Besides, the whole thing was getting on my nerves. I wanted to figure out the rosette, figure out who was involved, and I couldn't do that with a brawl going on. So I grabbed the nearest empty beer mug and tossed it into a corner. That got their attention.

The bar went silent. The steel guitar stopped playing, and all eyes were on me. I liked the tension. It meant I was doing my job. I also felt a cold shiver run down my spine, but it wasn't from the rain. It was coming from the bar, where Krabat was standing. I felt him watching me with a chilling intensity.

"Well, fellas," I said, my voice low and steady. "I've always believed that a good drink can solve most problems. Millie, the good stuff. For my two friends here.”

Millie didn’t hesitate. She grabbed two dusty shot glasses and filled them with a dark, smoky liquid that smelled like a campfire.

Grog's eyes glinted, mischief bubbling over. "You sure about that? That's top shelf and costs more than me or Bruno make in a week."

“Yeah, I'm sure. Gotta warn you though, that stuff will knock the stuffing out of a man.”

Bruno, still fuming, scoffed. "Yeah, right. Fancy sheriff liquor."

Grog chuckled, a deep rumble that shook the floorboards. "Now hold on there, friend. I ain't sayin' no to a peace offering. Not when the Sheriff's offering that kind of quality. Appreciate the gesture, Sheriff. One shot it is!"

"Keep the whole damn bottle, it's on the house." Millie, who'd been bracing for a fight, offered me a grateful smile.

Bruno was still simmering, but Grog was a man of his word. They both shuffled towards the bar, their faces still flushed, but the tension in the air had deflated a little. They took the glasses from Millie, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They both took a gulp, faces contorting in a grimace as the alcohol burned its way down their throats. Grog coughed, a guttural sound that resonated through the room. Bruno just stared at his glass.

Sheriff Slate does it again! I figured I’d get them both liquored up enough to forget the whole thing. That was my strategy for most fights, really. Problem with those people, they’re all brawn, no brains. The two would be at it again sooner or later. Well, at least it wasn't happening right now, on my watch. Like I always told Anna, one step at a time.

I turned back around to continue the investigation. That's when I noticed it. Krabat was gone. Charlaine was gone. They had left without a word, like they’d been swallowed whole. Last I checked, they were still right here. Charlaine had been quizzing folks about the rosettes, asking if they’d seen anything out of the ordinary.

That’s when I smelled it. Ozone. That unmistakable, metallic tang. It hung in the air like after a bad storm, right before the thunder cracked. But there wasn't any rain in here. Also, storms never left a hint of clove behind. I sniffed again, sure of it now.

A sudden rush of dread washed over me. I glanced at the barkeep. She looked as puzzled as I was. She seemed to be trying to figure out what was going on too.

“Millie, have you seen anything? Heard anything?”

She shook her head, her eyes narrowed. “Ain’t seen nothin’, Sheriff,” Millie said, her voice low. “They just kind of… disappeared.”

“Disappeared? Like a puff of smoke?”

She shook her head again. “More like a sudden chill,” she whispered, her gaze shifting towards the door. “Like something... went by.”

I stared at the spot where Charlaine and Krabat had been a moment ago. They were gone. Vanished into thin air, just like the murder twins. A tremor ran through me, not from the booze, but from a sudden wave of fear. They were gone. Vanished. Just like that. And this time, I had no idea who to blame but myself. But I knew one thing: I couldn't let them disappear without a trace.

I took a slow breath, trying to calm my nerves. "Millie," I said, my voice a low growl. "You seen anyone come in or out here recently?"

"Not since those two left. They just, well, disappeared. Poof! Like magic." I nodded. Magic's a dirty word in Shadow Falls, a word that brought back memories of the old days, memories I didn't want to revisit.

I scanned the faces around me, searching for anything, anyone, that might hold a clue. There was the usual cast of characters, but none of them had the means to pull of this disappearing act. Except probably Krabat, and he was gone now. The damn sorcerer. He was up to something, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Now they were gone, whisked away by some unseen force, and I had a bad feeling about it.

I was on my own now. But I wouldn't stop until I found Charlaine and Krabat, even if it was the last thing I did. This town was a damn powder keg, and I wasn't about to let it explode.