Mara’s Crypt was corny as hell, and in the way only vampires and other creatures with exceptionally long lives could be, but it had been worth the trip. Gabbie was one of the most dangerous people in the city, but she had produced.
If every LARP troupe of magi with a few lumens to rub together were hiring goons, that could turn into a real problem, real quick. If they were doing it to prepare for an escalation of hostilities with the mystic lizards, the city could turn into a full-fledged warzone.
Aaliyah needed confirmation before she could think about next steps. Unfortunately, the chances of a fancy magus condescending to speak with a lowly magic dick like her were low. All the more since they tended to be traditionalists with European ‘sensibilities,’ which meant the lack of an actual dick would work against her just as much as being a detective.
She knew people who worked in what could charitably be called human resources in the local Creaturae community, but they mostly dealt with low level muscle, the kind of mook you’d need for small jobs. They rarely dealt with hardened professionals.
On the upside, she had a new partner she could ask to remind her to talk to the Vigiles’ people with eyes in Customs at the local ports of entry. She turned to Eresthanon as they stepped back into the parking lot to do just that but had to put her hands on her knees to hold herself upright.
During the walk back from the vampire club, Aaliyah had been so focused on working out the implications of a burgeoning war that she’d forgotten about the elf’s ridiculous outfit.
The sheer weight of impending violence between the pointy hats and the salamanders had completely driven it from her mind. When she turned and was reminded she was in the presence of the Grand Marshal of the Black Parade, it knocked her off kilter for a second.
Was it professional? Not entirely. Was it hilarious? Well… she was laughing, wasn’t she?
She was working on the sickest of burns — something about being the savior of the broken, the beaten, and the damned, maybe — when her phone rang. It was Rognur. That sobered her up. Hopefully the little booger had something worthwhile to offer.
“Talk,” she said into the phone.
Roger’s poncy British accent assailed her ears, despite the goblin’s quiet tone. “Good evening. I felt it prudent to inform you that your bet is likely to pay out. If you stop by Anywhere, I’d be glad to provide more details.”
“We’ll be there in ten,” Aaliyah replied, hanging up. She turned to Eresthanon, all business. “Booger Joe has something for us, Sergeant Black Pepper. Hop in your car and follow me.” Mostly business, anyways. “ And try not to stop at any cemeteries along the way to brood.”
“If either the magi or drakus are planning a major offensive against the other it could quickly devolve into a bloodbath,” the elf said, astutely pointing out the obvious.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Aaliyah said as she swung a leg over her bike. “If you don’t have a change of clothes in your car, at least lose the coat and top hat, Mr. Peanut.”
She took the West Side Highway and drove down along the Hudson. Hopefully the elf was on her tail, but she didn’t pay him much mind. He’d either find his way back to the bar or she’d have another opportunity to laugh at him. She turned off at Clarkson and took a right on Varick, cruising all the way down to Tribeca.
The route took her past a few local landmarks and Aaliyah idly wondered if Eresthanon would notice them. Near the end of the drive, they passed between the First Precinct house and the Ghostbusters Headquarters building.
The squat limestone building of the police station, with its bright blue doors and anachronistic ‘FOVRTH PRECINCT’ engraved deep into the stone above the entrance, was very familiar. That house had been her station for the five years she’d been part of the NYPD after she’d mustered out. She’d even dated a girl who worked in the Hook and Ladder company in the Ghostbusters building. Very convenient.
Glancing in her rearview mirror, Aaliyah wondered if Eresthanon would appreciate the famous fire station. It was more likely he’d have noticed when they passed the Whitney way back on 10th Avenue, the pretentious elven shit. Could she be certain he was pretentious? Eh… probably.
Roger’s bar was only a block from the precinct house, but Aaliyah had to circle around so she could find an open parking spot. All those fucking one way streets. There was a reason for it, but it still bugged the shit out of her whenever she had to do the circle-round shuffle to get someplace.
Eresthanon’s sedan pulled in beside her and she was pleased to see her new partner hadn’t had a change of clothes in his car; he was still wearing a brocade vest over his very fancy blouse and the most egregious trap pants Aaliyah had seen in years. It was awesome and she snickered a bit as they walked to the bar.
The bar itself was busy; not packed, but busy. Soo, the orc bartender, interrupted his ‘hunt for manflesh’ to greet them and discreetly pass them a small crystal token across the bar.
The orc leaned closer to them, flashed his fangs in a reasonable facsimile of a smile, and said, “Last booth on the right.”
God, this was all so cloak and dagger.
Aaliyah didn’t see the point of all the… pointless mysteriousness, but criminals were always so tetchy about everything. Probably a habit to keep things on the down low when most of what you were doing was crimes.
The last booth on the right was occupied by a couple who were engaged in a fierce, but very quiet, argument. It only took a second for Aaliyah to realize it was an illusion, but in that second she seriously considered smacking the couple; they had both shot her very nasty, snotty looks when she got close to the booth.
When Eresthanon pointed out a small notch in the side of the booth the same shape as the token Soo had given them, Aaliyah slotted it in and the rear wall of the booth slid open. Smooth.
After making sure no one was paying them any attention, Aaliyah and Eresthanon walked through the illusory couple and the open wall. A small staircase led down to a short, dim hallway with a door standing at the end of the hall, guarded by a pair of goblins who looked bored out of their minds.
They didn’t even need to flash their badges or give their names; the guards apparently knew they were coming and had been keeping an eye out for them. They opened the door and let the Vigiles pass into Rognur’s real business - the Arena.
The “arena” was something of a grand title for what amounted to an eight foot deep pit with a low railing around it. Eidolons of all sorts — and they had better all be eidolons, or Aaliyah was going to get mighty pissy — were milling around, chatting with one another. Humans and human-passing critters made up the bulk of the audience, followed closely by goblins and orcs, but there was a smattering of other freaks, as well.
A gnome in a garish yellow pinstripe zoot suit, complete with a matching tando hat, was sitting on a stool near the door. When Aaliyah entered, he hopped off the stool with a little squeak and extended a hand to her. It barely reached past her navel.
“Hi!” the gnome chirped, shaking their hands enthusiastically. “I’m Roosevelt, but most folks just call me Roo. I was asked to show you to Rognur.”
The gnome led them through the crowd, quickly crossing the arena until they reached the goblin criminal who ran the whole thing. Rognur was sitting at a small table reading a newspaper, but set it down and stood at their approach.
“Ah, delightful,” Rognur said. “Thank you, Roosevelt, I shall take it from here.” The goblin tossed a silver coin to the gnome, who gave them all a slight bow, winked, and disappeared back into the crowd.
Rognur led them through an innocuous staff door nearby, then an equally innocuous unmarked door. This second door opened into a private office and from the inside they could see the door was anything but innocuous.
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Thick as hell, made of metal-banded wood, and thrumming with magic strong enough even Aaliyah could feel it (as long as she was close enough), it was more like the door to a magical vault than an office.
The goblin closed the door behind them and sat down behind the desk. He motioned them to sit and, of course, the only chairs in the room were all sized for little mucus people like Ole Booger Joe. Eresthanon eased into one of the small chairs with all the elven grace imaginable, the filthy traitor. Aaliyah took a different tack. She rested one thigh, and half of her very toned ass — thank you very much — right on the corner of Rognur’s desk.
“So what’ve you got?” she asked.
“I asked around and I believe your hunch was sound; something big is going down soon,” the goblin said. “Several freelancers who participate in the entertainment at my establishments have been approached with offers to employ their talents in a less sporting manner.”
Aaliyah’s eye sockets might as well have been filled with ball bearings for how hard the squishy orbs within were rolling. “So some of your pit fighters have had offers to upgrade from goon to mook and do violence out in my streets.”
“An adequate summary,” the goblin said. “Most of them declined. The skint nature of their employers seems to have given them the impression they were the very dregs when it comes to muscle-for-hire.”
Aaliyah was about to put on her cussing boots and tell Rognur exactly how useful she thought that vague-ass information was when he held up a finger and smiled like the junkie at his pipe.
“It piqued my curiosity. If the demand for mercenaries is so high that even resources as meager as my associates are being sought after, surely something larger must be going on. So I asked around.”
The goblin’s dramatic pause to sip something from a mug — probably tea, the slimy British nonce — gave Aaliyah the time to take some deep breaths and consider having a dentist check her teeth for cracks. It might be necessary with how much this meeting was making her grind the suckers together.
Finally, the goblin smacked his lips and continued. “It would seem there’s been a sudden rush on hired hands, so long as those hands hold a weapon. Some folks I know who keep an eye on that sort of thing tell me hiring mercenaries has become de rigueur.”
Another sip. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you why so many armed personnel are needed, but I have discovered who is doing the hiring — magi. They’re employing every freelancer or unaffiliated combatant they can. They’ve also made entreaties to several of the local communities for alliances of mutual aid and assistance.”
“Any idea which factions they approached or what the responses were?” Aaliyah asked.
The goblin’s brows furrowed and he leaned back in his chair slightly. “I’m sure you appreciate that the involved parties are being exceedingly close-lipped so there are limits on what I was able to learn.”
Aaliyah continued to stare at the goblin. He was fishing for assurances she wouldn’t be pissed and that wasn’t something she was willing to commit to. Not with the shitstorm she smelled brewing in her city.
Finally, Rognur sighed. “I have it on good authority that the therians and chimeras were both approached, though I’m unsure through which factions or their responses. I’d say it’s a fair wager other factions have been contacted, as well.”
“What about the Outsider’s Council?” Eresthanon asked.
Although the goblin’s bat-like features and solid black eyes gave him a good poker face, his surprise at the elf’s question was easy to read and he didn’t bother concealing it.
“You know of the Council?” Rognur asked.
Eresthanon’s only reply was a serene smile. If he weren’t using his aloof elfin prissiness to her benefit at the moment, Aaliyah would have found it insufferably smug. She’d have to remember to ask him what the hell he was talking about, too, because she’d never heard of this Council.
After a few seconds, Rognur took the hint. “The Council doesn’t like to involve itself in affairs that don’t occur within their borders. I can’t say whether any magi reached out to them but, given recent developments, I believe they’re likely to aim for profit through neutrality.”
“What will they do if the violence spills into their territory?” Eresthanon asked.
The goblin shrugged. “It’s not my place to speak to that, but I imagine they’ve already begun preparations for just such an eventuality. I shouldn’t think it would be particularly pleasant for whomever is guilty for such trespasses in their territory.”
Aaliyah had never heard of the Outsider’s Council, but at a guess it was some kind of secret, shadowy frat boy crap that pulled the strings behind the hidden borough, Ekwiyakink.
If that were true, then the goblin was underselling their likely response significantly. The chthonic peoples had a long and bitter history of brutal conflict among themselves, but they were even nastier to those they saw as encroaching on their territory.
Whatever the case, she was getting pretty sick of all the cryptic bullshit. Unfortunately, it looked like it was just the beginning of wading through this much.
Rognur had produced — good for him, the little shit — but he seemed to have reached the end of his useful information. If they stayed and let him spin his wheels, he’d try to sell them on a beachside property in the Catskills. It was time to wrap the chit-chat up.
“Just so’s I understand you — magi, from high to low, are scooping up every violently-inclined scumbag that’ll take their lux for unknown purpose and they’ve been reaching out to several of the more sizable and stable eidolon factions in the city to set up some kinda ‘cover my ass if shit goes down’ arrangement. Is that about right?”
The goblin sipped from his mug. “A most precise précis.”
“Anything else you can tell us?”
“Not at this time, I’m afraid, but I will continue my inquiries. I, too, am curious about what might be coming.”
“Purely out of a sense of community-mindedness, I’m sure,” Aaliyah said, standing.
The goblin didn’t bother to defend himself against the implication and the two Vigiles left the bar. They needed to have a confab before they called it a night and Aaliyah couldn’t decide if they should grab a coffee, go back to the office, or just talk when they got back to the cars.
Eresthanon had been effective without being too intolerable so far, and he was a bit gullible about social conventions, which promised all sorts of opportunities. Aaliyah was spared having to decide whether – and how much — she wanted to socialize with the elf by a priority text message.
It looked like the dry spell was ending; there had been some kind of incident. All the message from dispatch gave her was an address, instructions to get there forthwith, and a warning it could be an active situation.
Aaliyah didn’t know the neighborhood. It was on E 67th, which put it near the southern end of Central Park on the Upper East Side, but more than that she couldn’t be sure of. It was swanky, though.
“You know this address?” she asked her partner.
“It’s in Lenox Hill,” Eresthanon said. “It should be a townhouse or other residential building, unless my recollection is very out of date. Do you think surface roads will be clear enough to get there with all due haste at this time of night?”
Mounting her bike, Aaliyah shook her head. “We’ll take the Byways, just to be on the safe side. There’s an entrance two blocks up on the left.”
She backed up onto the street and let herself think back to happier times at the Ghostbusters building on the corner up ahead while Eresthanon started in his car and pulled up behind her.
Lenox Hill. Definitely swanky.
Hopefully all the luxy folks would think they were too good to stand out on the sidewalk and there wouldn’t be too many looky-loos hoping to see a dead body or something.
A parking lot on North Moore let them into the Byways, where Aaliyah hit her lights. They weren’t quite like the lights on a normal patrol car, although they would look like it to normal folks. Not only were the lights next to impossible to spot when they weren’t lit because of some kind of dimensional magic fuckery, there was also some weird enchantment or device in them that caused pulses in the local aether. For people sensitive to magic, it would feel somewhat like an obnoxiously loud bass speaker was nearby.
Thanks to the Byways — and the glories of speeding — they reached E 67th Street in a little over five minutes, instead of the fifteen minutes to more than half an hour it would have taken if they had hit any kind of traffic snags. She killed the lights before pulling out of the Byways exit onto a small, one-way street. The townhouses were definitely way up the posh scale in this neighborhood.
Their destination was one street over to the west, not even a block from Central Park, and, thankfully, their street was going in the right direction. Aaliyah saw more lights ahead, so she knew they were in the right spot.
An SUV and big, red pickup truck — from the NYPD and FDNY, respectively — had parked across the street just past Madison Avenue. That suggested officers were on the scene. Hopefully, they’d be Vigiles’ people.
Aaliyah pulled her bike right up on the ass of the pickup. There was enough room for Eresthanon to park his sedan without completely blocking the crosswalk and she waited for him to park before putting up a hand to indicate he should stay in his car for a minute.
She hung her badge on her belt, where it would be more conspicuous, as the police officer and firefighter approached. She took a second to inspect the markings on their uniforms. The glyph of the scales used by the Vigiles shone on their badges in addition to their insignia of rank.
“Captain,” she said to the firefighter. “Lieutenant,” to the cop. “What’ve we got?”