The next morning, Eresthanon pulled into the parking garage beside the daycare just before nine o’clock. Getting into the office was a much easier process now that he was a sworn member of the Vigiles, as his badge let him access the upper floor directly from the elevator. That deposited him in a lobby just a few steps from the detective bureau.

When he stepped into the office suite that was his new professional home, he was met with the faint rustling of leaves, something tickling the top of his head, and a soft, feminine voice coming from a large shrubbery behind the reception desk.

“Good morning, Tribune,” Ivy said.

“And a warm and unobstructed sunrise to you, Miss Ivy,” he replied. “Is Quaesitor Dean in yet?”

“What a thoughtful greeting,” she said, her leaves fluttering in a way Eresthanon took for laughter. “Aaliyah got in about five minutes before you. She said to direct you in to see her once you were in. Not quite so politely, of course.”

“Of course,” Eresthanon said, thanking the nymph with a smile and wink before heading down the hall.

He found Aaliyah sitting in her office. She gestured for him to join her through the plate glass. Once he was inside, she waved her hands expansively and the walls turned opaque with a smoky tint, then she waved a single hand again and the door regained its transparency.

“There’s a way to do both at the same time, but I never bothered to learn,” she said. “Khaldun will be here soon; we’ll give him a rundown on what we learned and what we’re planning, then be on our way.”

The Praetor joined them a few minutes later, wearing another suit tailored to accommodate the features of his sphinx heritage. Despite being as perfectly groomed as he had been when they’d met the day before, Khaldun had a vaguely harried air about him.

On the surface, Khaldun was perfectly poised for their meeting on Eresthanon’s first tour of duty, but there was a slight droop to his wings and his feathers occasionally shifted in a way they hadn’t during their initial meetings.

“Well that shines an interesting light on the latest developments,” Khaldun said when Aaliyah had finished detailing the previous day’s activities.

Khaldun let that enigmatic statement hang in the air, idly rubbing his chin. After a moment, he produced a file folder that was far too large to fit in any of his jacket pockets. He slid it across the desk to Aaliyah, who opened it and began browsing its contents.

Although there was no reason for it he could identify, Eresthanon felt as if the distant storm he’d been sensing since his awakening had just begun to rumble ominously. He didn’t want to read over Aaliyah’s shoulder, so he thought it best to request more information.

“What are the latest developments, if I might ask?”

Khaldun sighed, more from annoyance than weariness. “Things were a bit hectic last night. It started not long before you were sworn in, in fact, but it’s only in light of your report that I’m realizing it may be prudent to elevate your investigation to include this new situation.”

According to the Praetor, several sentinel wards had activated in the late afternoon, meaning they had detected significant magical activity in or near public spaces. Nearly a dozen wards had been triggered all over the city, right in the middle of rush hour.

The Vigiles dispatched several Lictors in response; these were investigators who handled lower profile cases than the squad Eresthanon was part of. They found a number of strange disturbances but nothing that specifically violated any of the Pillars.

Initially, it was thought several poltergeists, elementals, or other pernicious spirits had been released as some kind of prank. That theory was revised later in the evening, upgrading to a burgeoning turf war when a gang of goblins was found battered and bruised in a sandwich shop in Queens.

“They wouldn’t say a word to our people,” Khaldun added. “You know how goblins can be about the Vigiles in general, but this crew clammed up completely; there wasn’t even any insulting banter with our investigators.”

“What?” Aaliyah said. “Goblins love to talk shit, especially to so-called authority figures. It’s like a… cultural imperative or something.”

“Unless they’re on a job that forbids it,” Eresthanon said. “Duty trumps the personal obligation of the goblin tradition that’s come to be known as ‘bustin’ balls.’”

Khaldun nodded. “Based on what you’ve told me about all these mercenaries being hired, I’d say the goblins were probably in the employ of magi and got roughed up in a scuffle with some drakus. I’m also inclined to think a lot of the disturbances last night were the result of similar confrontations. No deaths yet, but these people are playing fast and loose with the Third Pillar.”

“What’s our play, then?” Aaliyah asked.

“We’re going to form rapid response teams and place them in the field. If these shenanigans continue, we’ll be in a better position to act before anything gets out of hand, maybe even bring some folks in. I want you two to keep working your case; it sounds like the two are connected. Our best bet to nip this thing in the bud before there’s an escalation is to put charges on the ringleaders.”

Aaliyah grinned at the Praetor. “As it so happens, I was planning a little trip to the circus this morning. I’m confident I can at least get a better read on one side of the situation.”

“Alright,” Khaldun said slowly. “Just remember that you’re on the job, too, so try to limit your shit-stirring.”

“You know me, Praetor, I like an easy ride,” Aaliyah answered.

Khaldun sighed and shook his head gently, but offered no further comment.

A lot of things had gone unsaid in that last exchange between the Praetor and his partner, Eresthanon suspected, though he lacked the context to even guess at what it might have been. Aaliyah was persnickety to be sure, but as far as Eresthanon had seen so far she was also excellent at leveraging her personality to benefit their work.

As they got into the elevator to make their way down to the garage a few minutes later, Eresthanon resolved to probe what insight Aaliyah was willing to share on the matter.

“It seemed like Praetor Khaldun was worried you might be exceedingly… gruff when we visit the Drakon,” he said.

Aaliyah grunted. “I have a bit of a history with the lizards. It’s all personal bullshit from ages ago, but we ain’t exactly on the best of terms.”

“Would you be willing to elaborate?” he asked. “Or, if it would benefit our investigation, perhaps you’d like me to take the lead in dealing with them?”

Aaliyah waved a hand dismissively as they stepped into the garage.

“No need for all that, I know what I’m about,” she said. “Say, you seem to know the city well enough; are you familiar with 33 Thomas?”

After a moment’s thought, Eresthanon nodded. “The Long Lines building, between Broadway and Church in Tribeca.”

“That’s the one,” Aaliyah confirmed. “That’s our destination this morning, but we can’t just go in the front door on account of all the spooky secret shit the normies got going on inside. That means using the guest entrance. Are you familiar with the theatre across the street from it?”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Eresthanon found he had at least vague, academic knowledge of the city going back centuries and it was often significantly more detailed, more personal than that. There had been so many changes over the years, sometimes it was hard to parse through all the ways the city had evolved. He was fairly sure he knew the theatre she was talking about, though, so, again, he nodded.

“That’s where we’re headed, so let’s get moving,” she said.

They walked to City Hall Park, much as they had the day before, only this time, rather than detouring to various landmarks, they turned up Broadway and walked all the way to Thomas Street.

The AT&T Long Lines Building came into view as soon as they turned onto Thomas. It wasn’t the tallest building in New York City — it wasn’t even the tallest building within a one-block radius — yet it stood out in a way that few other skyscrapers did. The Empire State, Chrysler, and Woolworth’s Buildings were all taller, and the Flatiron and Guggenheim were both weirder, but there were few, if any, buildings in all of the five boroughs that were more ominous than 33 Thomas.

Reaching more than five hundred feet into the sky, the Long Lines Building was not the most iconic Brutalist building in the world, but it was one of the most stark and harshest in design. Made of plain granite over concrete slabs, the structure was completely windowless, the only features being irregular protrusions on its longer sides and large, square vents aligned in rows at its higher reaches. Eresthanon could think of few buildings in the modern world more secretive and less welcoming.

The enigmatic, closed-off nature of the structure had led to a slew of conspiracy theories about what went on inside the strange monolith practically as soon as construction had finished. Although the public had since learned that some of those theories weren’t as outlandish as they once seemed, Eresthanon doubted many people suspected there were dragons operating out of the imposing skyscraper.

Across the street sat a much different building; at around fifty feet tall, with a dark gray-brown brick front and its sides painted matte black, the Flea Theater could be identified by the minimalist marquee made of light gray steel, the space’s name cut out like a stencil and legible from the lime green backing of the marquee’s interior. The theatre’s doors were right on the sidewalk at street level, compared to Long Lines Building’s recessed and elevated entrance behind two very wide, short flights of steps.

Aaliyah pulled open the glass door of the Flea and stepped inside, as if walking into an Off-Off-Broadway theatre were a perfectly normal thing to do on a weekday morning. A pretty young woman with vivid, almost-neon green hair in a pixie cut sat behind a waist-high reception stand. She was reading the latest Playbill magazine and looked up as the vigilum entered, her eyebrows rising slightly.

“Um, hello?” she said.

“Morning,” Aaliyah said, her tone more perky and chipper than Eresthanon had yet heard. “We have a tour of the scene shop scheduled for right about now-ish. Assuming we ain’t late, of course.”

“You might have the wrong theatre,” the young woman replied. “The Flea doesn’t have a scene shop on the premises.”

Aaliyah shook her head, her braids swishing softly. “No, I’m sure this is the place. Arthur P. told me it was all arranged and all we had to do was show up for our appointment.”

“Who the crap is Arthur P.?” the young woman asked.

“Arthur Pendergast, I think it was. Or something like that,” Aaliyah replied, waving a hand to indicate, well, something. Her tone was airy and casual, while the look she gave the young woman was anything but.

The receptionist set down the magazine and stood up from her chair. As she did, the distinct sound of deadbolt locks sliding into place came from the doors behind the vigilum.

“Come with me,” she said, stepping from behind the reception stand and leading them to the stairs beside it.

She took them down a flight of steps to the basement level, where the stairs ended in a hallway. It was much darker down there than in the lobby above, and not just from lack of natural light; the walls, floor, and ceiling were all painted black and the hall was lit by a sparse line of tiny bulbs hanging overhead.

Several plain doors lined one side of the hallway. At one end, on the right, was a door painted the same lime green as the highlight paint on the marquee outside. A sign over the door, made of dark metal and lit from behind with a strong, white fluorescent light, read, “the Siggy.”

Eresthanon didn’t know what that was in reference to, but it seemed obvious it was the name of a small theatre. From what he’d seen so far, the Flea had three different performing spaces, one on each of its levels.

The receptionist led them to the door at the other end of the hall, which was plain wood and painted a black not quite as dark as the other surfaces in the passage. Beyond it was a storage room nearly forty feet wide, likely as wide as the building itself, or close to it.

In a rear corner of the room, the young woman placed her hand against the painted brick façade of the wall. A section disappeared moments later, as if it had never been. A long hallway of featureless gray cement stretched away before them, traveling several hundred feet and ending at a conspicuous maintenance door.

“Through there,” the young woman said, and took a step back from the passage.

“Thanks, doll face,” Aaliyah replied, proceeding down the corridor with Eresthanon a step behind.

The plain security door at the end of the concrete tunnel was so off-putting it had to have been intentional. Although it was painted a dull maroon, a number of dents and scratches in the paint revealed the coat of gray primer beneath. There were several small bits of graffiti that appeared to claim the territory for one gang after another, several stains that might have been blood, and signs of corrosion around the edges.

When they drew close to the door, Eresthanon detected a hint of magic. It was exceptionally well hidden, even when he was standing right beside it, but it was there. He couldn’t tell what the magics on the door were, only that they were present. Given that they were walking into what amounted to the lair of many dragons, the enchantments on the door were likely too strong to be concealed completely.

Eresthanon couldn’t explain how he knew it, but he knew sensing those enchantments at all, even right next to them, would require a degree of insight or arcane sensitivity very few spellworkers possessed, regardless of their mystic potency.

He didn’t know what to expect now that they had reached the door, but it wasn’t nothing. Nevertheless, that’s what happened. Nothing.

The door remained resolutely uninteresting.

The lack of response had to be intentional, though there could have been any number of reasons for it. Whatever the cause, it took less than a minute for Aaliyah to grow impatient enough waiting for something to happen to start fidgeting and issuing pointed sighs in the direction of the door.

After a full minute, she pulled out her badge, hung it around her neck with a huff, and lifted a hand to knock on the door. It might have been more accurate to say she was going to pound on the door, but Eresthanon thought that would be an uncharitable way to characterize his partner’s intentions.

Just as Aaliyah’s fist was about to crash into the steel — with more force than was strictly necessary — the door swung open. A man in a cloth dust mask stood behind it, his eyes apologetic, even embarrassed for some reason. Eresthanon got a brief view of a comfortable lounge past the doorkeeper before he was distracted by a torrent of raised voices flooding into the tunnel.

“-can’t just fundamentally change a thing and demand people respect your delusion that it’s not a new and different thing,” a woman’s voice said, raised nearly to a shout.

“It’s not a fundamental change, for fuck’s sake,” a man’s voice replied. “It’s additive, not transformative.”

Though the man’s voice wasn’t as loud, Eresthanon heard the distinctive sound of flesh making contact with flesh to punctuate certain words. He couldn’t see the people arguing from the hallway, so he couldn’t be sure that they weren’t coming to blows, but he thought it was more likely the man was slapping his hands together. Or perhaps driving a fist into his own palm. For emphasis.

“I mean, it’s even kind of traditional,” a third person said, a man with a deep but wheezy voice.

“Tradition?” the woman said. “Tradition? That’s like calling one of those casseroles they make in Chicago a pizza margherita, you goddamn philistine! What you’re talking about is an abomination!”

Eresthanon wondered if the argument had something to do with the Drakon’s supposed new leader or whatever direction this unknown individual might be taking the ancient society in. It was certainly heated enough to be something that serious. He turned to give Aaliyah a meaningful look, only to find a smile quickly disappearing from her face.

She pushed past the guard at the door, making her way into the bowels of the dragons’ lair.

“Well, well, well,” she called. “If it isn’t you stupid motherfuckers!”