As we walked, I wanted to explain my version of events to the constable. The fact that the girl seemed too shaken to gather her thoughts worked in my favor, and I planned to take advantage of her subdued state to get her to confirm my story. Not the most noble tactic, I admit, but sometimes you have to play dirty. Unfortunately, the constable dashed my plans by stating that both parties had to be questioned separately.

At least the nearest police station was in Pubset, only four blocks away.

The moment we crossed the threshold, the constable promptly handed us off to the desk sergeant with all the deference of a man ridding himself of a headache. Not that he disappeared entirely – he relayed the situation and stayed on as our escort – but he made it clear that he wasn’t making any further decisions.

The sergeant, a middle-aged man with tired, beady eyes, looked us over before pulling out two wooden boxes and placing them on the desk.

"Personal belongings, valuables, and weapons go in here," he grumbled.

The girl slipped off an unremarkable ring, unclasped her pendant, emptied a handful of coins into the box, and set her basket on top.

I removed my pistol from its holster, which made the constables visibly tense. Without missing a beat, I ejected the magazine and racked the slide to eject the chambered round. My actions were accompanied by a running commentary.

"FN Model 1910, seven-round magazine, .45 caliber, artifact-modified. Reservoir stone fully charged. Rounds in the magazine - " I slid the ejected round back into the magazine - "seven. First round artifact-modified for armor penetration. Reservoir charge – full."

Okay, "fully charge" might’ve been an overstatement, but the tiny shard of corundum embedded in it was no joke.

"The dagger…" I hesitated. It was a warlock’s blade, but its owner was dead. I wasn’t capable of using its powers, and calling it anything else might lead to unforeseen complications. "Hunting dagger, sheathed. And a satchel…"

I noticed the constables and the girl watching me with a mix of suspicion and unease. Especially the girl – she was probably imagining what might have happened if I’d gone for the pistol instead of the vial earlier.

"Sergeant," I said, snapping him out of his stupor, "aren’t you supposed to document this?"

"Later," he muttered dismissively.

"Now, if you don’t mind," I insisted, my voice firm. "And I’d like a copy of the inventory, signed by you."

The sergeant’s expression darkened as he remembered who held the power in the room – or thought he did.

"Listen here, boy," he barked. "You think you’re something special because you bought yourself some fancy toys?!"

"I think the police are obligated to follow the law!" I shot back, raising my voice to match his. "Write the inventory. Or give me a written refusal to do so!"

"Are you some duke’s bastard?" the sergeant retorted, his tone still hostile but now laced with caution. "Or did that rotten brew of yours mess with your head?"

"Brew?! A rotten brew?!" He had the nerve to call Aunt Ailie’s work a rotten brew?! If Uncle Bryce – or anyone from the clan, even Feron – heard this, they’d make mincemeat of this idiot.

"Second-category combat tonic," I replied icily. "Market price: ten pounds a vial."

The room fell silent. After hearing that figure, the constables and even the girl began looking at me with renewed curiosity. A man in a brown civilian suit, who had been observing from the side, finally decided to intervene.

"What’s going on here?"

"Nothing much," the sergeant said, waving dismissively in my direction. "Just some rich country boy throwing his weight around."

What the hell was it about my clothes that made people assume I’m a country boy?

"Detective Inspector John Sunset," the man introduced himself, flipping open his jacket to reveal a badge pinned to his vest.

"A pleasure, Inspector. My name is…" I hesitated. Too many people were watching, and rumors had a way of spreading. The chances of anything reaching Simon were slim, but I didn’t want to take any risks. "Magnus," I said finally, using my middle name.

The pause didn’t escape the inspector’s notice.

"The constable refuses to document my belongings," I explained.

"Who cares about his junk?" the sergeant muttered dismissively.

Without thinking, I reached into my bag and pulled out a dual-compartment vial. The liquid in one compartment was designed to mix with the powder in the other when it reached the mouth.

"Are you familiar with this marking?" I asked, holding the vial out toward the detective. Sunset raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his expression turning sharp. I pressed on. "I didn’t provoke the fight. I didn’t make the first threat. And I certainly wasn’t the one who hit first!"

"Nathan is just a child!" the shifter girl protested.

"A pickpocket and a gang member!" I shot back.

"Quiet," the detective ordered firmly, silencing both of us.

"It’s been a bad day," I said, letting some of my frustration seep into my voice. "I don’t want to risk my valuable possessions, especially considering the negligence your sergeant has demonstrated."

The sergeant flushed with anger, his face reddening, but Sunset’s stern gaze forced him to bite his tongue.

"Clarke, take the box," Sunset instructed. Then, turning to me, he asked, "Will you be satisfied if your belongings remain within your sight at all times?"

"Completely," I replied with a curt nod.

"Your bag as well," the detective added.

I slung the satchel off my shoulder and placed it into the box, which the mustached constable took into his hands with a scowl.

"Continue," Sunset said, gesturing for me to proceed.

With an audible sigh, I removed my rings, turned out my pockets, and set the contents in the box. However, I left the string with the amulet and baronial ring around my neck untouched, and I saved my passport for last.

As expected, Sunset took the document immediately. I braced myself, unsure of how he’d react, but all he did was let out a soft hum of acknowledgment.

"Let’s move to my office. You too, young lady," he said, motioning to the girl. "Clarke, stay close to… Magnus."

I was led upstairs to a modest office, where I was invited to enter first. The box was placed on the windowsill, and Clarke was stationed outside the door.

Sunset walked over to a bookshelf and pulled down a thick tome titled The Register of Aristocratic Houses of Duthigh. Flipping through the pages, he found what he was looking for.

"So, what brings the great-grandson of the Earl of Bremore to Farnell?" he asked. "Last time I’ve seen a potion like that during my army days, Lord. Are you here to wage war?"

"First of all, I’m the nephew of the new Earl, not his great-grandson," I corrected. "He hasn’t had a great-grandson yet. Secondly, that potion is just something left over from my student days."

"Interesting education you had, Lord Loxlin," Sunset remarked, his tone skeptical. "And what exactly was the dispute with the young lady about?"

"Only my education is the reason I managed to make it to the station on my own," I said with a dry chuckle. "As for the young lady – she’s a shifter."

I gave him an abridged version of events, starting with Cap, but left out the true reason I’d been chasing the boy. Sunset listened attentively but made no comment.

After the conversation, I was unceremoniously ushered out of the office with my box while the girl was invited in. Just as I stepped out, the second constable arrived with statements from witnesses.

Not long after, the detective returned and informed me I was free to go.

The timing couldn’t have been better. The effects of the combat potion had worn off, leaving me drained and unsteady. I staggered out of the station, running on sheer willpower.

Thankfully, Pubset was the entertainment district. The first café I spotted was conveniently located across from the police station. It was a no-frills establishment, the kind of place frequented by policemen, which likely meant cheap and decent food.

Inside, the lunchtime rush had already ended, leaving the café quiet with only a handful of patrons. I chose an empty table near the window and motioned for a waiter.

"Do you have black pudding?" I asked.

"Blood sausages," the waiter replied. "Filling without liver."

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

"Blood – just what I needed for recovery." I thought to myself as the waiter confirmed they served blood sausages. I’d heard that some forward thinkers advocated banning its consumption, claiming it made us too similar to bloodsuckers. But in the clan, black pudding was considered a traditional recovery dish.

It was a pity the sausages didn’t include liver, but to compensate, I added two large, greasy pork chops to my order, followed by an apple pudding for dessert and a massive cup of strong black tea with milk. I barely managed to finish it all. By the end, I wasn’t sure if the sweat beading on my forehead was from the potion’s aftereffects or from the sheer exhaustion of chewing. Still, I had filled my stomach with sustenance and my body with natural energy. I ordered a second cup of tea and pulled out my notebook and pen. Turning to a fresh page, I jotted down the day’s date and quickly summarized the events. Only then did I finally turn my full attention to the bigger questions.

The main thing gnawing at me was the identity of the woman in the taxi. Ferrish had clearly wanted her dead just as badly as Simon. The moment was fleeting, and I hadn’t fully grasped the connection, but it seemed even the reward for her was the same. This meant the spirit didn’t care specifically about Simon; what mattered to it was whatever tied this woman to the Ferons. And most likely to the vampires Uncle Bryce had encountered during the war.

But how was I supposed to find them? Wander the streets with a dagger in hand?

I pulled the dagger out of my pocket and glanced at the other patrons in the café. Then I turned my gaze out the window toward the street...

And froze.

The shifter girl – Ellie – was walking along the pavement with another woman.

Wasn’t she supposed to be punished?

Huh. This was the perfect chance to ask a few questions. She wouldn’t dare start another fight right here in front of the station. Worst case, if things really went sideways, they’d send me packing in the most personal way imaginable. I wouldn’t be thrilled about it, but who knows? Maybe it’d work out. The key was to ask the right question... now I just had to figure out what that question was.

"Waiter! The bill, please, quickly."

"One moment, sir."

"I’m in a hurry, my good man. Will a quarter cover it?"

"Uh... yes."

"Here. Keep the change. Good day."

At this rate, I’d be broke in no time. Stories about young men squandering their inheritance in the city suddenly made a lot more sense. I needed to start budgeting better.

Before approaching, I decided to observe the girls from a distance. My eyesight was sharp enough for it. Ellie’s companion was taller than her – possibly taller than me, thanks to her heels. She had a slender figure wrapped in a green dress, walked with confident poise, and laughed with a bright, ringing voice. Her fiery red hair cascaded down in thick, cloud-like waves.

She was stunning. My eyes lingered a little too long on her.

Interesting... but wait, that wasn’t a dress.

The skirt appeared to detach, just like Ellie’s had. Another shifter, perhaps?

Taking advantage of the fact that they hadn’t noticed me yet, I applied some concealment-revealing ointment to my third eye.

Ellie’s spiritual core bloomed on her back like a green flower. Unfortunately, the ointment didn’t allow me to see the spirit at its center – such clarity required an entirely different level of preparation. The redhead’s spiritual core, by contrast, was poorly developed, not much better than mine. However, her elemental source, situated lower… in her body... well, it blazed bright red.

A fire elementalist.

What was I getting myself into?

Calm down. The station is still in sight.

That reassurance helped settle me, and I decided to act before they turned the corner. Wiping the ointment from my forehead, I quickened my pace. Strangely enough, the vision it provided didn’t immediately fade; it seemed to have absorbed into my skin.

Ellie flinched slightly and turned her head. Could she sense the mark? I assessed the distance between us. Her senses weren’t as sharp as Logan’s, thankfully.

The girls paused and exchanged a few words as I approached.

"Good afternoon, ladies," I greeted, my tone polite.

"Good afternoon, sir," the redhead responded. "Are you following us?"

"In a manner of speaking. But I’m not after you," I said, directing a meaningful look at Ellie. "If I’m not mistaken, your name is Ella..."

"It’s Ellie," she corrected me.

"My apologies. Shall we sit somewhere and talk? My treat."

"You're quite bold, mister!" the redhead laughed, her voice bright and mocking. "Or is this some clever move? Beat up a girl first, then invite her on a date?"

A few passersby turned their heads in surprise, clearly intrigued by the exchange.

"Oh, no need to worry this time," I said lightly, keeping my tone calm. "I simply want to know why the shifter lady decided to attack me."

"And if we refuse?" she asked, her eyebrow arched. "Are you going to drag us there by force?"

"I’ll just return to the station, have a little chat with Detective Inspector Sunset, and perhaps file an official report about the assault," I said with a faint smirk.

"Fin," Ellie tugged at the redhead’s sleeve, her voice low and urgent. "Let’s not. I’ll agree."

But Fin was already riled up, and she wasn’t calming down anytime soon. I saw the air around her right hand shimmer as crimson energy began to swirl and condense into a vortex.

"You think some papers will save you?" she began confidently, thrusting her glowing palm forward.

I stepped closer, without hesitation, and jabbed my index finger directly into the molten core of her fire vortex. Channeling a small drop of my personal energy, I disrupted the unstable magic. The swirling power around her hand erupted, bursting outward in a wave of scorching heat. The acrid stench of singed hair filled the air, and pain shot through my burned finger like lightning. It took every ounce of my willpower not to yelp, though I was already planning to rub ointment on it later.

"Keep your temper in check," I said, my voice firm, pointing to the police station behind me. "You’re both going to end up in there."

"Fin, stop it!" Ellie said sharply, and it seemed to finally have an effect.

Fin, however, wasn’t ready to let it go. She shoved her clenched fist in my face, displaying a tiny gold signet ring on her ring finger.

"You sure you want to pick a fight with the Flowers?" she asked with a cocky grin.

"Is that an official declaration?" I asked, keeping my tone measured.

"Spark, don’t you dare!" Ellie barked, her voice snapping with authority.

"Shut it, Goat," Fin shot back. "Yeah, boy, this is for real."

Calmly, I reached under my collar and pulled out the string holding my amulet and baronial ring. Under the watchful eyes of both girls, I untied the knot and slid the ring off the cord.

Their expressions shifted as I slid the signet ring onto the little finger of my left hand, claiming the role of head of my house and bearer of my title.

"I seem to have forgotten my manners," I said evenly, letting the weight of my next words sink in. "Lord Loxlin. My clan hasn’t hunted elementalists in quite some time."

"You're an idiot," Ellie muttered to Fin before the redhead could respond. She quickly turned to me, her tone suddenly conciliatory. "Perhaps we can still come to an agreement?"

"We could’ve done that from the start," I said with a trace of superiority, letting my newfound leverage show. Not my proudest moment, but the sense of control was intoxicating.

"There’s a pastry shop nearby," Ellie offered, her tone more composed.

"Lead the way," I said, then paused, remembering my manners. "May I carry your basket for you?"

"Thank you," Ellie replied softly, handing me the basket while shooting a pointed glare at Fin.

The pastry shop exceeded all my expectations. The cakes and tarts were absolutely delicious, though the sob story about Nathan and Clint Sparrow left a bitter taste in my mouth.

It turned out Cap (Nathan) and Knuckles (Clint) were brothers. The moment I heard their story, I regretted my earlier decision to use them. Years ago, their family, headed by Esquire Sparrow, had lived in the old city district, near the families of Lord Flower and mister Sheridan – Ellie’s father. The children had grown up as friends.

But seven years ago, tragedy struck. Esquire Sparrow’s wife fell ill and passed away. Consumed by grief, Sparrow drowned his sorrows in alcohol and quickly lost his law practice. Within a year, he had hanged himself in a drunken stupor.

Even in death, the man found no peace. His spirit began haunting his children, visiting them as a ghost. Meanwhile, the authorities took an interest in the orphans. With no close relatives to claim them, the boys were sent to an orphanage. Their haunted family home was sold for a pittance, the money funneled into the institution that had taken them in. But Nathan and Clint escaped at the first opportunity. They found refuge in the slums of Smuggler’s Bay, surviving through petty theft and other illicit activities.

Ellie Sheridan seemed to have developed either a maternal instinct or a big sister complex toward Nathan. She fed him regularly, much to the delight of the boy and his older brother, Clint. Finella Flower, Ellie’s fiery redheaded friend, had also gotten involved in this little charity project. From their perspective, I wasn’t the victim in this situation – I was the thief, and they were merely defending the innocent: Ellie protected a helpless child, while Finella stood guard over her younger friend.

Wearing the skin of a thief was an uncomfortable role, one that nearly pushed me to give in to emotion. There was a brief urge to confess my intentions outright, but I smothered it before it could fully form.

"I have no real interest in your boys," I admitted at last. "They tried to rob me, and now I believe they owe me a debt. But it’s a debt you ladies can repay, if you’re so inclined."

"How much?" Finella asked boldly, her tone sharp.

I chuckled and shook my head.

"Money isn’t what I’m after."

"Then what?" Ellie asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What could a couple of homeless orphans possibly have that you’d want?"

"Information," I replied, my tone as serious as stone. "Let’s make something clear, ladies. If you decide to take on the Sparrow brothers' debt, you don’t get to ask why I need this information. In return, I’ll forget about your… indiscretions." I let my gaze rest pointedly on Finella. "And you’ll do everything in your power to get me the answers I’m looking for. Or you’ll direct me to someone who can."

I gave them a moment to consider my offer and used the time to slip my signet ring back onto the string with my amulet.

"And if we refuse?" Finella challenged, her green eyes narrowing.

"Spark!" Ellie hissed, clearly exasperated.

"Is this a family feud?" Finella pressed. "I haven’t seen anything about it in the papers yet."

The redhead’s unusually serious demeanor surprised me.

"No," I said simply. "It’s a hunt. For one man. But he may very well be connected to others – less pleasant and far more dangerous individuals."

"What chance do two orphans have against those kinds of people?" Ellie asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Oh, come on now. Don’t make me out to be some kind of villain," I retorted. "Street kids like them already know a lot. And for the record, I was planning to pay them. Honestly!"

"Name your clan," Finella demanded, her voice firm.

"Look it up in the Register of Houses," I shot back, irritation creeping into my tone.

"And what if we just pass your questions along to them?" Ellie suggested.

"Then what use are you to me?" I countered. "If you’re involved, I expect a personal contribution. Ask your family, your friends… My questions aren’t exactly top secret. I’m new to Farnell, while you’ve lived here and know this city inside out."

"Fine!" Ellie agreed, her tone resolute.

"And who’s the idiot now?" Finella scoffed. "You didn’t even negotiate."

"This isn’t a market stall, Spark," Ellie snapped. "Ask your questions, Lord."

I glanced meaningfully at the redhead, silently prompting her to agree.

"Oh, fine," she said begrudgingly. "I’m already stuck in this now."

"What do you know about vampires in the city?" I asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"I told you," Finella said with a smirk, her tone dripping with sarcasm.