Zero doesn’t have a chance to make his morning coffee before he gets a call about the Shadow Market exploding.
Perhaps exploding is the wrong choice of words here. The caller is extremely agitated and too panicked to string sentences together, but the long and short of it is that a tent in the Harajuku Shadow Market is now a brilliant blazing mess, so please come down to save us and make it as quick as possible, thank you and good bye. The last part is garbled gibberish, presumably because they are running with the phone to their mouth. Zero promises to gather the Shadowhunters there posthaste, and then pulls an irritated and confused Sherrock out of his room with his shirt still unbuttoned, and an equally perturbed Masato from off the couch where he’d fallen asleep last night, studying demon hunting patterns.
“Emergency down at the Market,” he tells them briskly. “Explosions, panicking, and running. Lots of it. Call the others; we’ll meet up there.”
Years of experience prompt his two colleagues to nod brusquely, although Sherrock ruins the effect by buttoning up his shirt as they run through the streets. Zero draws the runes for invisibility and enhanced speed on his arm with his stele; out of the corner of his eye, he sees the other two do the same. Masato is snapping into his phone: “Bring the others to the Harajuku Shadow Marketーand don’t take the damn car this time! You’ll only make things worse, Smash!”
Sherrock snorts in amusement, and Zero shoots his parabatai a crooked smile. Their bemused expressions quickly vanish when they see the column of smoke rising from the Shadow Market, which situates itself in one of the more dilapidated and chaotic parts of Harajuku. Mundanes barely notice it, even as they pass through (unless they have the Sight, which makes it a different story), and the utter chaos of it fits right into the images of Takeshita Dori or other such market streets that populate the area. It’s also one of the few Shadow Markets in the world that operates just as much during the day as during the night, with vampires safely retreating into the underground, basement-level stores or in the darker corners where the sun is blocked off by umbrellas stringed from balconies or makeshift canopies. The streets are narrow, which is why Zero can understand the speed with which the panic spreadーand the size of the fire, he thinks, as he approaches the scene. Several warlocks are extinguishing the flames with sprays of water, and a few other resourceful Downworlders are carrying fire extinguishers as they eliminate the smaller fires that have started to eat the canopies of other shops.
He notices one of the warlocks wave to him, and he shoots him a grin. “Hey, Parte. Not surprised to see you here, in the midst of the trouble. Is Rosso here too?”
“He’s on his way,” Parte grins back, although it is strained. “We got most of the fire… but we couldn’t save some of the creatures.” He clenches a fist. “The merchant is distraught. He really loved those little things.”
“Shouldn’t have kept them in cages then,” Masato chimes in absentmindedly. His tablet is out and he is making notes of the scene, crouching down every now and then to examine the scorch marks or prod one of the puddles, occasionally attracting curious looks from the attending warlocks.
Zero sighs. “Save the cynicism for later, please, Masato. We have an investigation to conduct.”
“Already on it.” The younger Shadowhunter waves his free hand briefly before picking up a charred piece of wood and squinting at it.
“Sherrock, please make sure he doesn’t tamper too much with the evidence,” Zero whispers to his partner. “As smart as he is, I still can’t shake off the last incident.”
Sherrock gave a shudder. “On it.”
Parte gives him a confused look. “Last incident?”
“We were investigating a trail of shinigami,” Zero explained. “And one of them was behaving peculiarlyーhad a strange obsession with fruit. No idea why. Anyway, Masato thought maybe there was something in the fruit attracting the shinigami so heー” He grimaced. “He tried to eat it.”
“Oh.” Parte looks at the shorter man. “Really?”
“Turns out there was nothing special about the fruit,” Zero sighed. “Except it had shinigami residueーdemon slimeー all over it. So, lo and behold, Masato goes and poisons himself with demon spit and is bedridden for half a month.”
“Yikes,” a new voice interjects. “You Shadowhunters have some interesting hobbies, huh?”
Zero and Parte turn to see a new figure approaching them; standing before them, clad in an impressive suit and spiky, short russet hair is Rosso, a mundane with the Sight and their friend. He’s got an impressive grasp of Shadowhunter and Downworlder politics, and has plenty of friends on both sides. Zero and his group of Shadowhunters had met with Parte and Rosso during a difficult case, and ever since they’d all shared a steadfast friendship. Rosso enjoyed good mysteries and was a boon to be around, even without magic or runes.
Parte is also similar, but less carefree and more serious. As a warlock, he is older than most of them, but in terms of how he acts, they all regard him as younger. His warlock mark is easy to spot; it’s a pair of short, curved horns that, for whatever reason, Parte paints a different color from time to time. He hides them easily with glamor, although he seldom does in the presence of those aware of their world. They’re a shade of aquamarine now, although the exposure to all the water splashing about has dampened his horns and some of the paint slides off in a flaky mess.
“Hey, Rosso,” Zero grins. “Long time no see.”
“Same to you, detective,” Rosso claps a hand onto Zero’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. “I was starting to think you guys were so busy with your Shadowhunting that we’d never see you again.”
“Is that what you call it?” Parte glanced at him. “‘Shadowhunting?’”
“We absolutely do not, ” Sherrock retorts.
“So, where’s everyone else?” Rosso waves a hand at Sherrock and Masato. “Smash and Chatter; they’re a little late to the party.”
“Masato forbade them from rushing to the scene by car,” Sherrock explains. “So I assume they’re running for their lives.” Zero snorts while Rosso bursts out chortling.
“So how do things look?” Zero strode over to the remains of the once-smoldering tent, where broken cages and charred wood, burnt to cinders, lay at his feet. The smell of smoke and char permeated the air, which was still dense with heat and dancing with ash. Sherrock came over, dragging Masato, who was eyeing what had once been a cage of nixies with the same peculiar look on his face he’d shown minutes before he’d taken a bite of the shinigami’s stash of fruit.
“We couldn’t find anything indicating a natural cause,” Parte explained, brushing soot from his shirt. “No one was using any magic at the time, except when the warlock used his own to feed the critters. No fires in trash cans, no dumb kids with rocket launchers or handheld fireworks, no fights between Downworlders. We checked with our magicーbut it would probably be better if you guys got a statement from some of the people who were here.”
“Well, most of them would’ve fled by now, if they were smart,” Zero leaned down to trace a line in the soot. “Sherrock, hand me the powder. The rest of you, step back for a second.” Sherrock reached into his pockets and came out with a vial that looked identical to a salt shakerーan appearance he himself would not have chosen for a gadget of such value, but one that Sherrock chose purely for its irony instead.
Zero and Sherrock’s personal office was considered a separate entity from the Institute; therefore, it wasn’t considered “legitimate” Shadowhunter work. They dabbled in street cases and incidents such as these, using their own tools and often taking advantage of the various Downworlder connections they enjoyed, which Zero suspected would not meet too much approval back in the day. Among those tools were the concoctions he’d come up with and Masato, after having moved in with them, had perfected: demon-hunting tools that could trace and track; gadgets that easily identified and saw through fae disguises; experimental notes that allowed them to fiddle with runes and study their effects.
Sherrock liked to call it “new era” thinking. Zero liked to memorialize it as his official departure from the Clave rules.
Holding the salt shaker over the charred remains of the tent, he began to lightly dust the silvery powder here and there; the powder was mixed with a concoction of ingredients and infused with a little hint of warlock magic to reveal signs of demonic activityーusually in the form of markings on the ground or a whiff of putrid odor.
However, after walking the perimeter of the scene and criss-crossing across it, his search yielded nothing.
“No demons, then,” Zero frowned. “Bummer; that would’ve been easier. We could’ve just chopped their heads off.”
“Eeesh Zero, yuck.” Rosso stuck his tongue out.
“Then we do this the old-fashioned way,” Sherrock walked over, Masato close behind with his tablet tucked under one arm. “Inquiries and investigation, and some impressive sleuthing.” He grinned at Zero, who smirked right back.
“Well,” Masato glanced at the wreckage and grimaced. “Then we better get started.”
Lucas was trying to melt down a stele into adamas when the tent of strange creatures exploded.
Which he’d played no part in, by the way.
Before the tent went up in a spectacular blaze of glaring orange and blood red, searing nearby stalls and orchestrating a great deal of screaming, Lucas had been digging through the trash.
Not the mundane trash, of course, although that often yielded interesting things on their own. No, he’d been expertly rifting through the discarded assortment of junk and rotting carcasses (he was not kidding; those were carcasses lying there, he was sure of it), certain of the hum of treasure. Aside from the steleーhis best findーhe’d found a serrated knife, a cracked longsword, a wooden staff with a splintered end, some weird plants that definitely would attract some attention, and a broken box of mostly-intact jade ornaments, sure to fetch a fine price. All in all a good day, with finds he was sure would rake in some rewards at the Shadow Marketーand hopefully, enough to fetch him a place for the night, before he had to return to the hideout and inevitably face the lecture waiting for him once he did. He borrowed some magic fire from a friendly fairy who ran a potions standーshe had long horns like branches sticking out of her head, and she was half blind with incredibly acute hearing, and she was always friendly to kids like himself and willing to do a few favors in exchange for some small trinkets. He offered her a jade cup from the box, which she took after giving him a jar of purple-pink fire and a small stack of Japanese yen, along with a set of tongs that he assumed meant she didn’t want him melting down the stele with his bare hands.
He didn’t mean to cause trouble, but trouble liked to stalk him around on all fours anyway. A considerably unfair predicament, considering he was far too ordinary to handle most of it. He can’t turn into a snarling creature with fangs sharp enough to rip holes into a person’s chest or an eternally anemic blood donor patient who can also rip holes into a person’s chest; he can’t make his problems less… problematic by whisking together a magical solution, nor can he turn into a mystical ancient being living secluded in a hidden grove stuck between allying themself with one or the other half of what was most likely the world’s most problematic power couple (and he meant that in a literal sense).
No, the best he can do is survive, and he is doing an excellent job. He just needs something to prompt a little personal growth. Enhance his survival skills. Give him a challenge he needs.
Melting adamas from steles and other such Shadowhunter knick-knacks was one of those challengesーand something Bailey and Lupus would give him an earful about if they heard of it. Stealing Shadowhunter toys? Did he want to get killed?
Which was understandable; yes, yes, they were a group of Angelic warriors who could wield swords and light and beat all sorts of bad guys and were (this was most important) generally not very nice to Downworlders. Getting in trouble with them was the mundane equivalent to making an enemy of an armyーone equipped with magic runes and pointy swords and unfairly huge egos. The ones he’d met so far had sniffed down their noses at himーfor what they saw was a mundane with the Sight; nothing more and nothing less.
HA, Lucas thought, as he twisted the stele between the tongs gingerly, holding it over the magic fairy fire. If only they knew, then I bet they wouldn’t be sniffing down their noses and making all those stupid heroic faces ALL THE DAMN TIME. They’d be all indignant and angry and I’d totally flip their stupid narrow-minded perception of the world on their stupid heads, and I BET that would be worth throwing away all those years of secrecy for nothing. ORDINARY MUNDANE INDEED, WELL THEY CAN STICK THEIR ‘EXTRAORDINARY’ IDENTITIES UP THEIR ー
And then the tent with the extraordinary creatures went up in a blaze of ugly fireworks, cutting off his train of thought and making him drop the burning hot adamas into the flames. Shoot.
All around him was a chorus of terrified screaming, coalescing from various corners of the Shadow Market in one huge, unified unidentifiable noise of terror. Fear swelled throughout the streets, and escaped creatures fled from the flames; small nixies and snakes with wings careened into stands and signs with burning wings or singed tails, spreading embers and fanning the flames of panicー and the literal flames; mustn't forget those ーfurther and further through the crowd. Lucas dropped the tongs, grabbed his knapsack of goods, and followed the surging crowd away from the bonfire, threading through throngs of terrified people while cursing under his breath. Someone’s elbow nearly slammed into his eye, and he had to duck while simultaneously avoiding tripping on a long cloak, which was attached to the shoulders of a tall fae, her forest green eyes wide with panic and confusion. Next to her, a short vampire with hair dyed orange pulled at her hands, shouting intelligible words that were lost in the sea of cries.
When I was cursing out ‘extraordinary’ creatures, Lucas hissed internally, I meant the Shadowhunters, not the ACTUAL CREATURES!
He’d managed to duck into an alleyway when he felt someone hoist him up like a sack of flour. Instinctively he struck at the attacker with a knee.
“OW!” wailed his attacker. “LUCAS, it’s ME! ”
“Oh,” Lucas froze before his knee could strike again. “Hi, Bailey.”
The tall blonde eyed him severely as he held Lucas out in front of him like a misbehaving cat. “Don’t you ‘hi Bailey’ me. Do you even know how much trouble you are in right now?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it even if I say yes.” Lucas replied serenely.
“Not me,” snorted Bailey. “I’m leaving that to Lupus this time.”
“Oh snakes, Bailey, no ー”
“It’s your own fault,” the blonde says sternly, with firm finality. “You can take it up with him.” He places Lucas down and nudges him forward, marching him away from the chaos of the Shadow Market.
“Wait, Bailey, what about the fire?” Lucas chances a look back the way he had come, and sees still the seemingly endless waves of fleeing Market-goers.
“Some warlocks are taking care of it,” Bailey says firmly. “But we need to leave, now. ”
“But how did it start?”
“ Later, Lucas, we have more important things to deal with.”
More important than a fire in the Shadow Market? Lucas thinks mutinously, but is struck with guilt when he thinks that Bailey likely would have been more intent on offering his aid had he not been dealing withーby definition, if not truthーa runaway. Bailey himself is a warlockーsurely he would rather be helping his fellow warlocks extinguish life threatening fires rather than herd Lucas back to their hideout like a parent does a misbehaving child.
Bailey’s warlock mark is easy to spot when he’s not glamoredーhe has a long tail shaped like a lion’s, covered in golden fur that matches his hair. He’s well-built and strong too, to bootーstrong enough that he seldom solves matters involving physical solutions with magic ones. He doesn’t waste his magic stopping a thief; he chases the thief down and knocks their lights outーor at least picks them up by the scruff of their neckーand calls it a day.
Lucas heaves a miserable sigh. “Sorry.” His bag makes horrible clattering noises that fill up the void of silence between them, and he doesn’t dare look back if only to avoid seeing Bailey make his disappointed faceーthe one where he sets his mouth in a line and his eyes seem to seep sorrow. His I’m-mad-but-it’s-because-I-worry face. His I-know-you-don’t-like-it-but-it’s-for-your-own-good face.
He won’t look, he tells himself, because he doesn’t want to feel guiltyーand really, he has nothing to be guilty for.
Even though you made them worry? Whispers a tiny, irritating voice.
Shut up, he snaps.
I’m not a kid. I don’t need to stay stuffed under a rock for the rest of my life to prolong it.
They’ll see.
Itaru was trying to fix his lamp when a warlock with four arms burst through his door and begged for his help.
Which of course did little to explain the situation, so he sat her down in a chair and tried to pry the story out of her and keep her calm, while Aria, ever the helpful soul, made a pot of tea.
At some point Karasu had stopped by to give their guest a brief onceover before proceeding to pour himself some coffee, but it was too early and the poor woman was too distressed for Itaru to snap at him to show a little more courtesy towards their guest.
Eventually the warlock managed to calm herself down enough to explain the situation. She said she had been heading to the Harajuku Shadow Market earlier when she’d seen a huge column of smoke roiling from that direction, and several terrified Downworlders had been fleeing onto the streets. Even the mundanes had started panicking, having noticed the fire if not sure of its source. She’d fled in a panic, but hadn’t known who to call for help.
“I couldn’t call the fire department,” she said in a rush. “And I didn’t want to… I mean, I didn’t trust… I was afraid of the Institute. So I remembered there was a group of warlocks who had set up residence here, and I was hopingー”
“Of course we’ll help,” Aria is already there, serving more tea and placing a plate of cookies on the table. “We’d be happy to.” He smiles at the woman, who practically melts with relief and gratitude.
“Is anyone injured?” Itaru asked. “Anyone you know?”
“No, not that I know of… everyone fled,” she explained, her voice less shaky as the tea slowly washed away her panic. “I just… was so scared, I didn’t know who else to turn to. I thought I needed to get help, and you… well this group of warlocks was the first I thought of turning to.” She looked up hopefully, straight into Aria’s eyes. “That’s who you all are, isn’t it? That hidden agency of warlocks, who helps out Downworlders in need?”
“Yes,” Itaru smiled at her charmingly, while Aria nodded enthusiastically. “We are the Nonexistent Agency for Magic Aid, and we’d be happy to help you with this crisis.”
“You said the Harajuku Shadow Market, right?” Aria asked, and the warlock nodded frantically, tears streaming down her face in relief. “Don’t worry; we’ll do everything we can to help.”
“Karasu, stop staring down that coffee mug and put a jacket on.” Itaru threw a tennis ball at his fellow warlock’s head, who muttered “ow” with zero emotion when the fuzzy toy hit true.
The Nonexistent Agency for Magic Aid was located everywhere and nowhere; it could be found in a dingy Ikebukuro building, or it could be haloed by neon lights in the middle of Shinjuku. Sometimes it was in Yokohama, and other times it was hanging around Roppongi, for as long as they risked being there.
In other words, the Nonexistent Agency for Magic Aid was, as its name implied, nonexistent: it appeared when Itaru felt like making it appear, and disappeared just as fast. Namely, he made it appear when he thought there were enough Downworlders worth saving; and then he made it disappear when their activities drew too much attention. Particularly from the fae.
Itaru had lived for long enough that the conviction that Shadowhunters were just glorified demon killers with shiny weapons had settled into him like concrete, but he was also flexible enough to recognize that they weren’t necessarily the biggest threat to his warlock integrity, or that of this little project he’d started for himself.
However, that was all irrelevant to the now, which involved offering aid to the Downworlders who were surely trying to salvage the situation at their Shadow Market, and that meant doing it as quickly as possible, before the Shadowhunters swooped in and closed the area off for investigation.
The three warlocks, along with their guest, quickly opened up the teleportation portal to the Shadow Marketーand were promptly greeted with a gray cloud of smoke, and eyes that filled with ash as they stepped through.
Karasu coughed, shaking out soot from the ruff of crow feathers that outlined his ears. “I’m going to find who caused the fire,” he grumbled. “And then I’m going to throw them into a laundry basket and kick them down the stairs.”
“Good luck with that,” Aria muttered in response. “I don’t think we’ll have the time for laundry basket-kicking anytime soon.”
Itaru sighed. “Professionalism, guys. We’re about to walk onto the scene. Look sharp.”
He’d barely taken a step when he felt soot settle in his hair, and he resolutely ignored Karasu mumbling, “So much for professionalism,” as they all marched to the rest of the gathered Downworlders, dressed in shining suits and coated in a fine layer of ash.
“Yanagi.” One of the warlocks glanced over. He rushed over to the four-armed warlock, who grabbed his two hands with two of hers, while her other two clasped themselves together with joy. “Where have you been? Are you alright? What’s with the escort?”
“I called them for help,” the warlockーYanagiーreplied. “They’re here to help us with this mess, Sakuda…What’s wrong?”
Her friend, the one she called Sakuda, shook his head before looking at Itaru and his friends apologetically.
“I’m so sorry that you had to come all this way to see this,” the warlock began, his eyes wide and sadーlike a doe’s, Itaru thought. “Especially when we know that the news we tell you next won’t be pretty to listen to.”
“Oh?” Karasu asked; behind him, Aria was already using his magic to clear the smoke and dust, moving aside fallen tents and stomping out tiny fires with his shoes and his magic. “Why is that?”
Sakuda sighed, with a bitter twist to his mouth.
“The Institute Shadowhunters just sent a message. They want all Downworlders, and all non-affiliates of the Clave, to clear out of the area for investigation. We have fifteen minutes at most to clear this place out before they send someone to investigate.”
Fifteen minutes, Itaru thought bitterly, fifteen minutes to see if we can salvage someone’s personal ー and surely well-cared-for ー belongings, before we’re forced to abandon a part of our Market for who knows how long. Fifteen minutes to ensure there are survivors, if there is no one buried under all this mess.
Fifteen minutes.
With a resigned sigh, Karasu clapped him on the shoulder. “Tick tock, Itaru. Let’s get to work.” He rolled up his sleeves, and sparks began to dance at his fingertips.
Itaru gave a snort. Thanks, Clave.
Libra had been taking apart Flory’s gaming console when the explosion knocked him out of his chair.
In his defense, it had been a very loud explosion, and yes, it hadn’t been anywhere near him directly but it was sudden and the walls shook, andーwell, it startled him.
Libra lay there for a good ten seconds, internally shrieking what the hell was that, why are there fireworks explosions going off in the middle of the day, when he heard the unmistakable thud of footsteps running up the stairs. The door slammed open and X stumbled in, armed with a baseball bat and messy hair, outlined by the light glaring through the door.
“What. The hell. Was THAT.” His eyes roamed the dim room, humming and whirring with technology. The old gaming arcade where they lived was poorly lit, so even with the two of them standing only a few feet apart, it took a while before Libra’s eyes adjusted to the sudden onslaught of brightness to recognize his friend.
“No clue,” he groaned, shifting to a sitting position. “Loud explosion, scared the shit out of me. Why do you have a baseball bat?”
“Loud explosion, also scared the shit out of me.” X eyes him for a moment. “Why are you on the floor?”
Libra groaned again in place of answering.
X perked up when he saw what Libra had been working on. “Is that Flory’s gaming console?”
“Yes,” he grumbled. “Let me stand up, first, before you ask me more questions.”
Hoisting himself up with a groan, Libra eyed the jumble of wires and metal pieces on his desk. The explosion had only startled him; the arcade was intact and none of the pieces had fallen off the desk with him.
But it was a small relief because why the hell was there an explosion going off in the middle of the day and why was it so close ー
“X,” Libra looked at his friend, who peered up from Libra’s desk, traces of curiosity still lining his face. “Did you see anything outside?”
X shook his head. “Nope. I only heard a boom, and I freaked the heck out.”
Heaving a great sigh, he grumbled, “It’s too early to be dealing with this kind of shit.”
Libra walked out into the metal stairwell; the arcade that they commandeered was on the third floor of an abandoned and dilapidated building, and there were no windows anywhere save for the first floor, which had glass windows and doors. The glass was so cracked and grimy that one could barely see through themーso, most of the time, Libra had to take the stairs down to check the comings and goings of the outside world, if he ever felt inclined to. Most of the time, he used Skeet’s drone, which was often passed between his friends like a toy they all had to share.
At the moment, it was only X and himself at this base; they had about fifteen others, spread throughout the Tokyo prefecture, and one out in Osaka for serious emergencies. The arcade was located in the general Harajuku region, but he and his friends usually operated in Ikebukuro. As far as he knew, Skeet and Yuki were currently in Shinjuku; Flory was over in Roppongi; Future was hanging around their main base in Ikebukuro, and Claude was somewhere over in Shibuya.
Their group was by no means a legitimate or legal business, but the seven of them enjoyed the privilege of seeing two different sides of the world through the means they employed the most: revolting. Most of them were mundanes with the Sight, with a few exceptions. They slid through the stickiest of situations and the worst of territorial disputes with the power of wits, smarts, and the absolute lack of any kind of resistance to using the technology at their fingertips.
There was an old saying Libra enjoyed: “never bring a sword to a gunfight.” In the world of demons and monsters, of Angel-blooded warriors and prophecies spun of gold and silver, the saying was more like: “never be so dishonorable as to bring a gun to a swordfight”.
And so what did they do, the seven of them? Just that.
They were experts at gathering information, and infamous for their chain of connections that they could easily drop any day they pleased. Their identities were mysteries; no one in the normal, mundane world they drifted back to every once in a while was aware of their existences, and those in the Downworld had no clue what to make of them.
Libra was confident that if it came down to it, the seven of them could outsmart any aged warlock or squad of Angel-blessed warriors. They had no runes, nor any magic (well, Flory and Claude could turn into snarling wolves when the mood struck, and Future could technically use runes) but they were resourceful and tricky. It wasn’t overconfidence that gave him this conviction, but the absolute certainty that the seven of them, through the power of sheer unpredictability, were an unstoppable menace to the rules when they wanted to be.
As his foot hit the bottom step, Libra grimaced at the onslaught of sunlight on his eyes. He’s no vampire, but spending hours in the dark, with the aid of only one dingy floor lamp, trying to fix a languid werewolf’s game console (of which he owned quite a few) was, to no one’s surprise, quite a detriment to his eyesight. He could feel the natural lighting scalding his eyelids.
At that precise moment, his phone went off. Blinking back green spots that were hovering in the corners of his vision (and all over the place; wow, those were a lot of green blotches), he checked who it was.
The sender of the message read FUTURE.
Libra frowned. Future rarely risked messages like these over the phone, especially in text; partially out of paranoia and partially because he seemed to enjoy the secrecy, the sense of doing things undercover. For him to send a text message despite all his clever schemes and message-sending tricks signaled that whatever it was, was quite the emergency.
When he opened the message, he saw only two lines.
GET DOWN HERE NOW.
SOMEONE SET OFF A FIRE AT THE SHADOW MARKET.
Zero is rational.
He solves mysteries on a daily basis; ones that swirl with intrigue and magic and tricks that are always possible to pull off, no matter what logic dictates. He and his friends swim against the current of natural thought and discover solutions through ingenious means.
Any crisis is a case they can solve, and any case solved is yet another day’s work to them. Trouble is the pay-off that each of them craves; the thrill of mystery and intrigue a close second.
Even in the eye of a storm, the stalwart detective refuses to bat an eye.
Lucas is determined.
He maneuvers through dark corners and weaves past silken shadows, ensuring his own survival ー through his own means. He tenaciously clings to life and refuses others access to his freedom, clinging to the faint hope that someday he’ll receive acknowledgement that even he doesn’t know if he wants.
Even when a crisis looms, he stubbornly forges on, continuing to scale a mountain that becomes more dangerous the higher he climbs ー his sole motivation his refusal to yield. Even when others try to catch him as he falls, he twists in the air and digs his hands deeper into the cliff face, despite the pain in his fingertips.
The cliff before him is now an impending storm; one which he drags himself through, dead set on coming out alive.
Itaru is passionate.
He allows himself to take the stage in times of crippling trouble, to extend a hand of salvation and to aid all those he and his friends possibly can. He’ll allow himself the luxury of the spotlight, which he secretly craves like no other, only when he sees there are people who could use the magic he can bring.
However, in times of a crisis ー when he is forced between the role of savior and family, he will take the latter in a heartbeat. His passion extends to his own family, and they are the core at which it burns.
If he must, he will drag himself through to the eye of the storm to keep everyone safe.
Libra is confident.
He knows the streets of two worlds like the back of his own two hands, and he soars through their rules untethered with his friends, completely disregarding the shackles of powerlessness they are unjustly labeled with.
They can solve any crisis with sheer wit and resolve, and they have no qualms about breaking tradition to do so. The rules come apart as easily as paper under water when they set their minds to the skies.
Faced with an impending storm, he must decide if his confidence will let them maneuver through it to safety… or dive straight into the eye.
Halfway through their cleanup of the area, Itaru received several texts from Hajime, one of the only two inside sources he had on the Institute and Shadowhunters. Hajime’s texts contained a concise inside report about the current direction the Nephilim were going to try investigating, as well as who was on that team. None of the names struck him as familiar, although one name intrigued himーit had been included, and then crossed out on the report.
Inui.
More messages from Hajime trickled in afterwards as the investigation progressed; further reports and details regarding the investigation’s so-far speculated suspects and the evidence they’d gathered to decide whether it was a boneheaded accident or a malicious act of spite.
“Good work, Hajime,” he murmured, responding with a thumbs up. Hajime’s response was equally fast: It feels weird to get a thumbs up emote as if I had just posted a selfie, not sent you multiple files of classified information that I definitely should not be sharing, but still will.
Another text, this one from Kane, came in as well; Kane was a fae from the Seelie Court who often did business with Itaru and his friends. He seldom cracked a smile, but his trustworthiness spoke volumes. His text reported the current situation of the Downworlders in Harajuku: the ones who had been in the Market at the time were mostly ok, if not shaken.
Thanks, Kane.
The response was swift: My pleasure. Are you moving today?
Itaru blinked. Shoot, I forgot. Thanks for the reminder.
It’s not a problem. I’ll bring Teku and Kagura over, although I don’t know if Kagura will come. He’s always got his ear to the ground ー or the counter, in his case.
It won’t be too much of a problem, as long as most of us are there, Itaru typed. Besides, his work is invaluable for us.
In the past, Itaru’s network hadn’t extended much beyond other warlocks, which could be said for most other semi-powerful members of his kind. He’d kept to them because they could all, to some extent, understand and relate to each other better than they could others, even other Downworlders. After opening NAMAーafter meeting his friendsーItaru’s network was vast enough to observe the movements of Downworlders, Nephilim, and mundanes alike.
Who’s this Inui guy? he texted Hajime. Why’s his name crossed out?
Oh, him. Hajime’s response was swift. I don’t know him all that well, but he’s supposed to be a top dog over at the Institute. The Clave loves him, although Downworlders certainly don’t. As for why he’s crossed out, it’s a little hard to explain over text.
Then bring Dill to the office later today. I’m planning to switch locations again anyway, so it’d be better if you two see where we wind up, in any case.
Alright. There was a pause, after which Hajime sent, how did the cleanup go? Were there any people left behind?
Not that I saw, Itaru typed, wishing he could say something more reassuring. I’m sure everyone made it safely, and anyone else who got injured is receiving medical attention. Everything’s gonna be fine.
He could almost hear Hajime’s sigh through his phone as his next message read, I sure hope so.
“Aria, Karasu,” he called, and his two friends responded in kind, raising their heads towards him as he lifted his hand. “We’re gonna ‘move’ again. Hajime and Dill might have something for us. Kane will be there too, with Teku and Kagura, hopefully. Let’s head back so we can start cracking at this before the day is done.”
There are mercenaries in the community of Downworlders; fellow Downworlders with enough courage (or desperation, or perhaps sheer spite) to toe the Shadowhunters’ line aside from simply selling mundane eyeballs or dangerous medicines with horrible side effects at the Shadow Market. Mercenaries who can act as bodyguards, escorts, or even assassins, if you fetched one and offered a worthwhile price. There are famous mercenaries with reputations large enough to fit a whole wall all around Tokyo, but Lucas knows of quite a fewーand he knows how impressive they can be.
Hades and Goemon, for starters, are the best of the best for all sorts of mercenary work. They finish a job well and are extremely efficient; and they’re powerful and honorable, a rare match. They never go back on their wordーand they are ruthless to contractors that would.
Aside from Hades and Goemon, Lupus and Bailey are the second most sought-out pair in the world of Downworlder mercenaries, particularly in the line of bodyguards. They technically worked for Hades and Goemon, but they were often left to make their own judgements, aside from a few severe cases. They were an odd pairーwarlock and werewolfーbut there were rarer partners out there still; Hades himself had a history amongst Downworlders as an ex-Shadowhunter, and Goemon had been his parabatai before being bitten by a werewolf. Among the rest of the mercenaries he knows, there is Kisaragi, another of his friends, was half fae, and his partner, Sarutobi, was an acrobatic and eccentric mundane with a particularly strong gift of Sight. They worked with a more covert group of Downworlders: Q-b, A-Not, and Joeーa fae of the Seelie Court, a vampire, and a fae of the Unseelie Courtーwho often liked to gather intel and sell it. Judy was another vampire with a rock (the music, not a geologics expert) obsession who often kept his ear to the ground, and Marine, another fae of the Unseelie Court, acted the part of his backup. Marduk was a strange jack-of-all trades who partnered up with others occasionally for a cut of his own, but generally kept away from the main scene of mercenaries, only taking on jobs that interested him. Lucas suspected a personal vendetta in there somewhere.
Bailey and Lupus were regulated to all sorts of duties and took on all sorts of jobs, but taking care of Lucas’ growthーor, at least, making sure he didn’t die youngーhad been something they volunteered for, if Sarutobi was to be believed. The young mundane had an eccentric sense of humor and it was sometimes difficult to tell if he was joking or being dead serious. But judging from the lack of scoffing or head shaking or any general reaction from Marduk, or Marine, or virtually anyone else, Lucas was forced to accept it as factーexcept he couldn’t.
Bailey he could understand, somewhat. The warlock cared deeply for others, particularly children, and wasn’t one to hesitate to take in those in need. When he wasn’t worrying about Lucas he was training and encouraging him, enough so that he was teased for doting on the younger, much to the chagrin of the blonde (and the indignation of the latter).
Lupus on the other hand had no reason to particularly care for Lucasーhe wasn’t even sure if the former did. He was incredibly quiet and prone to keeping his face composed for what was presumably all of eternity, and he seldom said much. He’d nod along to Bailey’s chattering and throw in a word or two; that was the most Lucas had seen come from his mouth.
He’d spar with Lucas and win, but he never looked proud, or he never offered much reaction. He’d give pointers and point out some of his mistakes and how he could fix them, and then walk off to leave Lucas to process the information. No matter what he brought back from the Shadow Market, no matter how much he tried to prove his strength, he had no clue what Lupus was thinking, or if he was thinking, or if he cared. Sometimes Lucas wanted to ask point-blank, “Hey do you actually take notice of what I do and if you don’t could you tell me so I could stop worrying about whether you have an opinion of me or not?” but he imagined even that wouldn’t faze the werewolf, so he chose to ignore the irritation altogether.
But right now, faced with the chill of Lupus’ stare as he sets foot into the abandoned ryokan Hades has set up as their mercenary base of operations, he decides the werewolf does have other expressionsーmurderous, ice-cold fury.
Before he can say a single word, however, Lucas strikes first.
“Oh, good,” he snaps. “Are you going to lecture me? Because if I recall correctly, I’m already past sixteen, which is the age you and Bailey said I was free to go to the Shadow Market on my own, and that as long as I avoided Shadowhunters or too many crowds of Downworlders, I didn’t have to be protected or scurry back home before darkー”
“Three days.” Lupus stares at him with frigid eyes. “You’ve been out for three days.”
“ So? ” spat Lucas. “You guys didn’t exactly set a time limit.”
“No.” Lupus concedes. “That’s not the problem.” His eyes narrow and the temperature continues to drop. Oh moons and stars, he’s really upset.
But Lucas doesn’t know why. Surely this was an overreaction, surely? He didn’t even know the werewolf could overreact, when he barely reacted.
“Why were you melting down a Nephilim stele?”
Oh.
Lucas recoils. “You saw?”
“Marduk saw.” Lupus retains his frigid stare, voice as deadpan as ever. “He called me and said that you were melting down a stele behind a fairy’s tent.”
Lucas grimaces. He hadn’t expected someone to have seen him.
“Lucas.” Lupus’ eyes glint. “Who did you take that stele from?”
Traffic was murder, so Libra and X took the conventional way to the Shadow Market; that is, they walked. The Shadow Market was a good twenty minutes from the arcade, but seeing as neither of them had much intention to find themselves directly caught up in the trouble (they rather preferred observing, only aiding when they needed to), they saw no need for a rush. The towering buildings of Harajuku soon gave way as they crossed over a criss-cross of walkway bridges, past Yoyogi Park and into the shopping region.
When they arrived, the first thing that greeted them was a loose chicken, which X promptly tripped over as it ran past their feet.
“Don’t mention this to anyone,” X grumbled. “Please.”
“K.O by chicken? I won’t tell a soul.”
X sighed. “There goes a quarter of my credibility.”
“Dude, that took away more than a quarter.”
Surrounding them on all sides were abandoned tents, their owners long gone after fleeing from the flames. Judging from their appearances, the fire had not spreadーor startedーhere; Libra guessed the commotion had alarmed all the residents of the Market, prompting them to flee even without seeing the initial fire. Scattered haphazardly on the ground was a mixture of seemingly everythingーtorn leaves of lettuce, squashed tomatoes, crushed butterfly wings, shattered glass and jewelry, and an alarmingly pink-and-red mass of something very lumpy, which could have either been a hog’s heart or a hyena’s gizzard. Libra knew someone who sold both. The coloration and impact left a lasting impression on the mind.
The two picked through the remnants of the stall for any stragglers, but every tent had been abandonedーa sign, Libra hoped, that they had all evacuated safely. A clinking noise opposite from him drew his attention; X was fishing out a few stray pieces of mundane hardware from the back of a shop selling thin vials (mostly smashed) of animal blood.
Libra shot him an admonishing look. “We’re not here to scavenge this time.”
X rolled his eyes. “I know the owner,” he claimed. “A real jerk of a vampire with a thousand different nicknames. He only keeps this stuff because he’s too dumb to remember that he needs to dispose of the evidence after finding his victims. He won’t miss it.”
Libra shrugged. “If you say so.”
They continued to walk down the street, turning back tent flaps and hanging curtains over doors, rolling or opening them every once in a whileーthey found an udon place left in a rush, a bowl of kitsune udon overturned and dripping over the edge of the counter. Not a single soul seemed to have stayed behind.
Which is a good thing, Libra reminded himself, but he couldn’t shake the distinct eeriness the quiet gave him. The Market also operated during the day, somewhat, except most of the illegal, inhuman products vanished discreetly from display, and it appeared, for all intents and purposes, like another shopping street of peddlers hawking their wares; yet another scenery reminiscent of Harajuku’s crowded streets. It was never officially recognized as a “Day Market”, only because it became such a mix of magic and mundane that no one bothered to even call it anything but “the Market” at that point. Some people even confused it with Takeshita Dori, for all their eerie similarity.
As they passed a few more stalls and buildings, X gave a start, before peering intently at the second floor of yet another shop to their right. The windows were dark, and the front of the first floor was shuttered down; Libra reckoned the lucky owner hadn’t come in yet, or at all today, to open shop.
“What’s wrong?” Libra asked quietly, senses at high alert.
“I saw something move.” X squinted at the building. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think there’s someone up there.”
Libra had never seen the Shadow Markets of other countries, so he didn’t know if buildings, such as this one, being right next to (as opposed to behind or in the background of) the stalls was common. The Harajuku Shadow Market largely incorporated Takeshita Dori elements to it (albeit with more tents than buildings), so it came across as a clash between a street bazaar and your typical Harajuku shopping street. The tents were nestled between buildings, which in turn were occupied by a constantly rotating shift of merchants, so none of the stores ever stayed the same. The building in question was small, at least two stories tall and stout. A staircase led to a basement level, and it reminded Libra of a cosplay shop he’d seen, a few years ago, walking through Takeshita Dori in a rush. The shape had struck him as unique, as opposed to the more narrow, tall buildings he was used to seeing squished against each other, clamoring for space on the crowded streets of Harajuku.
On the second floor, almost at an indiscernible angle, Libra thought he saw something shift.
“Anyone need a hand up there?” he called in a friendly tone, while bracing himself. Beside him, X quietly crept towards the door, his footsteps barely audible, even in the deafening quiet.
Libra saw the shadow stick his head out the window, into the light, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, hey, Claude.”
The silvery-haired werewolf grinned down at them from the building’s window. “‘Sup.”
X scrunched his nose up in confusion. “Why are you up there?”
Claude scratched the back of his neck languidly. “I thought I heard something… but maybe it was just you guys. Dunno, but it feels like my ears have been playing more tricks on me than not nowadays.”
“Creepy,” Libra commented. “Why don’t you get down here and help us look around?”
Claude shrugged before leaping out of the windowーfor a werewolf like him, who’d also honed himself to be a fighter, such a feat appeared as easy as going down a set of stairs.
“So what are you doing here, Claude? Did something happen?”
“Nah,” Claude shrugged, before pausing to frown. “Well, I guess something did, but that’s not the initial purpose of this trip. I heard the commotion and thought I’d scram, but then I ran into Future earlier; he was dispatched with a few other Nephilim kids after someone tipped the Institute off. He wanted to come talk to you guys; but now he says we should get outta here before we’re spotted.”
“Why?” Libra tilted his head quizzically. “Did something else happen?”
Claude bared his teeth ever so slightlyーa sign of annoyance that he sometimes displayed. “Some other groupーactually, twoーalready has us beat: one’s a group of Shadowhunters that like to work solo from the Clave; the other’s some organization called NAMAーsomething about warlocks banding together?ーwho might also be a pain if we ran into. Said it’d be safer if we finished checking things out on our end fast and head back before we run into any of them.”
X pulled a face. “Sounds complicated. So where are we heading?”
Claude shrugged. “Let’s get something to eat, then. All this wandering and searching has me starved.”
The trio began to walk towards the end of the street, where they would come out onto a larger intersection that would eventually take them along the noisier, even more commercial area. The sounds of shoes hitting pavement, which had seemed so far away, suddenly drew closer, filling Libra’s ears with each slap.
It took him a moment to notice, then, that his phone was ringing.
“Hello?”
“Libra, where are you right now? Is Claude with you?” Yuki’s voice was no-nonsense, his words always getting straight to the point. Libra enjoyed talking to him, although sometimes he had a tendency to think too far ahead, lapsing into strange judgments and becoming prone to odd statements.
Libra glanced over at X, who was helping Claude lift back a fallen board to examine the crushed vials of powder underneath. “Yeah, he’s with me; X, too. We’re at the Shadow Market in Harajuku; there was a fire this morning. Did something happen?”
There was a brief pause where he could vaguely hear the sounds of rapid fire keyboard clicking, before Yuki responded, “Actually I wanted to call you about that. Skeet and I got a call from Flory, who said Claude was heading to the area when it happened. He told us there was trouble.”
“Why didn’t he call Claude himself?”
“He said Claude wasn’t answering his phone,” Yuki explained matter-of-factly. “I think he forgot to turn it back off after getting off the train; he always does that. Flory said he’d been heading there because he was gonna go pick up the gaming console he’d left with you. But never mind that. How fast do you think you could make it to Shinjuku?”
“If it’s to the base, then it might take a while. There’s not that many warlocks around me right now to make a new portal, owing to… well, y’know.”
“Take your time,” was Yuki’s response. “I’m still tying things up on my end.”
“Well, you take your time too.”
Yuki snorted. “I always do.”
“Sure.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
When they returned to their office, Aria and Karasu began to immediately close the shades and curtains, while Itaru began to mutter the words of the spell under his breath. Kane, flanked by Teku and a disgruntled Kagura, appeared not that long after, and were soon followed by a rushed-looking Hajime and Dill, who practically shoved each other through the door to get in.
“Have you started the move, yet?” Teku peered over Itaru’s shoulder towards the spell book he had settled in his lap. On the table were eight cups of honey lemon tea, with a plate of small cakes to the side.
“Not yet,” Aria explained. “Itaru needs to untether it from its current location first; meanwhile, Karasu ‘reverts’ the area back to the room that was originally thereーjust some empty, unpurchased apartment room. I’mー” He paused and squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “Sorry; I’m trying to trace the next suitable location, so that Itaru doesn’t have to hold us dangling over whatever magic dimension we wind up in when we untether ourselves. I’ve found three; do you guys prefer Kawagoe, Sendagaya, or Roppongi?”
“Kawagoe,” Kagura said immediately. “It’s far enough from the commotion so we can investigate in peace; and you guys can always portal back and forth.”
“Copy,” Itaru murmured, while Aria began to furiously scribble out the address and location on a piece of paper. Karasu poked him in the shoulder with one of his large crow wings, his signal that he was ready to re-overlay the room they had “replaced” when they’d put their office here.
“No matter how many times you guys explain this to me,” Kagura commented, “I still don’t understand it.”
“Well, it’s a spell they created,” Teku explained patiently. “So it’s bound to be hard to explain.”
As Itaru and the other warlocks continued to work on the spell, Hajime and Dill began rolling out papers and opening up computers on top of his mahogany desk, which was already a mess of old spell notes and maps. Hajime tapped a pen rhythmically against the wood as Dill frowned down with confused scrutiny at one of the files he’d opened.
“Why would they put Inui on the case?” Dill sounded incredulous. “Hajime, are you sure?”
“I didn’t get it myself either,” Hajime shrugged. “But shortly after I investigated more, I figured out why; Inui is indisputablyーif not irritatinglyーbrilliant. He talks a lot of shit about Downworlders, but he’s got some serious credit amongst the older members of the Clave. He’s solved lots of Downworlder-related crimes and mysteries, and even put some corrupt Shadowhunters in tight spots. They wanted him on this case, but they haven’t been able to reach him at all recently. They were doing it half out of the hope that he’d reappear if they didーbut no luck.”
“‘Reappear?’” Kane glanced over at them, perched on the windowsill. “What, is he MIA?”
“No, nothing like that,” Dill interjected, “He comes back to the Institute rarely nowadays, but he hasn’t been missing- missing. But he rarely sticks around long, so I bet whoever wanted to stick him on the investigation probably gave up after realizing he wouldn’t be very reliable right now.”
“Who is he, anyway?” This from Aria, who had seated himself at the couch and was massaging his templesーlarge-scale spells such as this one tended to cause him headaches. “A veteran Nephilim?”
“Not just that,” Hajime explained, opening another case file and passing it to the starry-eyed warlock. The creases in Aria’s brow seemed to deepen as he began reading the papers wedged within. “He’s not that old, but he’s been put on enough missions to be considered the best of the best. He’s old-fashioned in his views, and has the personality of a wet rag, but he’s cunning and knows how to dig at a caseーdown to its roots. If the mission brief told him to ‘investigate a spree of werewolf murders’, he’d have caught the culprit and discovered that there was a collusion behind the scenes between a corrupt faction of vampires and a power-hungry traitor of a warlock. He’s efficient, which is one thing everyoneーbegrudginglyーgives him credit for.”
“You’re quite knowledgeable about him,” Karasu commented.
Hajime shrugged. “He’s a jerk and outspoken. I’ve run into him more than a few times. So has Dill, but that’sー”
“Not a story for today,” Dill interjected. “Look; the point is, he’s untrustworthy. He’s got a good reputation, but if he’s been put on this case, then we’re out of luck where Nephilim assistance is concernedーpresent company excluded, of course.”
“Well, we’ve solved problems like this by ourselves all the time until now,” Itaru pointed out, trying to smile reassuringly past his concentration, which the spell was taking every drop of. “Surely this one isn’t the one where we go crawling to the Nephilim.”
“Not with Inui on the case,” Dill grumbled. “Ugh.”
Around them, the office was beginning to blur slightly at the edges, like a photograph shakily taken. The colors seemed to dim around them, and Itaru felt a bead of sweat travel down the side of his temple; no matter how many times he made “moves” such as these, they never ceased to be so… exhausting. Only the denizens of the office were unaffected by the visual changes unfolding before him, as if they were cut from a different photo and pasted onto this one.
The disorientation wasn’t affecting just him. He could see Kagura furiously swiping a hand over his eyes (his usual ritual to the whole affair) and Kane pinching his nose as he blew furiously, likely to clear his ears, which he claimed “popped”, during a warp. Teku was the most composed, hands clasped in his lap as he slowly breathed in and out, and beside him, Aria seemed to be trying to do the same, although the crease between his eyebrows was telling of his exhaustion and head pain. Dill was too engrossed in his computerーlikely in the investigation reports he was collecting in real timeーalthough his eye seemed to twitch now and then in consternation. Hajime was nearly falling asleep, the strain the warp put on them all showing in his fatigue. Karasu’s feathers were ruffled, although he stubbornly refused to show any signs of discomfort.
Itaru closed his eyes and felt around for that empty pocket of space he had chosen, snuggled quietly in a Kawagoe backroad, where the streets were still reminiscent of the old and shops sold sweets and souvenirs brimming with tradition and painstaking craftsmanship. The lull of quiet that descended as everyone slowly felt the fatigue of warping through space-time catch them unawares nearly swept him into its comforting embrace, but he shook off the waves as he began to gentlyー gently ーlower their pocket of space to realign with reality.
In front of him, Hajime slumped onto the plush carpet and began to snore.
The silence that follows would let a pin drop echo. It took him a whole minute to realize what Lupus was accusingーis he being interrogated?ーhim of.
“I didn’tーI didn’t steal it!” Lucas shouted indignantly. “I found the stupid thing lying in a pile of Downworlder trash, all thrown out in an alley down at the Shadow Market. I don’t know who it belonged to or how it got there!” And frankly, I don’t care. It was adamas, and it would’ve made a lot of money, but it’s gone now, left to melt into a puddle of goo in a jar full of candy-colored fairy fire.
“In the trash?” Lupus kept his stare level. “Lucas, are you sure? You’re telling the truth?”
“ Yes! ” Lucas threw up his hands. “By all the shining stars, Lupus, you make it sound like I strangled a Shadowhunter and stole his stele to melt it into a sorry pile of adamas ! I wouldn’t risk so much for a pile of gooey silver , unless it was already lying there and asking to be taken!”
“Lucas,” Bailey interjected warningly, but Goemon, who had walked in at some point, shook his head to stop him.
“Enough.” Lupus closed his eyesーLucas felt the tension in the room ricochet by several degrees, a sure sign of the werewolf’s waning patience.
But thisー this ーwas one accusation he wasn’t going to let slide. As if I were an ignorant child, who couldn’t tell the difference between what constitutes a direct act of aggression and a slight backhanded jab of spite. I know what I can and cannot do. I know where to draw the line.
“Just… go, Lucas.” Lupus’ voice was calm, but his words stung like shards of ice. “Go somewhere and try not to cause trouble for at least an hour.”
Lucas grit his teeth in an effort not to snap back with a barbed retort twice as harsh. “Fine,” he managed, bitterness seeping through his attempt at composure.
“Lupusー” Bailey began, desperation seeping in his voice, but by the time he’d reached the two and was trying to placate his werewolf friend, the youngest of the trio had already swept out of the room and was long gone.
Smash and Chatter arrived later, wheezing and panting and arguing; according to Smash, Chatter had taken a wrong turn, and according to Chatter, Smash had taken too many detours. Neither of them yielded until Masato stood in front of them with arms crossed, and finally they stopped arguing to notice Rosso and Parte, whom they immediately greeted with cheer. After greetings had been exchanged, the seven of them reconvened in a nearby Starbucks, where one of the baristas, an ifrit with deer spots, pointed them to a table in the corner where they’d have some privacy.
“Alright, so here’s what we’ve got so far,” Zero began, pulling out his notebook. Even with all the technology he had free rein to use, as unrestricted by the Laws and old practices he liked to be, writing in a notebook old-school style always appealed to him in some inexplicable (rather silly, he admitted to himself) way.
“The fire began earlier this morning around 9AM, in the northern sector of the Harajuku Shadow Market. The victimーor the owner of the unfortunate shopーis a warlock in his late fifties named Honda, who specialized in fae and wild creatures, including quite a few demons. His stall strictly sold those of the small variety, and there was no trace of demonic activity among his waresーand none, according to his peers, in the past either.
“The fire didn’t escalate until fifteen minutes after it had started, when it spread to a few other stalls and started triggering explosions. The explosions continued down the Shadow Market for a short while, but luckily there were no casualties, as the denizens had caught on to the fire relatively quickly. By the time the fire had escalated to the point of blowing things up, most of the people there had already fled.”
“Question.” Masato raises a hand. “What set off the explosions, exactly?”
“There were barrels of flammable powder near some of the tents,” Sherrock explained from the side. “We’re running inquiries to see who those belonged to. One of the warlocks said they might belong to a potion seller, but we still haven’t identified all of the merchants who’d been there at the time.”
“Or they were set up,” Rosso chimed in. “Their location made it so the flames, had theyーand they didーexploded, would immediately spread within minutes.”
“It could be either.” Zero took a sip of his coffee before continuing, “At any rate, that’s all we’ve got so far. Any more questions?”
“How are the Shadowhunters over at the Institute handling this?” Smash inquired.
“So far, no clue.” Sherrock took out his phone and frowned down at it. “It seems they’ve handed this investigation to some older-generation Shadowhunters; not too many of the younger ones are being dispatched for this.”
“Probably because it requires more sleuth work than kick-the-demon’s-butt work,” Masato commented sardonically.
“That’s our forte.” Chatter grinned with pride.
“I have one,” Sherrock piped up. “Do you know who else might be investigating?”
“I heard that a group of warlocks showed up,” Rosso piped up. “One of the Market-goers called for them. Don’t know if that’s important.”
“Right, so let’s start with some basic sleuthing.” Zero cleared a space on the table to place his notebookーa small memo pad he carried everywhere he went. “First and foremost question: who could’ve set the fire? Any ideas?”
“A Downworlder,” was Rosso’s immediate response.
“Shadowhunter,” Masato and Parte said nearly simultaneously.
“Neither.” This was from Sherrock, who gazed at each of them with composure.
“Rosso.” Zero pointed. “Why do you think it was Downworlders?”
“Because of the scope, scale, and location of the fire,” Rosso began. “It started in the heart of the Market, in plain day, yeah? Could a Nephilim have snuck so far into the Market without gathering attention, sparked a flame near a few very conveniently located barrels of flammable powder, started the fire and gotten away without anyone realizing? If a Downworlder was down there, it wouldn’t have aroused suspicion in the slightest.”
“Or a mundane with the Sight,” Parte pointed out, to which Chatter nodded.
“Even if it was a Downworlder,” Masato interjected, “We can’t say they did it of their free will. It makes less sense that a Downworlder would risk one of their own in such a fire when the Market is where everyone meets, from every race.”
“I never said it had to be out of malice,” Rosso pointed out. “If we want to point at the Nephilim, then, believe me, I’d do that, too. But they wouldn’t be able to pull it off so… smoothly, don’t you think?”
“Actually, they might have been able to, depending on where they were coming from,” Masato responded. “There’s multiple entrances into the Shadow Market; including ones we can’t see. The buildings, for example, around the stalls can be accessed from multiple different points: the roofs, windows, or even side doors. If a Shadowhunter can’t make it through the Market without drawing attention, then there’s no saying they didn’t take a route around the back.”
“I’ve seen them use routes like that before,” Smash added. “A few years back, before Zero and Sherrock became parabatai, I remember during a training session that one of the older Shadowhunters showed us a route to get in from the upper story windows of the surrounding buildings in Harajuku to sneak into the Market undetected; primarily because once you’re in, it’s incredibly easy to mingle. The Market is always chaotic, but so is virtually the entire city. No one would think twice of people exiting a building as long as it’s already there.”
Zero tapped the pages of his notebook, which were already brimming with notes, both added and old, before turning to his parabatai. “Sherrock, you said ‘neither’?”
“You don’t think it was one of the Shadowhunters or the Downworlders?” Parte frowned. “Then who could it possibly be?”
“A demon, perhaps?” Masato glanced up from his tablet, where he keeps even more notes of demonic behavioral patterns and activity. Zero doesn’t know if it’s the same information copied into a different medium, or even more intel altogether. Either way, his fellow Shadowhunter’s dedication is impressive and resourceful.
“No, your demon-detecting powder ruled that out, remember?” Sherrock tilted his head. “What if… ok, this might sound contradictory, but what if it wasn’t someone affiliated with who we normally describe as ‘Shadowhunter’, ‘Downworlder’, or ‘mundane’? Someone else entirely?”
“Speak sense, Sherrock, not all of us have the brains for this.” So saying, Masato threw a glance at Smash, who let out a whine of affront.
“You’re not understanding him either!”
Sherrock tilted his head contemplatively. “Or, putting it another way, what if our suspects could be any of the three, but of an entirely different affiliation than the organizations we normally perceive the three as? Zero, do you know who I’m talking about?”
“I have a guess,” Zero admitted. “But… that’s a pretty scary accusation, Sherrock. Especially this early in the game.”
He knew his parabatai was smart; prone to finding dots to connect and clues that existed between the lines. He was lauded as a genius back when they were training, and Zero often found it surprising that the Clave wasn’t clamoring to have him back as a valuable asset to their endeavors.
“Who?” Chatter looked between the two, curious.
“Well, I don’t have a concrete suspectーmore like a hunch as to where we should start.” Sherrock gave the group a once-over before pulling out his phone.
“And I think… we need to start searching in Roppongi.”