“What am I looking at here?” Jones says after he finishes inspecting the bodies. He lights a cigarette, his only vice besides drinking, gambling, and anything else he can drown his sorrows in. Jones looks at the older man he’s been told to call Master Grim (or else), head of the House of Grim. He’s dealt with magicians and their secretive nature before. So secretive that they forbid giving their real names to those outside their House in fear that they could lose their powers. Jones, unfortunately, has a problem with those who do not introduce themselves properly (along with a customary handshake, of course). Besides, he doesn’t normally team up with magicians, but rather deals with them through the barrel of the .44 magnum he holsters inside his trench coat.
Master Grim looks at the younger man with a sneer. He hates involving himself in such mundane tasks. Honestly, the only thing he hates more is involving New Men in the affairs of The Arcana. New Men, he thought, with their lack of magic and their focus on science. They aren’t even able to perceive the magical world of The Arcana right under their noses anymore.
Master Grim points at the two bodies on the ground. “These two magi are from my House, the House of Grim. As you know someone is murdering the magi of the Four Arcana Houses. Due to the trust issues between the Houses, we have selected you as the neutral party to assist us in this investigation. In three days you will present to the four Houses your findings and thus allow us to deal with the matter. If you fail, it could mean another war between the four Houses,” says Master Grim. He straightens out his tie and jacket as if he’s sullied himself from just speaking with a New Man.
Jones flicks his cigarette at the feet of Master Grim. “I still don’t see why I should help. A mass genocide amongst you magicians sounds perfectly fine to me.”
Master Grim refuses to reason with a New Man. Instead he pulls his wand from under his coat. It’s not as elegant or fancy as one might expect a person named Master Grim, Head of the House of Grim, to own, but it is still effective enough to get Jones to shut his mouth and focus his gaze upon it. “Test me again, boy, and I’ll make certain you don’t live to see another day.”
Jones’s eyes grow wide as if he sees a ghost, or perhaps his life flashing before his eyes. In fact, he sees both. The apparition of his mother smiles at him, unknowing of the fate that lies before it – or rather the fate that it already experienced. It’s the only case Jones has yet to solve, the death of his own mother. Once again, like so many times before, there is a flash of green as flames engulf the illusion. The delusion lets out a soundless scream, a scream which pierces Jones’s soul rather than his eardrums and he vows once more to find her murderer.
Jones awakens from his hallucination and remembers the threat in front of him. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge. Moreover, he will die before he allows a simple magician to prove him a coward. Jones lets his ego do the talking by drawing his own revolver from his coat and he plays with the cylinder, clicking the chamber with every turn. “I’m saying that maybe –”
Master Grim, however, is also a man of action. “Wretched, refusal.” Master Grim’s wand glows green as an equally green aura surrounds Jones. The more he alliterates (he likes the “r” sound, though no one knows the reason), the brighter it glows, the wand as well as the aura. Jones lets out only a slight yelp, but soon enough he falls to his knees, breathing heavy and sweating profusely.
No one in the room sees any change on Jones’s skin – no bruises, no cuts, no broken bones – but everyone knows what’s happening. The brighter the green aura glows, the more pain Jones feels. Like needles, like daggers, like flames. After a minute the aura outshines the fluorescent lighting of the room, blinding everyone including Master Grim. Jones withers on the ground, his gun falling out of reach. He lets out a scream that tears at the eardrums of everyone in the bar. Master Grim stops and puts the wand away.
Jones lifts himself to all-fours, slowly, panting. He sees his gun and tries to crawl toward it. Master Grim delivers a swift kick to his ribs, flipping him onto his back. “I’ll see you in three days, Detective Jones.” Master Grim and his cohorts walk out the door and vanish in the sunlight without a second glance from a passer-by walking down the street, headphones in his ears.
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