Arcane Detective 5 (Patreon)

Almost always, my search for supernatural clues started from a singular location. A small, rundown bar with no nameplate outside, known only to a select clientele. 

Monica’s Bar. 

I didn’t go there when I was stressed, or wanted to relax after a hard day of work. Not because it was expensive, as it was not, or because it was rundown. It was certainly run down, but not enough to be a dealbreaker for me. I had certainly visited worse places to get a cheap glass of scotch. 

I didn’t go there unless I had an important case to solve, because of the ‘select clientele’ I had referred earlier. Because under the circumstances, select didn’t mean elite, rich, or snobbish. 

It meant danger. 

Earth was a low-magic dimension, but low magic did not mean no magic. While the creatures of ethereal weren’t strong enough to provide an existential threat, that didn’t make them any less weaker on a personal basis. Vampires and their sneaky ways, werewolves and their unchecked anger, even the occasional demon who decided to set up a little business in a little corner, every single one of them more than happy to silence anyone that might break their little quaint lives. 

And as a council mage — even an exiled one — I was the cocked siege weapon that threatened their comfort, and more than once tried to solve it directly. They didn’t survive the attempt, of course, but that was hardly a reason to poke my nose to their lives repeatedly until one of them got successful. 

The other reason for my carefulness was Monica, the owner of the bar. Monica was not her real name, though I had no idea what her true name was. She was a witch, and witches were famously protective of their names. I knew her name wasn’t Monica, because she came to America as a part of a Nordic expedition. 

The first expedition, even, back in the eleventh century, almost a thousand years ago. 

She was a scary witch, though, it was the only reason I visited her bar. Because as much as she intimidated me, she scared her other clientele even worse. Unlike me, she wasn’t bound by a bunch of council-enforced edicts limiting her actions, and she was famously heavy-handed against anyone that dared to disturb the calm of her bar. 

I took a deep breath before pushing the door open, only to find myself a small, cozy bar, unexpectedly so considering the nature of the owner and the clientele. It was positioned in a dead-end alley, a few steps underground. There were five stools on the bar, each hand-carved from wood, though the number of scratches and the dirt made it impossible to detect its nature. They were spread equally in front of a large bar, its shelves filled with the vilest and disgusting cheap alcohol that was still commercially available. A prudent choice considering most customers ordered by the bottle rather than the glass. 

Above the bar, there was a small window, just enough for a dash of natural light to spill inside without being too hard, again a compromise between different supernatural natures, with their varying sensitivity or need for the natural light. 

Currently, the sunlight spilled through the window, falling sharply on a piano covered with dust, showing it had been a while since it had been long played, and behind that, a few tables hid, covered with dirt, and currently occupied with the people — for a very vague definition of people — that was even dirtier than the chairs they were sitting on. 

Two customers even playing a game that looked like chess to anyone without the magical sight, but the stones moved in their own volition while the magic of the two old men on the opposite sides twirled to each other, their casual game spreading enough magic to make me feel threatened. 

It was a good reminder that the owner wasn’t the only reason no one dared to act inside the limits of the store. There was more than one old monster in this world, staying in the shadows, following their esoteric interests. Of the two old men, I only knew the identity of one of them. Seleucus, one of the four generals of Alexander the Great, decided that perfecting his skills on a complicated magical variant of chess that most of the world couldn’t even comprehend was a better way to spend his time than trying to invade the world. 

Again.  

“What a nice day, my favorite customer is here,” said the woman behind the bar, looking not a day older than her thirties, tall and blonde, almost statuesque, already filling a glass with vodka sharp enough to water my eyes. It was disgusting, but at least its alcohol ratio was high enough that no bacteria could survive in there. A marked improvement compared to other available drinks. 

“As beautiful as always, Monica,” I said even I grabbed the glass, and drained it in one big sip. Truly, she was a beautiful woman, even without considering she was older than a millennium. She couldn’t be a mainstream model, but only because of her sharp, domineering attitude rather than lacking in beauty or charisma. I had no idea how she maintained her beauty, but I knew for a fact that it wasn’t just a mask or illusion — extensive magical knowledge was handy in catching such tricks. “How are you feeling.” 

“I was feeling a bit down before your visit, Samael, but your visit is all I needed to make me happy.” 

I frowned at her chosen way of referring me. “Come on, Monica, I told you I don’t like people using my middle name.” 

“But it’s such a nice name, much better than Harvey, don’t you think?” she said before chuckling. “And, if you don’t want me to use it, you shouldn’t have made a bet with me, trying to learn mine.” 

“Yeah, that wasn’t my smartest move,” I growled in mock outrage. Truly, trying to outplay a millennium-old witch with a cheesy bet was not my finest moment. 

The arrogance of the youth. 

 I sat on the closest stool, ignoring the dirt, once again amused by the contrast between the rest of the bar, and behind the bar. Monica might let the bar accumulate dirt since her clientele didn’t care much about that, but the same didn’t apply to anywhere she personally touched. I could even feel the small layer of magic between her and the rest of the bar, destroying any dust particles that dared to touch her. 

Not the most economical usage of magical power, but who was I to come between a woman and her vanity. 

“So, what brought you here this time, Samael,” said Monica, once again using my unwelcome middle name, the one that was given to me by my godfather. It wasn’t that I hated him, but oftentimes, the connection was more trouble than it was worth. 

“Couldn’t it be that I missed your beautiful face,” I said seriously, earning amused laughter in return.  

"Always a gentleman, Samael,” she said with a smirk. “But unfortunately, I didn’t miss your tendency to ask difficult questions with each visit. Spill it out so that I can enjoy your flirting properly.” 

“As you wish, Monica,” I said, giving her a nod. “Have you heard of the accident in Hotel Glory?”  I said. 

Monica’s smile trembled slightly, which made me stiffen immediately. Monica was a master of keeping her expression even under the most shocking circumstances. I had seen her smile slip less than the number of fingers in one of my hands, and each event could be classified as catastrophic without any exaggeration. Not a good sign about my investigation. 

Not at all. 

“I will act like you didn’t ask that question, Harvey,”  she said with a sharp tone. Her deliberate switch of my name underlined the danger. 

“Not an acquaintance, I hope,” I asked, only to receive a frown. 

“You’re smart enough to know that I don’t deal with that sort, Samael,” she said, just a touch of coldness infecting her tone. “It’s for your safety.” 

I sighed. It wasn’t that I was underestimating the weight of her warning. For a woman of her caution, those words carried a lot of weight. “Unfortunately, my sweet lady, that’s not really an option. There are some old fogies searching for an excuse to send me to a permanent timeout to the domain of Loki’s daughter,” I said. She said nothing. I decided to do something I loathed to do. “I’ll owe you a favor if you give me a hint,” I said. 

It wasn’t that I loathed Monica. On the contrary, I was very fond of her, but that didn’t close my eyes to her nature. She was like a majestic tigress, beautiful and elegant, but only an idiot would present an arm to her. 

Though, I guess I had a tendency to be one, especially when a sexy woman was involved. 

“Are you sure, Samael?” she asked. Of course, I didn’t miss the nature of her concern for weakness. She might be fond of me, but that wouldn’t prevent her from leveraging that favor to the limit. 

Favors were a dangerous business, especially when someone like Monica was involved. 

“Unfortunately, my fair lady,” I said with a sigh. “I’m on a timer, a tight one.” 

“As you wish,” Monica said. “You’ll want to check the Gate, then.” 

“Fuck,” I murmured, which earned a sympathetic nod from Monica despite her aversion to swearing. The Gate was bad news. 

Seriously bad news…