Update
I jumped right into the fourth short, Under a Bad Star, today. This one deals a bit more with Morgana's past in Arkham City, and explores some of the supernatural workings of the city.
Current Word Count: 37,540
Scene of the Day
As soon as I passed through the building’s threshold, a
very familiar and comfortable warmth washed over me.
I relished that, for the five seconds I got to enjoy it.
Then, I remembered why I was at the club, and the good
mood vanished.
Being a P.I. in the crappy city of Arkham, Massachusetts
had its definite advantages, occasionally.
One of them, the one I particularly enjoyed, was not
having to work with the police unless they were backing me, at my billing rate.
While not as nice as the Zodiac’s atmosphere, being able
to push my old boss at the APD around had its own charm.
The fact that she hated it as much as I loved it made it
all the better, for some reason.
To summarize, saying we didn’t get along would be like
saying the ocean is damp.
All of this made it even odder to find myself at the
bar, at oh-dark-thirty in the morning, on the behest of that very same woman.
“This is a crime scene, ma’am. Try again in a week,
maybe,” a tall officer said, appearing from nowhere to bar me from getting any
further inside.
He was the definition of lanky, with an unnaturally pale
complexion that, anywhere else, would make people think he was a vampire or a
cubicle monkey.
The ratty blond hair didn’t help the image, either.
He glared at me with a pair of sunken, dark green eyes
while standing dead-center in the hallway.
That he was new was more than obvious.
Not because he didn’t recognize me.
I took pride in being inconspicuous and unimpressive, to
the point of near-invisibility.
It was a skill that kept my ass from being fried better
than any other.
No, what clued me in was the lack of lines to his chalky
face.
In Arkham, epicenter for all sorts of nasty things from
the various beyond, it didn’t take long for the horror to set in.
For the cops mucking in it all, getting a permanently
horrified expression to some degree was a step in initiation.
Being new didn’t excuse him from my sleep-disturbed
wrath, though.
I wasn’t a morning person by any stretch, and getting
called in to see an evisceration first thing certainly made it all the more
awful.
“Step off, noobie. Marshall called me in,” I hissed.
“The Captain?” he asked with comically wide eyes.
“Is there a problem here?” a deep baritone called.
The officer, who had been oblivious to the shadow moving
behind him, jumped.
Definitely new.
The shadow emerged into the dim lighting at the club’s
entrance to reveal the only reason I’d agreed to come in the first place.
“Not really a problem. ‘Least not in a few seconds. An’
how’s yer mornin’ goin’ so far, Collin?” I quipped, my mood noticeably
brightened.
Collin Maxwell leaned against the wall at the officer’s
back, his arms crossed.
In the moonlight, his rust-red hair ringed the top of
his skull like a crown of fire, making him almost seem to glow in the dark.
Unlike the officer, magic is what kept the club owner’s
green eyes as dark as they were, and as usual, their stare made me feel like he
was looking into my mind.
Despite the numerous times we’d covered that he didn’t
actually have that ability.
Unlike me, he looked perfectly comfortable at the hour.
In jeans and a tight black T-shirt that, I admit, did
wonders for waking me up, he seemed to have been fresh-faced for hours.
Also as usual, I caught myself staring and forced myself
to stop when I felt my face burning.
The blush got worse when I saw his smirk.
“And a good morning to you, Morgana. So you’re here to…
what? Put my mind at ease?”
“Hell if I know,” I shrugged.
The officer stared as I stepped around him.
The casual conversation had thrown him, clearly making
him wonder who I was and why I was so familiar with a murder suspect.
Which Collin was.
Something I was pretty sure my former boss hadn’t been
aware of was the fact that he was my boyfriend of almost half a year.
Not that it mattered, really, where I was concerned in
their case.
The fact that he was a suspect solely because it
happened in his club wasn’t surprising.
The fact that it was the human-run APD, and not the
supernaturals that used the club, who were demanding answers was surprising, though.
The Black Zodiac stood right at the edge of the Avalon,
Arkham’s supernatural side of the city, and acted as a combination bar, club,
and restaurant that catered to the not-so-human elements of Arkham.
Being practically across the street from Miskatonic
University, it attracted all sorts of customers.
Occasionally, those customers used it as a neutral zone,
where different groups of supernaturals could go and settle disputes without
oceans of bloodshed.
Because of that clientele, murder wasn’t really unheard
of for the Zodiac.
What had gotten the police’s attention on it was that
the victim was a 100%, bona fide human, who apparently really shouldn’t have been there.
“Ma’am, I’m going to need identification,” the officer
commanded, apparently regaining his ability to speak.
“Morgana Lugus. I’m a P.I.,” I stated.
He almost jumped when I brought my ID out, making me
almost sad.
Ignoring him as he scrutinized the plastic, I turned
back to the Irishman.
“So, I take it ya’ were havin’ a party?”
“Ah, ya’ know me. Can’t live without it, here. Litrally,
they stop payin’ if the music stops,” he quipped with a trace of brogue that
only stress ever seemed to bring out.
“Ma’am, this ID looks pretty shady,” the officer said.
The sound of his handcuffs clinking at his side caught
my attention, but I didn’t bother turning to him just yet.
“Ya’ really would be better off not tryin’ that, lad.
She’s a feisty one,” Collin laughed.
“Not to mention you’re a lot slower than me.”
To prove the point, I spun and snatched the ID back
before he could even blink.
He wasn’t going to arrest me, with how jumpy the guy
was, but some of my frustration vanished when he stepped back away from me.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave
peacefully. This is-”
“Where the hell is Lugus!?” a voice bellowed from inside
the club. “I told her to be here 20 damn minutes ago!”
Smirking, I turned toward the voice, which was directly
behind the guard.
He was sweating now, and looked like he was choking on
something particularly foul.
“Ya’ can’t really expect me ta’ actually show up on
time, can ya’? I’da’ thought you’d’ve learned better,” I called back.
A low growl came back to me a second later, and I
couldn’t keep the grin off my face.
Captain Irene Marshall soon appeared following the
noise, taking up the only space left in our cluster and focusing her infamous
scowl at me.
“Lugus, when I tell you to show up, I don’t mean
whenever you damn well please!”
“I… I wouldn’t let her in, ma’am. I’m so s-sorry,” the
officer muttered in fear.
“You actually think you could’ve stopped her if she
wanted to get in?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
His look made me laugh before I could choke it down.
“Careful, there, Marsh. I think he’s gonna’ wet ‘imself
if ya’ get any louder.”
“Cute. Don’t
give my officers a hard time, Lugus.”
“Hey, what’s life without the little pleasures?” I
quipped.
“Ladies, ladies, yer both entertainin’. We can get this
movin’ along, now, yeah? I’ve got a business ta’ run, an’ cleaning to do before
I can open this evening.”
She whirled on him, looking ready to choke him where he
stood.
“You’re supposed to have an escort, Mr. Maxwell,” she growled.
“Right! I knew I’d lost somethin’ somewhere,” he
muttered.
She didn’t seem half as amused as I was when he started
looking around, as though his ditched watcher would suddenly appear.
“Adorable.
Lugus, just get in there and do your thing. Mr. Maxwell, I’ll arrest you if you
try to run.”
With that, she spun on her heels and left us.
“That’s a helluva stick surgically in ‘er arse, isn’t
it?” Collin laughed. “And you worked for
that?”
“Different times,” I shrugged.
With a tired sigh, I pushed off to follow after her.
“Obviously.”
His long strides helped him easily keep up with me as we
went through the long corridor.
As usual, rows of large, spotless tables formed a
massive ring around the middle of the Black Zodiac’s main room.
I knew from experience that the center of the ring, with
its inlaid arcane symbols, served as a dance floor for the heavily inebriated
supernaturals when the bar was open.
To the left of the room stood a long, marble bar painted
black, with various kinds of runes and symbols etched along the side.
Cheesy, but it helped the look of the whole club.
It also, I knew, could be used as one hell of a magical
battery, if need be.
Behind the bar was Mikhail, a giant Russian man who
seemed utterly bored by the police running around.
Standing at just under six feet, with muscles toned by
heavy weight lifting, he was an intimidating man to look at.
The shaved head and full black beard accentuated his
pallor, as well, making people unsure of just what, exactly, he was.
A good quality to have as the bartender, bouncer, and
general jack-of-all-trades for Collin’s bar.
His expression cheered a little when I stepped into the
room, forming a large half-grin.
“Well, I almost feel like we might open up sometime this
century, now,” he laughed.
“Good morn’ ta’ ya’, too. I’ll try my best ta’ get this
show on tha’ road. Wouldn’t be opposed to one a yer fantastic Pink Squirrels,”
I said with a smirk.
With that, I moved on to the main event of the morning.
In the middle of the ring, the victim was lying in a
pool of dark, dried blood.
“Las’ night was Ghoul special, wasn’t it?”
“Sure was,” Collin agreed with a grimace.
“Oh, that musta’
been a blast,” I mused.
With that, I knelt at the body’s side and took
everything in.
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