Ian woke to a throbbing in his temples and the sound of a shrill chime in his ears. He slapped at the nightstand until his hand closed around the flashing rock. He had to resist the strong urge to hurl it across the room. Instead, he lifted the pscry and spoke with a parched voice, “He-Hello?”

“Bright dawn, Gent McClintoc," The voice and face of one of the twin elves who managed the inn greeted him. “Your companions have asked me to rouse you; they are awaiting you in the dining area.”

“Alright, yeah. Be down, minute,” Ian muttered and dropped the crystal back on the table.

It took another two calls and Roland threatening to come up and get him before Ian stumbled out of his room. He rode the floortal down and zombie walked across the lobby waving weakly to whichever twin was behind the desk. She waved back and giggled, “Long night Gent?”

Ian grunted and kept moving until he fell into a chair. His friends, who had long since finished their breakfasts, stared at him in amusement. Roland offered Ian a drink, which he took on reflex, gulping it down without so much as registering the taste. Ian had come in mid-conversation and Ban was relating a joke to Roland judging by the mages grin.

“As I was saying, he comes out of the store dressed from head to toe in silver,” Ban said pointing to Ian now that he’d arrived. “He’s even got a tiara on. And Balder be my witness, he punches the werewolf right in the jaw with no fear in his heart,” Ban said bursting into laughter struggling to finish the tale, “and- and, then the werewolf sends him flying across the street with the most hilarious look of surprise I’ve ever seen. It even topped the time you realized your date to the kingdom’s spring festival was a shapeshifter!”

Roland went from laughing at Ian’s misfortune to bristling at Ban’s comment. “You said you’d never speak of that again!”

“Look, where I’m from the mythology on werewolves says they are highly vulnerable to silver. I figured it was worth a shot," Ian said with a frown going back to nursing his hangover. He set about making up a plate of fruits and breads spread out on the table. Eventually, the topic changed from the humorous results of Ian’s brilliant I-know-exactly-what-I’m-doing idea to the job at hand obtaining the Star Chart.

“Ban, you know the layout of the office and are still a member of staff, right?” Ian asked.

“I am. There are laws and steps that must be followed before I can be removed from my position,” Ban said, folding his arms across his broad chest, “But it would still be very dangerous for any of us to simply walk in the front door. You don’t quite seem to grasp the Court's influence and power. They are a centuries-old organization of master manipulators. Though, as you’ve said we don’t have any more appealing options.”

“Alright then,” Ian said and turned to Roland. “I need to be there since I’m the only one who knows what my world looks like. Which means we need a distraction. That’s where the mage comes in and I already have a plan. Stop me if any of this isn’t possible...”

…...

After a lengthy discussion Ian found himself with some free time. They’d crafted a sound plan to get back into Justiciar Law and get the Star Chart from within. Roland and Ban went to prepare and procure the items they required for tonight. But with Ian unable to help, he decided to take in the sights of the city one last time.

Ian dug around in his belt pouch and withdrew his phone. He’d turned it off for most of this bizarre journey but it was still intact the Apoca-case working as advertised. When his phone turned on, he found the battery bar was well above half. Good enough. He snapped some pictures of the gardens. He even filmed a short video of the local shops and the colossal tree houses making a mental note to get a group photo before he left.

He found himself following a group of humans towards a section of the city made for non-elves. As he wondered the cobbled street eyeing the charming cottages, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Again? He asked himself, as though he could argue with this new sense that was keen on pointing out danger. Ian held up his phone using it as an excuse to scan the passing crowds. It was a good police tactic on Earth; on Paragore it made him stand out like a sore thumb.

Across the street was a man dressed in a robe the color of dusty brown. His face shrouded beneath a hood. He sipped at a cup of Jara Ink calmly watching the goings-on around him. When Ian panned the camera over him the stranger raised his cup in salute as though he somehow knew what Ian’s phone was. Ian put his phone down after powering it off and the hooded man gestured him over.

The tickle on the back of Ian’s neck became a stronger twinge. And the closer he got the louder the warning in his mind. Danger Ian McClintoc! Danger! But nothing about the man was hostile. He was calmly sitting and drinking Jara Ink. Ian crossed the path subtly sliding the catch off his holster as he went.

The shadows of the hood were deep, only a few strands of ebony hair poked out around the fringe at the top. A soft breeze shifted the light and, for a flash, Ian caught some details angular jawline and a sharp aquiline nose and thin lips. I’d be laughed out of the station if I had to describe this guy. The only feature to remain visible was his smile which was both inviting and unnerving all at once. The grin of a cat watching a canary in a cage the instant the door pops open.

The stranger seemed quite content to sit there and sip at his drink as though he had all the time in the world to let this play out. Ian got the impression that the man wasn’t even giving him his full attention. It reminded him of an interrogation technique that Anders had taught him back at the precinct. Set your suspect at ease and, once he lets his guard down come at him hard until he cracked. Anders had been a master at that particular technique.

“Do I know you? Or do you have a habit of flagging down strangers to join you and then not engaging?” Ian asked after several tense silent minutes ticked by.

The cheshire grin came back as though signaling he’d won an unspoken contest. Ian felt as though it was taunting him.

“On the contrary, I took a personal interest in you, Ian. Everyone has been talking about the man who defeated the unbreakable golem sentry. The man who interrupted a spell that has not been trifled with in all its centuries of use. I wanted to see what all the fuss is about. And I find a bit of silence is often all that is needed for a man to show his true colors,” he set his cup down. “Now that I have met you, I must say I am rather disappointed. I may need to have a word with my underlings and their tendencies towards baseless gossip. Because, to me, you appear to be nothing more than a coincidental irregularity.”

The man stood to leave but he stopped halfway through. The hood shifted to Ian’s hip. Ian’s gun was drawn and aimed at him.

“Sit,” Ian said flatly with a jerk of the pistol.

The man sank back into his chair with a bored exhalation.

“What do you mean, underlings? Are you part of the Harlequin Court?” Ian inquired, keeping his tone conversational.

“Tsk tsk. You don’t want to scare the locals, Ian. It is not wise to bandy about such a notorious name,” The stranger said, putting his hands together and resting his chin on steepled fingertips, “No, as I said, I only wanted to assess your measure and I have done that. You are free to leave whenever you wish. I have no intention of following you or threatening you, even if you would do so to me. As the saying goes, ‘there is no sport in hunting the blind.’”

Ian thought this was quite possibly the strangest conversation he’d had to date. As infuriating as this man was, he felt that it would be prudent to stay and talk. He needed answers. Unfortunately, he didn’t know the right questions. He let his cop instincts take over deciding this was going to be an interrogation rather than a conversation. He started with the basics.

“You have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am but I don’t know you. And you don’t want to tell me if you’re associated with… them. So, who are you?” Ian asked, keeping his tone calm and polite.

The cheshire grin returned, “Now that is an excellent inquiry.” His fingers unwound from the steeple and he spread his hands in a grand gesture, “But a very difficult one to answer, I’m afraid. You may call me Ivy.”

“Ivy?” Ian snorted at the name. “Forgive me. I was expecting something a little grander! Lord Doom Bringer, Smiter of Kittens and All Things Good, you know, like that. Because where I’m from ivy is an annoying weed. But some of them are pretty, I guess. So you’ve got that going for you.” Score one for me, Ian thought.

The man shook his head and waved a hand absently. A small block of wood materialized in the center of the table seconds later. It was no bigger than a baseball. Despite materializing from nothing, it was not a very threatening object.

“I’m sure it is difficult for such a feeble mind but you’ll just have to think in broader terms. It was my mistake for assuming you would be brighter than a plant yourself,” He said flicking the block to make it spin on a corner edge. “But no, Ian, alas you disappoint. Now it is my turn to ask a question. That is how polite conversation goes, is it not?”

“Was that your question?” Ian asked he couldn’t keep the snark out of his voice.

“And was that yours?” Ivy asked with a faint chuckle. “We can play that game if you wish.” Without waiting for Ian to respond he pressed on, “No, that is beneath even you. My question is how did you get here? Was it even intentional?”

Ian debated on answering or not. Ultimately, he decided that if he could supply a little harmless truth, he may get some back. “I was pulled here by the golem you mentioned. Though it had to have been an accident. You see, I killed the golem. I’m told it was a built-in spell that activated upon its death. When it died, it returned to the place it was anchored. Why am I so important to you?”

“You are not,” Ivy said with a derisive sigh. “You are simply an anomaly, a quirk of interest. What about you is special? Why is your path invisible to me?”

Ian arched a brow. The phrasing Ivy had chosen stirred a memory. It came to him in a flash of insight, his conversation with The Seer. The wizened elf had said those exact words with the same inflection. Ian narrowed his eyes.

“You killed the Seer,” Ian said, his voice came out bristling with one raw emotion; anger. He pulled the gun from beneath the table and sprang to his feet in one fluid motion.

As Ian moved, so too did Ivy. He stood and leaned across the table plugging the end of Ian’s gun with his finger. He glanced towards the weapon. “Ah, resorting to cheating so hastily when you don’t even know the rules of the game.”

Ian stared at Ivy with a look of incredulity. “That doesn’t stop bullets, you know,” He pulled the trigger.

Click.

Ian glanced down and saw green, spade-shaped leaves sticking out from underneath the slide of his gun. “How did…?”

When he jerked his head back up to face Ivy, he was gone. Ian cast a glance around the crowd knowing it would be a fruitless search. Ivy didn’t give the impression of a man who ever got up and casually walked away.

He pulled pieces of the sprouting plant from the barrel of his gun but each time he ripped off a piece it grew anew. He put the gun back in its holster and kicked back his chair. As he slid around the table he saw the wooden block still sitting in the center. It too had sprouted an ivy plant. Vines snaked around the block over and over until it was barely visible beneath the green. Spots on the block began to rot and decay as the plant drained it of all moisture, life, essence. In a matter of seconds it collapsed into dust.

Frustration and bitter anger colored Ian’s face as he left the table. He headed back towards the Star Tree Inn where the others planned to meet him.