A loud hammering on their bedroom door woke Naeris with a start. As the haze of sleep fell from their eyes, they realised that their gun was in their hand, and trained on the door. With a slightly disgusted sigh, they placed it on the floor. They checked their phone; 7:38 am, and three missed calls. “Fuck,” they muttered as they realised it was still set to silent. They cracked open the door. Tusk stood in the hallway outside, looking worried.
“Oh good, you’re here,” she said. “There’s a Detective-Inspector Slate downstairs. Wants to talk to you about something.”
“Of course he does,” Naeris sighed. “Tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Naeris descended the narrow stairs down to their office, and beamed at the detective sitting on their desk. The dwarf was out of uniform, but this was undoubtedly an official visit. Probably about last night, Naeris wagered.  “Reggie,” Naeris said, “What brings you here so very early in the morning?”
“Do us both a favour and can the act, you charlatan,” Regolith Slate scowled. “You know exactly why I’m here.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘exactly’, Reg,” Naeris said wryly. “There’s a lot of reasons you might be here. Some of them are even good ones.”
“Last night, we received word of gunfire in an alleyway off Bower. An alleyway, a witness tells me, that a person matching your exact description was seen fleeing, with an armed assailant in pursuit. And yet,” Slate paused to shoot Naeris a serious look, “You seem to have forgotten your legal duty to report any incidents to your official police contact immediately.”

Naeris groaned inwardly. “I was going to stop by the office this morning, Reg. You really didn’t have to go out of your way.”
“I was passing through the neighbourhood on my way to the precinct. It’s not out of my way at all.”
Naeris narrowed their eyes thoughtfully at this. They knew for a fact that Reggie’s usual morning route came nowhere near this neighbourhood. “Well, whatever,” Naeris said with a shrug. “Since you’re here, do you want a cup of coffee?”
“Yes, that would be acceptable.”

Coffee in hand, Naeris sank into the chair behind their desk. “Right, let’s get this over with. I have to meet a client this morning.”
Slate placed a recording device on the desk, and tapped record. “This is Detective-Inspector Regolith Slate of the 76th Precinct, collecting incident report #1221435-QB. Please state your full name and occupation for the record.”
“Naeris, Private Investigator. License number 47721.”
“Were you present in the alleyway on Bower Street last night, between 11.45 pm and 12.30 am?”
Naeris nodded slightly. “Yeah, I was there.”
“Why?”
“Following a lead on a case. A client had something stolen from them, and I was chasing it down.”
“That sounds like a job for the police,” Slate said with a slight frown. “Was this item reported as stolen?”
Naeris shrugged. “I told them to go to the cops, but they didn’t want to have to wade through all that red tape–apparently it was a matter of some urgency, and they needed it back sometime before next year.”
“I see,” Slate said, raising an eyebrow. “And this didn’t strike you as suspicious?”
“If I was suspicious of everyone that didn’t have faith in our legal system, I’d never trust anyone,” Naeris said with a slight chuckle. “But yes, of course it did. That’s why I was investigating it.”
“I take it you found a lead, then? Or was the gunfight a coincidence?”

“Not just a lead; I managed to retrieve the item.” Naeris cocked a thumb towards the safe. “You can take a look if you want.”
“Please,” Slate nodded. “I take it you’ve run the usual tests?”
“Sure have,” Naeris said as they stood and moved across the room. “It’s not magical, in any way.” Naeris opened the safe, and added “I do have to warn you though, it’s a bit difficult to look at.”
“Let the record show that Naeris has removed a white porcelain elephant from a safe. It appears to be nothing more than a particularly unpleasant ornament.” Slate paused, and examined the elephant closely. “It does not seem to be magical,” Slate tapped on it and then shook it, “and does not seem to contain anything.”
“Weird, right? I figure it’s probably got sentimental value, and the perp may have been someone close to the client. A kid, maybe, trying to make a quick buck off grandma’s priceless heirloom.”
“Perhaps. Since it was never reported, and isn’t an active case, I can’t speculate.” Slate handed the elephant back to Naeris. “I take it that you didn’t get a good look at who the perp was?”

“Not really,” Naeris explained as they closed the safe. “The alley was dark as shit, and they had their face covered. Probably a young adult male, based on their voice. Human-sized, but that doesn’t really mean much. I tried to negotiate with him, but things went south and he pulled a gun. I managed to snag the elephant on my way out, and then lost him on the streets.”
Slate sighed. “And that’s all?”
“Yeah,” Naeris said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be much more help; I was a bit busy trying not to be shot.”
“Thank you for your time.” Slate stopped the recording. “And off-the-record?”

“I wouldn’t make too much of a fuss about it,” Naeris said. “Kid was in over his head, and jumpy. Got himself tangled up in a deal he couldn’t get out of–which I’m keeping an eye on.”
Slate nodded. He wouldn’t ask for details, Naeris knew. It made it feel less like lying. “And the two Article Three violations?”
“Er,” Naeris stiffened slightly.
“If it were just the healing spell, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But you used a Class 5 spell against a civilian, Naeris.”
“He had a gun, Reggie. I was unarmed. I didn’t have much of a choice.”
Slate gave Naeris a long, hard look. “You use magic. You’re never unarmed, and you know it.”

“Old habits, I suppose.” Naeris shifted uncomfortably enough to seem chastised. Reggie was right, of course, and they knew it–relied on it, in fact. A lifetime of dangerous work for dangerous people had instilled certain habits in Naeris that they were finding hard to break. “The place I grew up never had such a strict licensing system,” they lied. “In the heat of the moment…”

Slate shook his head. “Still, you could have run. There was no need to engage.”
“Maybe,” Naeris said, “But then I wouldn’t have been able to help the guy deal with the contract on his soul. Life’s not black and white, Reg. Sometimes you’ve got to bend the rules in order to do the most good.”
“As you constantly remind me,” Slate remarked. “Your life seems to be one big gray area.”
Naeris grinned at that.
“But Naeris,” Slate continued, “You seriously need to get your license. I can’t keep covering for you like this, especially when it involves someone getting shot. One day someone’s going to notice that all these small violations are being swept under the carpet, and then both of us are in for it.”
“I can’t, Reg,” Naeris said. “Not legally. I’ve tried. Time and time again. They won’t give me one unless I’m part of an established religion, and that’s…”
“Complicated?” Slate sighed. “Things with you usually are.”

“Yeah,” Naeris agreed. Complicated was an understatement; the crux of the problem was that, officially, their deity didn’t exist. There was no church, no worship, no followers. There were ancient tales about their deity of course, but they were considered a myth even by some of the other gods. It had proven something of a problem in the face of the strict licensing laws. Getting a fake license wouldn’t really help either–they were useful for practitioners of the arcane arts, sure, but when it came to divine magic… Well, there were very easy ways to verify such things and getting caught in a lie by a literal god wasn’t really Naeris’ idea of a good time.

“Speaking of complications,” Naeris said, changing the subject, “an old friend gave me an odd warning last night. Apparently, something big is happening in the Underground. I don’t know much more, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
“As if we don’t have enough problems to deal with,” Slate said as he stood. “I should go. Thanks for the information, as always.”
“Not a problem, Detective Inspector,” Naeris bowed.

* * *

Naeris waited a few minutes after their visitor had left, and headed out as well. The morning was grey and damp, and a light mist had settled around the upper floors of the buildings. Harrowhill was an interesting suburb; an odd mish-mash of architectural styles from throughout the city’s history. Naeris’ building was a nondescript wood-and-brick apartment block sandwiched between a squat concrete laundromat, and a fenced-in manor house. A white-and-grey blur raced over the greet them as they walked past the fence. “Hey Baxter,” Naeris greeted the husky as it bounded up to the fence. “No time to stop and play today, I’m afraid.” The husky barked in disappointment, and raced off.

Across the street, Naeris caught sight of Mrs. Zhou leaving her house. She was an older woman, and someone Naeris had been keeping an eye on. There was something going on with her, something they hadn’t been able to figure out; something that nagged at the back of their mind when they saw her. Out of habit, Naeris started shadowing her as she walked. She owned a shoe store a few blocks away, they knew, and often went in early in get everything ready for the day. Aside from the usual brand-name shoes, she also offered a custom shoemaking and cobbling service. Naeris had commissioned a pair or two–purely in the name of gathering information–and they were some of the best shoes they had ever owned.

Her usual path took her past a hole-in-the-wall that sold coffee and bagels, where she would always stop and pick up a long black and a toasted poppy-seed. But today, she was taking a different route. Continuing to follow her would take Naeris off course, but… they sighed. Maybe there was no great ‘Mystery of Mrs. Zhou’. Paranoia could be a dangerous thing, though it had saved their life many times in the past. There would be other occasions, Naeris figured. If there was something going on there, there would be another chance to find out. There just wasn’t enough time today.

* * *

The Half-Plate was an unassuming diner on the very edge of Harrowhill, overlooking the park. Naeris came here for breakfast a couple of times a week, despite the risk that came with having a predictable routine. It would the worth the danger for just the food, but Naeris had also come to discover that the staff were a surprisingly good source of information. Today, though, Naeris was just here for the pancakes. They stepped through the door, faint invisible bells announcing their arrival. There were a few customers scattered through the diner, many of whom Naeris recognised from previous visits. A piano sat the corner, playing quiet relaxing music despite an obvious lack of anyone sitting in front of it. Naeris sat in an empty booth, and nodded a greeting to the waitress, Saira.

“You’re early today,” she said as she poured them a coffee. “Sugar?”
“No thank you,” Naeris said. They never took sugar; a fact that the waitress knew well. It was a code phrase–the Chef had information. “Just trouble sleeping. You know how it is.”
“Mhmm,” came the non-committal response. “Today’s breakfast special is buttermilk waffles served with Arcadian fruits and our homemade syrup. But you’ll be having the usual?”
“Actually,” Naeris said thoughtfully, “The special sounds good to me. And the usual two lemon tarts to go, as well.”
“A good choice, as always. That shouldn’t be too long.”

* * *

“Order up,” the waitress said as she placed the plate in front of Naeris. “It’s always nice to see a regular try something new.”
“Thank you,” Naeris said. “It looks great!”
It tasted even better than it looked; the waffles were light and fluffy inside, with a perfectly cooked crispy shell. The fruit was intriguing–it tasted more like someone’s ideal of fruit than any real fruit Naeris had ever eaten. It was an odd, though not unpleasant, experience.

Naeris idly watched the chef through the serving window as they ate. He was young, Naeris thought, but it was hard to tell with half-elves. The way he moved through the kitchen, though, there was years of experience there. Not for the first time, Naeris wondered what his story was, and more importantly, what information he had. But they would find that out soon enough. For now, they just sat and enjoyed their breakfast.

They were half-way through the waffles when the chef slipped into the seat opposite them. “How are they?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Good,” Naeris managed around a mouthful of food.
“The fruit brings the whole thing together, I think,” the chef said, “Though not everyone agrees.”
“The taste is certainly unique,” Naeris agreed. “Are they really from Arcadia, or is that just a ploy to get people buying?”
The chef just winked slyly, and slipped a piece of paper across the table. It had a phone number written on it, and nothing else. Odd. Naeris shot the chef a look, but the half-elf shrugged. “A little bird asked me to pass this along,” he said, his voice light with amusement.
Naeris raised an eyebrow. “A little bird?”
“Yeah,” the chef said. “I think it was a finch? Probably someone’s familiar–not that I’d know anything about that sort of thing. No idea who, so be careful, yeah? I’d hate to lose my most interesting customer.”
“Helpful.”
“Enjoy the rest of your waffles,” he said, sliding out of the booth, “I have to get back to the kitchen before something catches fire.”

* * *

Naeris paid, and left with two lemon tarts in a paper bag. The phone number was tucked safely into their pocket, and their mind burned with curiosity. They’d need to use a burner phone, of course. There was a drawer full of them back at the office, but maybe it would be better to use one that had never been near their home. If the other end of the line was a skilled enough diviner… well, that would be a problem. They could pick one up on the way to the drop-off for the elephant.

Still, it was weird that the information was just a phone-number. Addresses or names were common enough, and usually a phone number was accompanied by one or the other. Naeris didn’t know much about how ‘The Chef’ ran his operation, but the information they got was usually pretty good. He was definitely well-connected, and Naeris suspected that he might be a powerful mage–or very good friends with one. Not many mid-range diners in town could boast fruit imported from celestial orchards, after all. They’d first met him during a case; Naeris was working with Slate to track down a smuggler who had been pushing pixie dust. The Half-Plate had come under suspicion as one of the major bases of operations, due to several unfortunate coincidences and a mix-up with the business accounts. The Chef had taken the entire incident in good humour, and had contacted Naeris a few days later with helpful information about the real culprit. Naeris wasn’t sure where the guy got the info, but it had panned out. Since then, they had gotten his help with a few of the stranger cases; he wasn’t able to help with them all, but when he could, the intel was usually good. Though, Naeris mused, often in wildly unpredictable ways; which had led them to secretly wonder if he wasn’t a fae prince, or–like them–an agent of a trickster god. But this time was different. This was the first time he’d volunteered anything without being asked first.

It looked like a local number, at least. A landline, too–rare these days. Maybe Naeris could get one of their more technically inclined contacts to run it, see what turned up. Luckily, they knew just the gnome to call.

“Yo, T, it’s me,” they said when their contact answered.
“Yes, yes, I know,” the voice on the other end of the line was distorted beyond recognition. “What do you need?”
“Two things. The first is a license. Kid named Bronadir, student at the uni. He hasn’t asked for it yet, but something tells me he’ll be in touch.”
“And the second?”
“I need you to run a phone number,” Naeris said, and read the number aloud. “Looks like a local landline.”
“Have you tried just calling it?” Despite the distortion, Naeris could definitely hear a slight tone of exasperation.
“Not yet. Just playing it safe,” Naeris said somewhat flippantly. “It’s been a weird couple of days, and I don’t want to rush into something half-cocked.”
“That’s a first.”
“Miss you too, T,” Naeris said.
“I’ll contact you when I have something,” the voice said, and then the line went dead.
“Gnomes,” Naeris muttered as they put their phone away.

* * *

On the way back to the office, Naeris stopped briefly to pick up two cups of coffee from the hole-in-the-wall. The order, one flat white and one macchiato, was made without words; Naeris had come here every morning for years, and ordered the same thing every time. They often idly considered getting something different, but there was a simple pleasure in having something in their life—even if it was just their morning routine–be constant.

Back at the office, Naeris handed Tusk one of the lemon tarts from the paper bag and the flat white. In exchange, Naeris received a small pile of case-files. There was always another case, another client. They took the stack to their desk, and read through them while sipping their coffee. Three potential cheating spouses–boring work, but it paid the bills. One missing person; probably just a teenager trying to get away from their parents, but worth looking into anyway. A request for help dealing with a demon problem–dangerous business, depending on the demon. And a message from Bron asking for help getting a license.

They sighed. Tusk could handle one of the spouse-tailing jobs, and maybe it was time to let her fly solo on something a bit less mundane. “Hey, Tusk,” Naeris called through the door, “How do you feel about hunting demons?”
“When do I start?” she said, entering the room.
“Right now,” Naeris offered her the case file. “And take one of these while you’re at it.”
Tusk made a face, but took one of the other files anyway. “This one seemed the juiciest. I’ll leave the boring ones to you,” she said with a lopsided grin.
“Thanks,” said Naeris, “You’re a real lifesaver.”
“Don’t forget that you have that meeting across town in-” Tusk checked her watch “-57 minutes.”
“Shit,” they said and dashed upstairs to get ready.

Naeris considered their wardrobe. The handover was taking place in a bar in the suburb of Arcanum, named for the university that had been founded there well before the city grew to surround it. Most of the suburb was either educational facilities or student accommodation. The Werewolf & Sage was not exactly a dive bar, but it was definitely the sort of place a well-ironed shirt would stick out like a sore thumb. Naeris doffed the garment, and pulled on a well-worn black t-shirt. Slightly damaged jeans and a slightly too large green hoodie were next, followed by a lanyard attached to a fake student ID. Perfect.

* * *

The subway was almost deserted when Naeris arrived, descending the stairs from the street above. A few stragglers who were late for work waited impatiently, feet tapping and hands fidgeting. The train was already a minute late. A baby babbled incoherently to itself in a stroller nearby, the mother on her phone speaking in a hushed, but angry voice. Naeris noticed a flyer for their business, stapled to a wall. Someone had scrawled something on it, but Naeris couldn’t quite make it out. It seemed offensive, though.

The train journey was short, and soon Naeris was standing in Arcadia, surrounded by buildings that ranged from state-of-the-art science labs to hovels barely fit for purpose.

The Werewolf & Sage sported a traditional façade, all glass window panes and engraved wood. A small pot of wolfsbane sat over the doorway, its purple-blue flowers blooming well out of season. Naeris stepped inside, and almost gagged–the smell of stale beer and smoke was overwhelming. The pub was, unsurprisingly, empty. Naeris checked their phone–10.55–and wandered over to the bar. The bartender, a reedy human with a mop of brown curls, raised his eyebrow. “Bit early, isn’t it?”

“Bit late, you mean,” Naeris said sleepily. “Up all night studying. Thought I’d grab a pint to reward myself before taking a bit of a nap.”
The bartender shrugged, and grabbed a glass from behind the bar. “What’re you having?”
“Stout,” Naeris said. “The dwarven stuff.”
“ID?”
“Fuck, hang on,” Naeris fumbled with their pockets, and then gave the bartender a slightly sheepish grin as they ‘remembered’ that it was on a lanyard around their neck. “Ah! Here it is!” They handed over the fake ID. The bartender gave it a cursory glance.
“That’ll be 5 crowns.”

Naeris dropped some coins on the counter, and took their stout to a corner booth with a good view of the door. 10.58. The client would be here soon. The statuette was in their backpack, which they slung off their shoulder and placed on the seat beside them. Naeris still had no idea what it was; it wasn’t magical, as far as they could tell, and it didn’t seem hollow enough to hide anything important inside. But if it was just an ornament, why go through all this trouble? It wasn’t by a famous artist, or stolen from a museum or something–that was the first thing Naeris had checked. They sighed. It wouldn’t matter soon. Just a few more minutes, and then the damned eyesore would be out of their life forever.

There was a slight cough from nearby, and Naeris looked up to see the client standing by their table. He was human, mid-20s by the look of him, though Naeris had almost as much trouble telling how old humans were as they did half-elves. Humans always looked a lot older than they were, and half-elves always looked younger. “Oh, hey,” Naeris said with a well-practiced familiarity, “Fancy seeing you here. Join me for a pint?”

“Uh,” he hesitated momentarily. “Right, yeah. Don’t mind if I do,” he said finally, and slid into the booth opposite Naeris.
“I don’t suppose you’re ready for the test tomorrow,” Naeris asked, winking slightly.
“N-No,” he said. “I don’t think I really understand recursion, you know?”
Naeris had no idea what a recursion was, but nodded sagely. “Do you think they’ll ask many questions about it though?” They slid the bag under the table and dropped it against the client’s leg.
The client shrugged. “I hope not.”
“Oh,” Naeris said, raising a finger. “Do you still have that book I lent you? I was trying to find it last night, but…”

The client looked puzzled for a moment, before catching on. “Yeah, I do. I’ve actually got it with me now.” He picked up the bag from under the table. Naeris saw the flash of an envelope in the client’s hand as he reached inside. “Here,” he said, withdrawing one of Naeris fake textbooks from inside the bag, “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”
“No worries,” Naeris said, raising their glass. “To passing the test!” They downed the rest of the stout, and stood to leave. Yawning, Naeris added, “I dunno about you, but I’ve got some serious napping to do. I’ll see you around.”

Naeris thought the whole thing had been a little obvious, really. But the client had insisted on making a show of it. “The whole cloak-and-dagger” he’d called it. Usually, Naeris would just have had him come to the office to pick it up, and wire the money through, but… maybe the guy just really wanted to feel like he was in a spy film, or something. Naeris hadn’t asked questions; the money was too good to be asking questions. Besides, there were more important questions that needed answering right now. They pulled the piece of paper with the mysterious phone number on it from their pocket, and stared at it thoughtfully.

As if on cue, their phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number: “N; Number’s not turning up anything. Files have been shredded, and divination is being blocked. Very suspicious. Be careful – T (this message will self-delete).”

Naeris looked thoughtfully at their phone. There really wasn’t anything for it. They’d just have to call the number.