The wooden building was quiet and dimly lit, with only a few pieces of furniture scattered about—furniture that was intricately made of wood bejeweled with gems. It was perhaps the oddest sight in a land full of untouched fields and trees, especially since this building was smack dab in the middle of a rough road, almost as if wanting to interrupt it.
It was also the perfect place for a private meeting between shifters.
Not many people knew, but this building had been recently sound-proofed to prevent anyone from eavesdropping—not that that was likely to happen, considering the punishment for being caught eavesdropping was cutting off one ear. But lately, there was an influx of mixed breed coming in, from humans to fairies, so it was better being safe than sorry.
At least, that’s what the elders thought.
Dean Williams III stood in front of one of the elders now, who was sitting on the couch and eyeing him in observation. It wasn’t an intimidating gaze, per se, but it still held quite the intensity when he asked Dean his question.
“Any progress in your investigation?”
It had been the same question asked of Dean a few years back when he was still starting on said investigation and riddled with too many dead ends. Not many knew that the human world existed, and not many knew that some humans were bounty hunters, aware of their world and inclined to stealing supernatural stuff: fairy wings, shifter hides, rare creature horns and the likes, all meant for private collections or auctions. They knew too much, and there was only one reasonable explanation for that: that someone from the supernatural world had given a clue about its existence, either by accident or on purpose.
And recently, finally, Dean found out that there was nothing accidental about it.
“Yes. We found that there are a lot of private collectors in New York itself, with hidden bases all over—mostly in or around SoHo, where the portals are located. I’ve gathered all the information I could about them: a list of names, addresses, the nature of their human businesses and such.”
The elder tilted his head. Usually, elders wore cloaks and masks to keep their face hidden from the public, but this one wasn’t really concerned with that as he skipped the mask.
He didn’t need to be, considering their relation. Dean had already seen his father beneath the outfit, way before he wore his elder status like a crown.
“Good. What are you going to do with what you’ve gathered?”
This was the part where he had to think his words through, and Dean scanned his mind for what to say—or, to be more specific, what not to.
“I’m going to keep them for now and try to find more clues.”
I’m going to find all the lion shifters involved in this.
“And I’m going to try to infiltrate as many hidden locations as I can to retrieve the collections and give them back to who they were stolen from.”
And I’m going to get to the bottom of who the actual mole is in the shifter world.
The words were at the tip of his tongue, and he wanted to tell his father everything: that yes, he discovered there were lion shifters involved, and it was very much possible they were taking orders from someone of their kind in a higher position. There were also witches involved.
But telling his father meant the older man would be obliged to tell the other elders, as that was his priority more than anything.
And that would put their kind in a bad light.
The decision came loud and clear, one Dean had doubted before but got cemented in his thoughts now. In order for his father to maintain his good leadership figure, Dean had to fall in line and keep the whole investigation under wraps until they found the culprit.
And Dean had to fall in line for other purposes, too—mostly, for him to get a good standing of his own so he could return here. Shifter world.
His real home.
“That’s good,” his father—Dean Williams II—said in approval. “Keep gathering those clues. We need to eliminate this threat as soon as possible before it escalates. It’s probably just some runaway shifter who’s doing this, but it’s still bothersome. We don’t want this kind of threat to our world.”
“Agreed,” Dean murmured. “I’ll get them rounded up. The infiltration will be done in secret.”
“No,” his father protested softly, leaning forward. “I want you to let me know when you infiltrate.”
That was…unexpected. Dean tried to remain unperturbed as he blinked and stared at the man, who looked similar to him in many ways—blond hair (except his father had some gray in his), golden eyes and stature that could be mistaken for arrogance but was actually just part of their proud upbringing.
“Why?” he asked.
Dean knew he was starting to become like his father in many ways and was set to take over the position when the time came. Most likely, that wasn’t going to be anytime soon, but that didn’t change one fact: that while the father was the cleverer one, the son was starting to catch up and knew where this particular conversation was headed.
“Because I want it to be known that it was my son who took this horrible group of people down.” The older Dean leaned forward again. “It will bring glory to our kind…and it will finally redeem you of all your faults and get you back on track to coming back here instead of working in that stupid gallery.”
Working in the “stupid” gallery meant being the gallery owner and guardian of the legal portals between the human and the supernatural world, and the only fault Dean had was loving his sister too much and trying to take the man who hurt her down. It was ironic, considering the man—or wolf shifter, to be more specific—was now one of Dean’s most trusted comrades. He was also the last man Dean ever expected to make peace with, but they were getting there, thanks to a series of incidents that led them to the discovery of the hunters in the first place.
Dean knew his father’s words should have comforted him, with the hope of actually returning to shifter world for good. Instead, the pressure only built, making for a rather uneasy feeling in the pit of Dean’s stomach.
“I understand. I won’t let you down, father.”
*****
He didn’t head to the gallery right away—not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. To get from the shifter world to the human world, one had to cross a portal to a marketplace first: aka the place where most creatures mingled and sold stuff, from wooden stalls filled with goods, to bars to taverns and such. Shifters who could portal-jump were only given one chance a day to open portals using their designated devices, something regulated by the elders to avoid overuse or abuse. Also, not everyone could portal-jump, as other creatures often traveled via foot to the marketplace, which often took weeks or months.
So yes, portals were a privilege more than anything.
They were also a well-kept secret.
As soon as Dean arrived in the marketplace, he slipped the portal device he used in his pocket—a brass pocket watch that he kept with him at all times. Then he slipped out of the deserted alley he portal-jumped in, watching the subtle gleam on the wall disappear before he slowly walked the busy streets of the marketplace. It was lined up with all kinds of stalls in every direction: colorful ones, lit ones, ones with curtains drawn for those sensitive to sound and light. He glanced at the items being sold, from the dancing flowers to all the strange trinkets, then the strings of gems on top of the whole area acting as lights. None of them really caught his attention, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.
His mind was preoccupied with too many things—things that made him not want to be alone right now because that meant he would just end up thinking some more and eventually drive himself crazy. Dean wasn’t a very social person unless it involved missions and jobs, but his feet were suddenly taking him in a certain direction, one where he knew he was guaranteed to be distracted. Maybe even blow off some of his preoccupations.
Yes, that was the kind of distraction he needed right now before he went to bed.
He arrived in the bar a few minutes later—one that was owned by his ex-enemy wolf shifter but was now owned by someone else. Dean didn’t come here often because the bar was all about low-key interacting with other creatures. But it was the best place for incognito meetings because those needed to be low-key and in the center of creatures who minded their own business.
Most of the time.
He sat on a stool facing the long bar, ordering a glass of lukewarm water and watching the bartender insert it in between all the other orders. Then his eyes scanned the employees until they settled on the one he knew would be up his ass any second now—the owner herself, who was probably the most unlikeable woman he’d ever met. She wasn’t up front, was in fact on the other side of the room with her back turned to him. He let himself focus on the crowd instead, trying to find a distraction to keep his mind preoccupied.
There weren’t many customers tonight, but those that were there were the kind Dean didn’t see often: some water fairies who giggled at everything that wasn’t even funny, some goblins who looked like they were discussing a conspiracy theory, and a man in a cloak and hat that hid his features and looked suspiciously like a vampire. Vampires often kept to themselves, so to find that vampire talking to one of the fairies now was a sight that was very rare.
“There are many bars in the market. Why do you always come here?”
The words, said in a tone full of dislike, brought Dean’s attention back to the long bar. The owner stood there now, and he let himself give her a once over while she frowned at him.
For a hag, she wasn’t bad looking. In fact, with her gray-streaked black hair, clear skin and big, dark eyes, she wasn’t ugly at all, which was supposed to be a hag trademark all across the globe. She did share their other characteristic: that of having the talent to make money.
She did, however, look as dead as the night with that abomination of black lipstick.
Dean tilted his head, considering her question. “Why not? Is this how rude you are to all your patrons?”
“Yes. Especially those who don’t order anything but water.”
Something was thrown in front of him, making a soft thud. Now it was Dean’s turn to frown down at what looked like a menu, then back up at the woman’s displeased expression.
Indigo Cris was always displeased about something, but mostly it had to do with him.
“I’m not hungry,” he intoned coolly. “And you know I can always spread the word to our kind so they won’t come here.”
“Sweetheart, the less of you, the better. It won’t be a hindrance to my income.”
“I’m not your sweetheart,” he clipped out.
She smirked. “And isn’t that grand?”
His patience thinned, as expected. She pushed the menu at him again, leaving him no choice but to scan its contents. Nothing in it interested him, mostly because what he wanted was a good glass of expensive red wine and medium rare steak from his favorite restaurant.
Which weren’t in the marketplace, but in SoHo—human world.
He looked up, about to give her a piece of his mind and tell her in no terms she could not order him about. Hell, he would even fight her if she booted him out. But Dean was treated to a view of her back, and she was walking away before he could answer.
The disappointment was stark, surprising him. He’d never really had much interaction with the hag other than the casual insults here and there, mostly because she always expressed her utter dislike of him. Thoughts of the things he still had to do floated in his mind, and he stared at his half-empty glass of water as a basic plan formed.
Infiltrate the bounty hunter ring.
Find the culprits.
Find the mole leader making everything possible.
See to the witches possibly involved.
Clean up his reputation to return to his original home, the shifter world.
No. Stop thinking about it.
It gave him a headache, and he had to slam the thoughts off as he stood up and left the bar. Not wanting to deal with the marketplace crowd right now, Dean slipped out the back of the bar, intending to stay in alleyways until he found a tavern he could sleep in for the night. Maybe he could call his two trusted shifters, Jack and Kasper, to come here from SoHo—one to open the portal to here, and the other to open the portal to travel back in the human world.
Or maybe he should just sleep it off and not waste their devices for today in case it was needed for an emergency.
Dean sighed. He slid to the corner of the alley, his thoughts darkening by the second.
A movement in front of him had him freezing—then, taking a quiet step back as he squinted his eyes until he found what was moving.
It was Indigo.
She was walking towards another alley, one just across the street. Her movements were all casual, even the glance she gave to the main market street, where everyone was too busy to pay attention to her dark corner. But something told him there was nothing casual about this…whatever she was doing.
He was proven right when, a few seconds later, something shocking happened.
A portal gleamed.
And Indigo stepped right into it before disappearing out of his sight.