The explosion hit Phillip like a giant hammer of fire and smoke, the shockwave slamming into him so hard that he thought that an elephant had landed on his back, all the air rushing from his lungs at once; only the fact that he kept his mouth open prevented them from being ruptured. The malodor of cordite attacked his nostrils and tongue, his ears felt like they had exploded like balloons, and pain danced across his entire body.
Consciousness returned a moment later, his head pounding like a drum and his ears ringing loudly; beneath the tinnitus, he heard screaming. He looked up, coughing on the smoke that hung over the room, casting everything in a dark haze and stinging at his eyes.
Daring was laying on top of the cinnamon-colored patient, who was screaming and clutching her ears; the other two patients were lying flat on their backs in the corner, slowly rising and blinking, testing limbs for injuries, mouths agape as they panted and coughed. Daring started to rise, grunting and shaking soot from her mane. Phillip looked her over and a weight lifted off his heart when he saw that aside from some harsh red burns over her hind legs and wings and a line of blood trickling from one ear, she appeared to be mostly unharmed.
An agonized howl cut through the smokey air. Where the bomb had landed lay a yellow dragon, writhing on the ground in pain, clenching his jaw to try to stifle the agony. The scales on his chest and left side were covered in burns and blue-green ichor; shrapnel was embedded into his body, fresh streams of blood running from the wounds with every heavy, groaning breath he took.
“Buzz,” Phillip grunted, starting to rise only to fall back with a scream as agony raced up his left hind leg. He glanced down to find that his limb was soaked red, smoke rising from the twisted nails and red metal shards that were embedded in the burned flesh.
“Oh, Mother,” Doctor Asclepius moaned, stirring beneath him and blinking. “What happ--?”
Buzz screamed again, more blue-green blood running from his mouth. Asclepius sat up, taking in the room. The shock and disbelief on his face shone for a moment through the smoke.
Then it was gone as he pulled himself out from beneath Phillip. His horn lit up green-gold and he swept an aura over Phillip’s body. The spell felt like a gentle trickle of warm water running down his body, soothing despite the pain of his injuries and the throbbing of his heart.
“No serious internal injuries. You’ll be okay,” he said, a strain beneath his calm tone as he cast a wave of magic over the shrapnel, which hissed loudly as it cooled. “It looks worse than it is. I need to help him.”
Phillip gritted his teeth and nodded. Asclepius raced over to Buzz and knelt beside him. “Cinnamon, Coffee, Aspen, are you all okay?” he called as he began casting spells over the wounds, irrigating the flesh and cooling the hot shrapnel.
“He…” Cinnamon stared at the green blood in disbelief, clearly recognizing it from the warning brochures that had been handed out during the Crystal War. “That was...is that a changeling?”
Asclepius didn’t answer, speaking soothingly to Buzz as he tended to him. Cinnamon looked around at her other two patients, who were marveling at their uninjured limbs, slowly reassuring themselves that they were still alive. She looked back at the wounded dragon. “He saved us,” she mumbled.
“Call an ambulance, quickly! There is a phone behind the receptionist’s desk!” Asclepius ordered, casting more spells over Buzz’s body. The wounded changeling let out a small sigh and began to breathe more slowly and evenly. Cinnamon shook herself out of her reverie and got up, stumbling slightly and shaking her head as she headed for the desk and grabbed the phone.
Daring had stumbled her way over to Phillip and bent down to study his legs, her eyes struggling to focus on the blood and the wounds. “Shit, shit,” she hissed, reaching for the pocket on her vest where she stored the first aid materials.
“I’m fine,” Phillip grunted, closing his eyes and pushing away the pain, the screams, the smell of cordite. He went back mentally, recalling the moments before the explosion.
The window smashed again. He recalled a glimmer of purple magic around the bomb as it flew through the window. He froze the image, visualizing the glass shards hanging in midair, and looked outside, studying the street, the traffic frozen.
There. The same vehicle that he had seen passing before.
“Dark blue van with tinted windows,” he reported, speaking sharply into Daring’s uninjured ear. “License has ‘TU7,’ headed west on the road. It might still be nearby. Can you fly?”
Daring spread her wings, gritting her teeth as she tested the muscles, then nodded.
“Go, go!” Phillip ordered.
She hesitated, looking down at the blood running down his leg, pooling around him.
“Go!” Phillip barked, biting down a scream as a slight movement sent fresh waves of pain down his leg.
Daring turned and shot out the door like she’d been fired from a cannon, gold and gray streaks racing through the air. She banked west, wobbling in midair as the ringing in her ear rose to a shriek. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she focused on the street beneath her even as it wobbled before her eyes. Sucking in a breath, she rose up higher, scanning the streets beneath, watching for any blue vans amidst the vehicles beneath.
There! In that alley! Bright blue, license plate 5TU7GR!
Daring swooped down like a hawk, landing next to the parked vehicle. Snarling, she seized the door and yanked it open, one hoof snapping up to aim her pistol at the driver.
Except there was no driver. Or passenger. The van was completely empty.
Daring let out a snarl that turned into a furious roar and she slammed a hoof against the side of the van. Fresh pain ran down her bones, mixing with the burns and the weary ache in her joints from the shock of the explosion. She leaned against the van, breathing slow and deep, forcing the pain down into her gut and turning it into fuel. Her heartbeat slowed, and her mind settled like a pond after a rock had been thrown in it.
She looked up and spotted a pegasus flying overhead. “Hey, you!” she called.
The pink-maned yellow pegasus adorned in the yellow-orange vest of a weather pony looked down and gasped. “Oh! Uh, Parasol at your service, Miss Do, ma’am!” she cried, saluting.
“At ease,” Daring said, shaking her head. “This is a crime scene. Find a gamewell and get the police here. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Parasol saluted and zipped off in search of a phone.
Daring landed next to the van and leaned inside, taking a look around. The first thing she noticed was the rental sticker on the windshield. Hopefully we can get a lead out of that, she mused, running her eyes over the rest of the interior. She saw no personal materials left behind by the clumsy criminals, but…
What’s this?
She knelt down beside the driver’s seat, squinting at the narrow space between the seat and the pedals. “Cashews?” she mused aloud, prodding at one of the discarded shells.
A scent of heavily perfumed tobacco scratched at her nostrils. Daring discovered the source to be a small pile of dark brown ash in the ashtray and a cigarette snub, the label long burned away.
If Phil were here…
The scent of cordite, smoke, and burnt flesh invaded her nostrils. Blood pooled on the floor. Steam rose from hot shrapnel. The knot of panic that had been squirming in her stomach suddenly rushed up to her throat and Daring shuddered as she fought down the urge to vomit.
“Okay, police are on their way!” Parasol announced, flying back. “Hey, uh, are you okay, ma’am?”
“I’m okay,” Daring snapped, shaking her head and swallowing back a wave of bile. “And quit calling me ma’am. Wait for them at the gamewell and lead them over here when they arrive.”
“Got it!” Parasol saluted again and zipped off.
Daring took slow breaths, forcing herself to focus on trying to find more clues, restraining the growing worry. He’ll be okay. He and Buzz. They’ll be fine.
“Stay with me, Buzz,” Asclepius breathed, gently raising the dragon’s legs. “The ambulance is on the way.”
Cinnamon had wrapped her coat around the changeling’s bandaged torso, not caring at all even as the green blood stained the brown fabric. She gripped the dragon’s hand in both of her hooves, rubbing it gently. Buzz managed to smile briefly at her through gritted teeth.
Coffee and Aspen were both bent over Phillip, keeping towels taken from the examination room, wet from both cold water and blood, wrapped around his elevated limb. “You need water, detective?” the ash-white colored Aspen asked, brushing some of her brown-green mane out of her face with a shaking hoof.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Phillip said, grunting as a fresh wave of pain ran up his leg.
A gasp sounded from behind Phil and the receptionist, Golden Highlight, ran in, her purple mane and white blouse bouncing with every step as she clambered over Phillip. “Doctor!” she cried, kneeling next to Buzz.
“The ambulance is already on the way, Gold,” Asclepius said calmly, placing a hoof on his patient’s neck. “Here, help me keep his legs elevated.”
The receptionist took her position, but Phillip found himself staring at her. She was unburnt and unbloodied, her shirt bright white; a pillar amidst the burnt walls, shattered windows, and scattered furniture.
Right: she had not been here when the bomb went off. Gone to the bathroom?
Coincidences are rarely just that.
Something scratched at the back of his mind, a detail that was out of place. He turned and looked over at the desk. Some of the materials had been knocked over and lay scattered about, the phone and the decorative trinkets now sprawled on the floor like the casualties of a battle, but…
The photograph. The photograph of Gold’s brother. The frame was there, the glass cracked like a spiderweb, but the photograph itself was gone.
Phillip turned back to Golden Highlight and spotted something that he should’ve seen before: the black bracelet around the receptionist’s wrist, marked in white: “Golden Standard. 14th Moon of Berries 1923--28th Moon of Hunters 1944. Gone But Not Forgotten.”
And he suddenly knew how the murderers knew their targets, why they chose to attack openly now, when there were several of their targets gathered in one place.
Golden Highlight’s face twisted in hate and her horn lit up. The balisong flew up into her hoof, the blade snapping out with a sharp clic-clack. Blazing brightly in the reflected light, the weapon raced at the doctor’s startled face. Asclepius froze in shock; Buzz jerked upwards, trying to intercept the attack, far too late. She was smooth, quick from practice.
Phillip was smoother, quicker.
A sharp whistle sounded, bone cracked like a breaking tree limb, and the knife clattered across the floor as Golden Highlight clutched her broken wrist, screaming.
Catching his boomerang as it returned, Phillip hauled himself to his hooves. His wounded leg and burned flesh screamed in protest, but he did not care. All he cared about was his target, who was now staring up at him, eyes wide with fear as they met his glare.
“Th-those freaks killed my brother!” Golden Highlight tried to scream, but her voice was shaking like leaves in the wind as she slowly backed away from the oncoming thunderstorm. “They deserve to die! They all deserve to die! Every last one, and any who associate with them!”
Phillip just snarled at her, reaching for the holster with his .38 as the other patients began to rise, pursuing their attacker. Golden snarled at them, madness and fear competing in her green irides. “You’ll all pay!” she snarled, pulling her knife back into her hooves as she turned and sprinted out the broken doorframe, disappearing from sight as she headed for the Everfree Forest.
The pain reasserted itself with force and Phillip fell with a cry, instinctively clutching his bloodied leg. Aspen and Coffee rushed over and started placing the towels back over his limb.
Buzz suddenly coughed and retched, blood that was so dark that it was nearly black bubbling from his mouth. “Buzz?” Asclepius cried, shaken out from his shock.
“What’s happening?” Cinnamon asked, hovering anxiously nearby.
“He has shrapnel piercing his stomach,” Asclepius replied, tilting Buzz’s head back and turning it to the side, not even wincing as vomited blood spewed over his hooves and the floor. The wailing of incoming sirens heralding the coming of ambulances.
“Buzz, breathe, it’s okay,” Cinnamon said, gripping the dragon’s bloodied talon in her own hooves.
Phillip lay on his side, his own injuries fading into the background. His eyes were focused on his dying friend, who shivered and groaned and cried out in pain as the carpet soaked up his blood. He thought of Daring, grimacing in pain, burns over her body. He thought of the eyeless corpse in the alley, the bloodied stallion abandoned in the rubble.
He let out a little growl and let the storm seep into his bones as the first ambulances raced up, brakes and tires screeching in the drive.
They will pay.
Daring bustled through the hospital hallways, pushing past doctors and nurses and patients. She spotted her target, room 341, and pushed inside.
The sight of Phillip propped up in bed, his leg wrapped up in bandages that reeked of salves and propped up on a set of pillows and being tended to by a doctor, made her sigh in relief. “You okay?” she asked, trotting over and kissing him on the forehead.
“I’m aces,” Phillip said, grimacing in pain. “Doc was just saying that I’m going to be laid up for a bit.”
“Thankfully, none of the shrapnel went into your arteries or into your bones,” the doctor stated, checking the x-ray scans on her clipboard. “You won’t need surgery, but we’ll have to keep you in here to clean out the wounds, give you antibiotics and check for signs of blast injuries or infection.”
“And what about Buzz?” Phillip asked.
The doctor frowned at her notes for a moment. “Your friend is still in surgery,” she admitted. “Doctor Asclepius is leading the operation, but it’s not looking good, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “You know, he probably saved all of your lives.”
Phillip and Daring both stared at the bandaged leg, feeling as though some great weight had settled in their stomachs. The sound and impact of the blast struck them again, and Buzz’s screams echoed in their ears.
“I’ll be back later to start the debridement,” the doctor said, exiting. “If you experience any chest pain or difficulty breathing, press the call button immediately, all right?”
“Right-o,” Phillip nodded dumbly as the doctor left.
“You find the van?” Phillip asked.
“I did, but it was empty,” Daring stated. “Didn’t find much useful, no trace of them left. But the driver had a thing for cashews, looked like.”
Phillip nodded. “That’s something, at least.”
“Hey, Phil!” Flash called, trotting into the room with Red strolling in behind. He stared at the injured limb in white-faced shock. “Holy shit, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Phillip said.
“Of course you are,” Red said, his dry tone belying the tiny smile of relief on his face. “Like an amateur pipe bomb would be enough to get you two out of my mane.”
“Fuck you too,” Phil said with a grin before returning to seriousness. He gave them a rundown of what had happened.
“So the secretary was the traitor,” Red mused. “Guess that losing her brother stung a bit.”
“That doesn’t give her an excuse to become a murderer,” Flash growled. “I’ll put an APB out on her, then we can check the rental about that van.”
“There’s something else,” Phillip said. “Betting that the other killers are associated with Highlight’s brother, Golden Standard. It might be the stallion with the twisted knee, and they’re probably good with explosives, too.”
“Detective Matchstick and Suunkii are already working the bombing scene,” Flash stated. “We heard over the radio, that’s why we came here. If there are any clues, they’ll find them.”
“I’ll start asking around the rehab place that Prowl mentioned,” Daring said. “Maybe I’ll get lucky.”
“We’d help, but we’re following up on another case,” Red grumbled. “For Signor Dorata.”
“And I think it might be connected with these murders,” Flash pointed out, relating what the businesspony had told them.
“Interesting,” Phillip mused. “But I don’t think they’re directly connected. If Sweet Tart’s killers were after her and her colleagues, they would’ve just stopped with her, not go after other changelings.”
“We’re still looking for any other leads with him,” Flash stated, rubbing his mane. “Just wish I knew what they wanted with her.”
“Let me deal with these guys,” Daring growled. “I want these bastards myself.”
Red and Flash both studied her for a moment, then mutely nodded.
The doctor bustled back in with a rolling tray loaded with foul-smelling potions and cleaning materials, including a selection of scalpels. “Detectives, please clear the room,” she ordered. “I need to start getting his wounds cleaned out.”
“I’ll find them for you,” Daring promised Phil, squeezing his hoof briefly.
“I know,” he nodded back, his gray eyes reflecting the cold anger that she felt.
As Daring exited with Red and Flash, she passed by a set of double doors marked “Surgery.” As she watched, a doctor rushed through, tugging a mask over her face.
“He’s shapeshifting back!” she heard Asclepius’ voice call from inside, muffled through doors and walls. “He’s burning up love energy, he needs to feed!”
She briefly heard raised voices before the doors slammed shut again. Daring growled to herself and found her hoof rising up to stroke the idol of Awely-Awely. The cool, carved wood was strangely comforting to her touch, centering her as though she were pouring some of her rage into the idol.
“You okay?” Flash asked.
Daring just grunted and stalked for the exit. She had work to do.
The van rental hadn’t turned up much: just a vague description of a blue earth pony stallion who had ordered the rental over the phone that morning and paid in coin, giving a generic name that Daring doubted was real.
She had better luck speaking to the patients at the Easy Transitions, a large clinic in the Everfree District that specialized in treating injuries sustained by soldiers and emergency responders. When she mentioned Golden Standard’s name, she met a few ponies who knew him and his sister.
“He was in the 119th Army Battalion, same as me,” the mare with the eyepatch had told her. “But his squadron was almost wiped out by changelings in an ambush in ‘44: they imitated the officers and led them away from the rest of the battalion to finish them off. Killed all but three of them, Golden Standard included.” She paused and shifted nervously in her seat, casting her remaining blue eye about.
“One of the only survivors...he’s the pony you’re looking for,” she admitted quietly. “His name is Blasting Cap. Explosives expert. He came back with a badly twisted leg...but his mind was the most broken part. Ranted about how all changelings were monsters, that they all deserved to die, and anyone who associated with them was filth. When King Thorax and Prince Pharynx made a treaty with the Princesses in late ‘46, he started to really isolate himself. Stopped coming to groups, to the clinic, started smoking those disgusting Golden Camel cigarettes. Hell, I don’t think I’ve seen him in over a year.”
"Description?" Daring pressed.
"Unicorn, little over four foot. Gray coat, red and yellow mane, blue eyes. Cutie mark of a firecracker." The mare paused for a moment, her single eye narrowing in thought. "Last time I saw him, he was growing a beard. Big bushy one, made me think of paintings of Rockhoof."
“Where is he?” Daring asked.
“Last I knew, he lived in a tenement on Lily,” the mare replied. “Maybe you’ll find something there.”
When Daring got up to leave, the mare had called after her. “Hey, be careful, detective. Blasting Cap may have a gimp leg, but he knew more about explosives than any pony I’ve ever known. If he’s willing to blow up a doctor’s office, he’s willing to do anything.”
And so, on that note, Daring had soon found herself walking up the steps of a small brownstone apartment building and pushing through the front door. A quick examination of the mailboxes provided her target’s location: Blasting Cap’s name was scrawled beneath number seven.
She headed up the staircase covered in a formerly green carpet and rapped sharply at the door with the number 7 nailed to it in iron lettering.
To her complete lack of surprise, there was no answer.
“Blasting Cap!” she barked, hammering on the door.
“He’s not here, ma’am,” a stallion reported from the stairs. The short turquoise earth pony with a white mane and wave cutie mark was carrying a bag of groceries in his mouth.
“You his neighbor?” Daring asked.
“Yes’m,” the stallion answered, placing his bag of groceries on the floor in front of door number eight and digging a hoof through his saddlebag, extracting his key after a few moments of struggling. “Name’s Watershed. Been living here some two-odd years now.”
“You know where Blasting Cap is?” Daring asked.
“Nope,” Watershed shrugged as he unlocked the door, licking his lips. “He and I don’t hang out that much.”
He started to pick up his bag, but the flimsy paper tore and some of the items spilled out. “Ah, damn,” he grumbled, scrambling to pick up his groceries.
“Here,” Daring offered, bending to pick up some of the items.
“Thanks,” Watershed nodded, gratefully taking the items.
“You ever hear him talk about hangouts?” Daring pressed. “Know anypony who visited him?”
“No,” Watershed said slowly, concern creasing across his face. He licked his lips again and swallowed “Is...he in trouble?”
Daring started to make a comment about how his neighbor had blown up a doctor’s office and nearly killed her and Phillip, but something tugged at the back of her mind. She glanced down at one of the cans in her hoof.
The label read “Assorted Nuts” and displayed cashews and peanuts on the cover.
Play it smooth, Daring. Poker face.
“I just want to ask him some questions,” she said as she handed Watershed the can, noting his short legs and remembering how close the getaway van driver’s seat had been to the pedals, how the mirrors had been angled downward, as if for a short pony.
“Okay, then,” Watershed nodded, taking the last of his groceries from her and giving her a rather forced smile. “If I hear from him, I’ll let you know.” He stepped inside his room and closed the door, keeping his eyes on Daring the entire time.
Alone in the hallway, Daring studied Blasting Cap’s door, considering her next move. That lock sure was tempting…
That won’t help. Without a good reason to go in there, anything you find in there will just get kicked out, and he’ll be free to kill more ponies.
“Stupid laws,” Daring grumbled to herself, kicking at a loose bit of trash on the floor, only to freeze when she realized that the little scrap of flattened cardboard was a crushed carton of Golden Camel cigarettes.
An idea sparked in Daring's mind. Dashing through the front door, she headed to the alley behind the building and spotted a dumpster with the lid open. Sprinting up, she looked into the assorted trash bags. She was lucky; it must’ve been trash day recently, because the dumpster wasn’t even a third full.
One bag was partially open, revealing several crushed cartons of Golden Camel, the heavily perfumed scent instantly reminding Daring of the abandoned van. Grinning, Daring clambered into the dumpster and hauled the bag out, spilling its contents out onto the asphalt. Most of Blasting Cap’s trash was more cartons of foul-smelling cigarettes and discarded food, but like an archeologist searching through silt for ancient remnants, Daring slowly searched for clues.
One item stood out to her like a gold coin amidst the mud: a receipt from a local hardware store. Blasting Cap had used store credit to pay for a length of black pipe, hacksaw blades, cold packs, and bags of charcoal.
The window smashed before Daring’s gaze again, and the heavy black pipe thudded to the floor, sparks shooting from the fuse. She shuddered and shook her head, fighting off the memory.
Charcoal...and you can make saltpeter from cold packs, Daring thought. Two of the ingredients in gunpowder.
“Gotcha,” Daring smirked, pocketing the clue.
“Uh…”
Daring looked up to see a sanitation worker staring at her, head cocked to one side. She stared for a moment, her eyes darting back down to the pile of trash in front of her. “Sorry,” she said with a nervous grin and flapped off before the worker could say anything.
Cold Case chewed on the stem of her meerschaum pipe, slowly passing it from one side of her mouth to the other as she studied the receipt. Spread across the desk before her were photographs from Asclepius’ office and the getaway van.
“You really are Phillip’s partner,” she admitted, giving Daring a ghost of a smile over the assembled evidence.
“Is it enough to get a warrant?” Daring pressed, tapping one hoof against the carpeted floor.
“Yes,” Cold nodded. “I’ll get this submitted to Judge Gavel. He’ll issue a warrant for Blasting Cap’s arrest and to search his home.”
“And what about his neighbor, Watershed?” Daring asked, tapping a record sheet amidst the mess of papers. Watershed’s record amounted to a disorderly conduct charge for smashing a store window while participating in an anti-changeling protest in 1946, for which he had served and completed a five-month suspended sentence. The latent rage in the stallion’s face emanating from his mug shot was almost alien from the pony that Daring had met.
“I think it would be wiser to watch him rather than try to arrest him right away,” Cold stated. “If he is involved with Cap, he’ll have to lead us to him sooner or later.”
“Fair enough,” Daring nodded, feeling as though something was squirming beneath her chest. She looked at the other record: Golden Highlight’s photograph stared coldly back at her, plastered over a list of drunk and disorderly charges from 1944. A part of her pitied the mourning sister for her pain, but it didn’t excuse what she’d done.
“And we’ll need to warn all of Asclepius’ clients,” Daring added. “I’m guessing that his records don’t show who is and is not a changeling, so they’ll be going after all of them.”
“Yes: Doctor Asclepius already sent over a list of patients,” Cold nodded, gesturing at a long list on her desk. “Could I ask you to do that, please?”
Daring blinked. Did...she just say please?
“Okay,” she said, taking the list herself and mentally noting the addresses.
“Thank you,” Cold Case said. “Between the bombing, looking for Cap, Dorata, and everything else, we’re…”
Cold blinked, then sagged in exhaustion, letting out a low moan and lowering her face onto her hoof. “We’re short-staffed,” she admitted quietly. “After the Whitestone-Zugzwang war, and when Zugzwang turned into that…thing...”
Both mares shivered as ghosts of cold black eyes danced before their eyes.
“We’ve lost so much,” Cold said quietly. She sniffed once, then took in a breath and exhaled it in a puff of cinnamon-scented smoke, shaking herself out of her reverie.
“I will have that warrant ready by tomorrow morning,” she declared, fixing Daring with a gaze as intense as a winter storm. “If I learn of anything else, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Thank you,” Daring nodded.
The phone on Cold’s desk rang and she snatched it up. “Chief Case,” she stated.
The voice on the other end spoke indistinctly. “Yes,” Cold replied, her shoulders tensing up. The squirming thing in Daring’s chest suddenly felt extremely cold and heavy.
A few moments later, Cold’s shoulders slowly slumped. “I see,” she nodded, her tone still cold and even, but a glimmer of relief in her blue eyes. Daring let out the breath that she hadn’t even known she was holding.
But then Cold blinked and her shoulders rose a little again as she listened more. “I see,” she said after a minute. She listened in silence for a few more long moments, then finally nodded. “Thank you for letting me know. Goodbye,” she said and hung up. Once the receiver was back in its cradle, she placed her hoof on her face and let out a long sigh.
“Phil?” Daring asked.
“He’s all right,” Cold reported, looking up. “There was no serious damage and he was sent home...against his doctor’s wishes,” she added with a weary smile and a small shake of her head. “I understand his mother is a medicine mare.”
Daring sighed in relief. “Yeah, that’s Phil, all right,” she chuckled. “But what was the other part?”
Cold’s face fell into severe lines once more. “Buzz is still in the hospital,” she reported. “He is in a coma after he transformed while under surgery. They have to keep feeding him love, but...Doctor Asclepius is not confident.”
Daring felt like her heart was sinking into her stomach and she found it hard to swallow. Buzz had risked his life fighting the mob last year, had given them the key to arrest Monopoly, and start Silvertongue’s downfall. Without his help, Ponyville might still be in the grip of organized crime. For him to die like this…
She growled to herself. “We’re gonna find that bastard,” she declared to Cold.
“We will,” Cold replied, pulling out a typewriter. “I need to get in touch with Judge Gavel. Hopefully, he’s awake by now.”
“I’ll get to work on this,” Daring said, snatching up the list and photographs of their three suspects: Blasting Cap, Watershed, and Golden Highlight. “Mind if I use your window?”
Cold gestured to one of the massive windows behind her. Daring opened up the latch on one of them and slid it up enough to climb out, diving out into the warm afternoon air. As she checked the list for the nearest target, her heart jumped into her throat.
“Doctor Suunkii, Sirba, and Muziqaa. 1273 Golden Oak Street.”